#swtnerryworld

-

you still remember the first time he lost it over your obsession. you were both really drunk that night, wine-flushed and heated, your cheeks red, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. he said he was going to the bathroom, when he came back you were already on all fours on the bed. he stepped closer, tilted your chin up with his fingers while you kissed his stomach, pushing his shirt higher as joe brushed your hair to the sides, giving you more room to move. he rolled his hips toward you slightly. “fuck,” he moaned, head tipping back. the wet sound of your kisses and the feel of your soft lips trailing lower to his pelvis made him realize there was no going back.

-

there was that one time he came home freshly shaved though, and you got instantly grumpy. the happy trail was gone, just smooth skin where you loved running your fingers and lips. you pouted the whole evening, barely touching him. he noticed right away, came up behind you in the kitchen, wrapped his arms around your waist, and started scattering little kisses along your neck and shoulder. “omg babe, it was for a movie shoot, i swear. it’ll grow back soon, you know my hair grows fast.” his voice was soft, teasing but sweet, lips brushing your ear as he hugged you tighter from behind, rocking you gently until your grumpiness melted. you turned in his arms eventually, still a little sulky, but he just grinned and kissed your forehead, promising you could have it all back in a couple weeks.

-

you used to get so jealous of everyone who got to see him like that on stage, sweaty in those short t-shirts, happy trail visible when he moved under the lights, or when he lifted his shirt to wipe sweat from his forehead and face. that’s why now, whenever he wants you, even right after a show, you don’t waste time. he just has to pull off his shirt and give you that knowing grin, and you’re crawling to him, kissing and nipping softly at his stomach, tasting the salt of his sweat, smiling every time he groans or whimpers. after sex, you rest your head on his belly, listening to his breathing even out, falling asleep to the slow rise and fall beneath you.

-

he knows it’s your comfort place now. on really bad days, he just sits on the couch, legs spread, waiting for you to come over and lay your head on his stomach. he strokes your hair so gently you never even finish the movie or show, you just drift off, calm and safe.

——————————————————————————

this doesn’t help with parasocialism ngl

i combined this and this reqs

@harringtondarling @downbad4bil @hearts4steve @powerpuffedbjtch @joekeerylice @keerymylove @pinkpunkdynamite @beth-mirrorball @1011008 @yikesdrama

it started after you overslept from staying up too late reading. you were hurrying down the hallway, half awake and clutching your books to your chest, when you ran straight into someone.

strong hands caught your arms before you could hit the floor.

“hey, easy there,” steve said with a small laugh, steadying you.

your face went hot instantly. “sorry,” you mumbled before slipping away as fast as you could.

you figured that would be the end of it.

except after that, steve started noticing you everywhere. he’d stop you in the halls just to talk for a minute. he started sitting beside you at lunch like it was the most natural thing in the world. your friends wouldn’t stop teasing you about it, but you kept insisting it didn’t mean anything.

until he offered you a ride home one afternoon.

until you found a folded note in your locker saying he liked your skirts.

until one night, with an uncharacteristically nervous smile, he asked if he could take you out somewhere real.

and somehow, you said yes.

after that, everything seemed to happen all at once.

first kiss

it happened on your front porch after he walked you home from the movies. the night was warm, crickets humming, and you were rambling about how the ending didn’t make sense when steve stepped closer, one hand gentle on your waist.

“you’re overthinking it,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek.

“i overthink everything.”

his smile was slow. “yeah. i know.”

then he kissed you—soft at first, almost careful, like he knew it was your first and didn’t want to scare you. his lips were warm, tasting faintly of popcorn and mint. when he pulled back, eyes dark, you felt dizzy.

“was that… okay?” he asked.

you bit your lips, heart hammering. “do it again and i’ll tell you.”

he laughed softly and did.

first date (that actually felt real)

mini-golf, because steve insisted it was “classic.” you were terrible at it. he was annoyingly good, but he kept “accidentally” bumping your hip, whispering terrible tips just to make you laugh. when you finally sank a hole-in-one on the windmill, he cheered like you’d won the olympics and kissed you right there under the neon lights.

later, in his car, parked at the lookout, he held your hand across the console. his thumb traced circles on your skin.

“i like this,” he said quietly. “taking it slow. with you.”

your cheeks burned. “you don’t have to. i know you’ve—”

“hey.” he turned your face toward him gently. “i want this to be special. we don’t have to rush anything.”

first time he stayed over

your parents were out of town. you’d made cookies (burnt the first batch), and you watched a horror movie even though you hated them. steve pulled you into his lap when you hid your face in his chest during the scary parts, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

when the movie ended, the air felt thicker. you were both on your bed, facing each other.

“you’re nervous,” he observed, brushing hair from your eyes.

“a little.”

“we don’t have to do anything.”

“i want to.” your voice was small but sure. “i really want you.”

he kissed you for a long time—deep, slow kisses that made your toes curl. clothes came off gradually. his hands were gentle, reverent, mapping every new inch of skin like it was sacred. when his mouth moved lower, you gasped his name, fingers threading through his hair.

“steve—”

“relax, baby. i’ve got you.”

he took his time. whispered praises against your thigh, your stomach, your neck. when he finally slid inside you, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked, it stung for a moment. he stilled, breathing ragged.

“you okay?”

you nodded, pulling him closer. “don’t stop.”

he moved carefully, murmuring how perfect you felt, how beautiful you were, how he’d never wanted anyone like this. the pain faded into warmth, then pleasure that built until you shattered around him, clinging tight. he followed soon after, burying his face in your neck.

afterward, he held you against his chest, stroking your hair.

first time you initiated

weeks later, you pushed him back onto his bed in his empty house, straddling his lap with shaky confidence. he looked up at you, surprised and so turned on his eyes were almost black.

“you sure?”

you nodded, leaning down to kiss him.

you explored him with your hands and mouth, learning what made his breath hitch and his hips jerk. steve guided you gently when you needed it, voice hoarse with praise—“just like that, sweetheart… fuck, you’re so good.”

when you sank down onto him, taking control, his hands gripped your thighs, eyes never leaving your face. you moved together, learning the rhythm that made you both moan. he sat up halfway, wrapping his arms around you, mouths crashing as you came together.

all the firsts after that

there were so many more. first time in his car (rushed and giggling). first time in the shower (soapy hands and laughter turning into gasps). first time you told him you loved him—right after, when you were tangled and sweaty and he kissed your forehead like you were precious.

steve never made you feel behind. he made every new thing feel like an adventure you were sharing.

one night, months later, curled up together, he traced lazy patterns on your bare shoulder.

“all your firsts,” he said quietly. “i want them. but i want all your nexts too. and the ones after that.”

you kissed him, slow and deep. “i love you.”

“and i love you too.”

he grinned against your lips.

you take any chance you get to do it.

when the two of you are sprawled on the couch, you take his arm and trace absent-minded lines between the little sparkles.

and during those random, silly conversations, you find yourself pointing at the moles on his face and neck, leaving soft pecks in their place.

“you are not listening to me, this is a serious matter,” he said, holding your chin up so you look at him.

“i am listening, joe — my ears are here,” you replied sarcastically, pointing them out. “it’s not my fault you distract me.”

“also, we are having a conversation about which type of berries are your favorites, and there’s not much to talk about,” you added.

“be serious, frozen berries and natural berries are not the same,” joe said.

“they literally taste the same.”

“they do not!” you laughed because you love to annoy him, and he laughed because he loves when you do it.

and then you continue with your very important activity while he keeps yapping about random things.

really short but i wanted to write abt joe so bad😭

joe: rehearsing tonight but wanna go out for dinner later?

you: i have a meeting early tomorrow joe, i told you yesterday.

you: if you hadn’t canceled last friday’s dinner we could’ve gone out before, i can’t rn

joe: i told you to go anyways and you said no

you: are you serious? you said you were too tired

joe: but i would’ve gone even if i was tired if you had told me you really wanted it

you: we’ll talk later im going to bed

you: good night

seen

-

you still loved him so much it felt violent. but love had started hurting more than it healed. every glance turned sharp, every night in the same bed felt like separate continents. the last morning proved it.

“have you seen my guitar case?” joe asked from the doorway, already packed for tour. the question landed like a slap. you didn’t know if the sick twist in your stomach was dread of another month apart or rage that he could act normal.

“i don’t think it’s here,” you answered without looking up from your book. “probably at one of your friends’ houses. you’re there more than here anyway.”

he sighed like you’d punched him. “why are you like this right now? when i’m literally leaving?”

“because you’re never here!” the words tore out. “it’s impossible to talk to you anymore. i wake up alone, you come home at 3 a.m., i’m exhausted, you want to go out, i try to talk, you say we’ll talk later. it’s fucking exhausting, joe.”

“if it’s that exhausting, why wait until i’m heading to the other side of the country?” his voice cracked. “you basically just said you hate me. what the hell are we supposed to do now?”

“i didn’t say i hate you.” you stood, eyes burning. “i said i don’t recognize us. and don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”

“of course i have.” he stepped in, took your hands, voice breaking. “but i still love you. i do. i swear i do.”

“i love you too,” you choked, tears spilling the second he said it, words you hadn’t heard in so long they felt foreign. “but i can’t keep hurting us. i think… we need a break.”

that evening he left from the doorway, both of you red-eyed and completely empty, the most honest you’d been in months.

-

five months later you still couldn’t delete his number. you muted his friends, filled your nights with plans, told yourself you were fine because he looked happy on stage. but every picture still punched the air from your lungs.

you were tired of always saying yes to plans, but work had finally settled. you’d gotten a promotion and more control over your schedule.

your best friend hannah had been begging to go to lollapalooza with you this summer, the lineup just dropped and she was buzzing.

the only thing holding you back? joe was performing on one of the stages she wanted to hit for her favorite acts.

you kept delaying your answer until she called you out.

“are you telling me all this suspense is because of joe?” she asked, half-indignant.

“probably,” you admitted with an apologetic smile, hoping she’d understand.

“are you kidding me, right ? he’s not gonna see you. do you know there’ll be more than 70k people there? what are the odds?”

after ten more minutes of her convincing pep talk, you caved—praying you wouldn’t be the unlucky one.

lollapalooza day one

you were deep in the crowd when your phone lit up.

djotime liked your story - 2 secs ago

djotime liked your story - 7 secs ago

“what the fuck whatthefuckwhathefuck—” hannah whipped around instantly. “what happened?”

“he just liked my stories. I told you this was a bad idea. I’m gonna faint if I see him, I’m literally not ready.”

“calm down, please. we’ve been here six hours, we’re not missing charli just because of your unresolved ex drama, okay? just forget him.

“there’s like a hundred thousand people here. he’s not gonna find you.” she grabbed your hands, matching your dramatic reaction.

you believed her. mostly. but a small, secret part of you really wanted him to.

you’d accidentally seen a tiktok scroll—he was blonde now. “blond looks so good on him,” the caption read. and yeah, you secretly agreed.

hannah had pushed you close to the barricade—“best spot, trust me”—so you didn’t move forward. you were glad; it wasn’t dead center.

-

instruments rolled onto the stage. you spotted wes and javier—joe’s bandmates and friends—and nerves hit hard.

the screens shifted from black to the djo logo in that exact font you remembered. he’d shown you those visuals once, arms wrapped around you from behind on the couch while some movie played ignored in the background. his voice had been right by your ear, soft but buzzing with excitement as he held his phone out. you hadn’t even really looked at the screen for long, you were too busy smiling at how much it meant to him, too busy leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek just to feel the way he’d grin.

back then, everything about him had felt close. easy.

you’re pulled from your thoughts as the first chords ring out.

the crowd erupts. you looked around at everyone losing it, pure joy, and felt a quiet happiness for him. he was doing what he loved, and people loved it back. you wished you could tell him how proud you were.

screams swelled. people shoved forward, phones up. then he walked on, full energy, guitar slung low, looking unfairly good in those classic jeans and the tight black t-shirt that hugged his biceps and armpits in ways that should be illegal.

you felt out of place amid everyone screaming lyrics you knew by heart. hannah bobbed to the beat but kept checking on you.

he was magnetic on stage, voice, movements, the way he shaped every word. you’d almost forgotten how devastatingly attractive he was after all these months. it hit like ice water.

you caught yourself biting your lip watching his hips move, his hands on the strings, memories of how those hands felt on you flooding back.

he pulled off his black sunglasses. crowd roared.

he scanned the front row during an instrumental, guitar still playing, searching.

then he froze.

stopped playing entirely. wes glanced up from the drums.

joe stared straight at you, intense, unblinking. you managed a small, nervous smile. he grinned back, quick and real, before snapping back to reality, mouthing “sorry” to wes and diving back in.

watch him move like nothing’s changed. watch the way he smiles, the way he loses himself in it, the same way he used to when he’d play you unfinished songs in the quiet of your room.

it’s familiar in the worst way, close enough to touch, but not yours anymore.

the set rolled on, but he didn’t forget. he kept glancing your way, trying to play it cool with his usual stage flair.

and then it’s over.

the last note fades, the lights shift, and the crowd is still buzzing when he looks up, again.

for a second, everything stalls.

too loud. too quiet. too much.

someone calls him from the side of the stage— the next set.

he doesn’t want to go. you can see it—in the way he lingers, in the way his body turns before he’s ready, like he’s being pulled away from something he hasn’t finished with.

and you don’t want him to go either.

not like this. not when it feels so final it almost knocks the air out of you.

you just stand there, separated by a stage, by people.

he looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you.

then they call him again, louder this time.

and he goes.

he has to.

but even as he walks off, even as he disappears past the lights and the noise swallows him whole, he looks back.

just once.

hannah’s arms wrap around you before you can even process it. she doesn’t say anything when she notices the tear slipping down your cheek—just holds you a little tighter, like she knows there’s nothing she could say that wouldn’t make it worse.

then the lights hit.

harsh. blinding. a complete shift.

the next set starts, the one your friend had been waiting for all night, and the energy crashes into you without warning.

the music is louder, brighter, too alive for how you feel. still, you let it take you. let the set swallow you whole, moving, dancing like maybe if you don’t stop, you won’t have to feel it. like you can outrun the ache sitting heavy in your chest.

but it doesn’t work.

-

somewhere in the middle of it, a hand taps your shoulder.

you turn, disoriented, and find a security guard leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

“someone from backstage wants to see you,” he says, pointing toward the right side of the stage.

“it’s right there. if you want to go, i’ll help you cross the barricade and guide you.”

you blink at him, the words not fully landing.

“i don’t mind if you go,” hannah adds, smiling softly. “you already helped me push through to the barricade.”

the guard hesitates for a second, then adds, almost like he shouldn’t, “if it helps you decide… he looked desperate.”

and that’s it.

you don’t even remember agreeing. one second you’re standing there, the next you’re being guided through, hands steadying you as you pass the barricade.

“let her through, she feels bad,” the guard says to the others, the lie slipping past unnoticed.

you barely register any of it.

your head is too full. thoughts colliding, heart racing too fast, that same feeling from before tightening in your chest, but sharper now, louder.

by the time you realize where you are, the music has dulled into a distant thrum.

a hallway.

and at the end of it, a door.

his name sits right in the center.

you stop.

the guard glances at you, then knocks when you don’t move, like he already knows you won’t.

the door opens.

and there he is.

messy hair, like he’s been running his hands through it one too many times. eyes bright, too bright, like there’s something restless sitting behind them. a small smile showing up.

for a moment, neither of you says anything.

you just stand there, inches apart.

the noise of the festival fades into nothing as you step inside, the door closing softly behind you, cutting the world out, leaving just the two of you and everything you never got to say.

“hi,” he says, like it hasn’t been this long. like he didn’t just walk away from you under a thousand lights.

your throat tightens. “hi.”

“i saw you,” he says after a second, voice quieter now. “during the set.”

“i know.”

“i didn’t think i could find you. i’m sure i looked crazy searching for you in the crowd,” he lets out a small laugh.

“a little bit,” you say, hiding a smile.

“listen, i’ll be honest with you.” he pauses. “i know you might think this is so weird—it’s the first time we’ve seen each other since—”

you tense. he notices, instantly more nervous.

“since that day,” he says it.

.“and… i didn’t want that to be it,” he adds.

“just seeing you like that and then—” he gestures vaguely toward the stage, the world outside, everything that pulled him away. “leaving again.”

your chest tightens at the word.

again.

“you’re always leaving,” you say before you can stop yourself.

the second it’s out, you wish you could take it back.

but he just nods.

“i know.”

no defensiveness. no argument. no turning it around on you.

just that.

and somehow that hurts more than every fight you had.

you let out a shaky breath, looking away. “you didn’t even fight me on it.”

he frowns slightly. “on what?”

“the break,” you say, your voice cracking despite how much you try to steady it.

that’s been sitting in your chest for months. rotting there.

his expression shifts, something heavier settling in.

“i did,” he says quietly.

you look back at him, confused. “when?”

“that morning,” he answers. “i told you i loved you.”

“that’s not the same as fighting for us, joe.”

his jaw tightens. “what did you want me to do? beg you to stay when you were crying and saying you were hurting me?”

“yes,” you say, too fast, too honest. “maybe i did.”

that lands.

hard.

because it’s true.

“you think i didn’t want to?” he asks, voice low. “you think i didn’t want to get on my knees and ask you not to leave me?”

your breath catches.

“but you looked so sure,” he continues. “and i—” he swallows, shaking his head. “i’d already been fucking everything up. i thought… maybe letting you go was the only thing i could do right.”

your eyes burn.

“that’s not what i wanted,” you whisper.

“I know that now,” he says. “i didn’t then.”

the distance between you suddenly feels too small.

“you stopped trying. you’d disappear for hours. days sometimes.”

“i couldn’t—” his voice softens. “i couldn’t stand the way we were living. it felt like a nightmare. i thought you didn’t want me there. we barely spoke… we both knew we were doing everything wrong, but we weren’t doing anything to fix it.”

“i was trying to keep up with everything and i kept failing at the one thing that actually mattered.”

that hits harder than it should.

“you made me feel like I was asking for too much,” you say. your voice breaking on the last word.

“you weren’t,” he answers immediately.

there’s a pause.

“you stopped letting me in too.”

you close your eyes for a second. “because it hurt.”

“i know.”

everything comes back to that.

you both knew.

you both just… didn’t fix it.

the silence that follows isn’t empty. it’s full of understanding that came too late.

outside, the music pulses faintly through the walls. a reminder that time is still moving.

“I have to go back soon,” he says, barely above a whisper.

of course he does.

he always does.

“we have an interview in thirty minutes.” he adds.

you nod, even though it feels like something in your chest is caving in. “it’s ok.”

but neither of you moves.

not yet.

because this—

this is the first real conversation you’ve had in months.

not anger. not distance.

just truth.

“I messed it up,” he breaks the silence. “i thought if i just kept pushing through everything else, we’d… survive it. but you’re not something l can put on pause and come back to when it’s convenient.”

“I’m done doing that,” he adds, quieter now. “to you. to us. If there is an ‘us.’” he swallows.

“i’m not doing this because i just wanted to see if you still hate me or not.” he pauses, then adds with a small giggle, “a part of me knew there was a possibility that the guard would come back saying you told me to fuck off.”

you can’t hold back a laugh. he always does that—finds a way to make you laugh, even in the worst moments.

“i could never hate you, joe,” you finally say. “it hurt seeing your life through pictures and videos, but i loved seeing you happy. that’s all i ever wanted.”

“but… things are different now.” you add, fingers fidgeting at your sides.

“and I can’t do the whole disappearing thing again,” you continue. “the not answering, the half-conversations… i won’t do it.”

“you won’t have to.”

“I’m scared it’ll end the same way,” you whisper.

“me too.” “but we know what went wrong now,” he adds. “we didn’t then. we just kept hurting each other without even realizing how bad it got.”

your chest tightens.

“you’re on tour,” you say, like a reality check. “that hasn’t changed.”

“no,” he nods. “but I can.”

you don’t answer right away.

because this is the part where it used to fall apart. promises made too quickly. words that sounded right but never quite held.

“ i’m not asking you to just, jump back in,” he says, like he can read it all over your face. “i know i don’t get that. i just…” he hesitates, then lets it out anyway, “i don’t want five months from now to look like this again. running into you somewhere and pretending we don’t still—”

he stops himself.

but you both know.

still love each other.

“neither do i,” you admit.

“we were good before everything got messy,” you say. “not perfect. but… good.”

he steps closer—not too much, just enough.

“we can be better” he replies. another step closer.

you let out a slow breath.

“i miss you. i’ve missed you… not just since i left—since everything fell apart.”

“i miss everything about you. i wrote songs about you—so many of them. and i could keep writing forever, because it’s the only place i have to put all the love i had…”

he swallows, his face inching closer to yours.

“…and still have.”

“joe…” is all you manage to whisper.

“i’m not going to make promises, i know you hate that” he murmurs. “i’m going to show you—with my actions. every day, every second… just let me.”

“okay,” you say, barely above a whisper.

his brows pull together slightly. “okay?”

“okay,” you repeat, a little steadier this time.

“but we have to go slow. like… actually slow.”

relief flickers across his face.

“yeah,” he nods quickly. “slow is good. slow is…really good.”

a small smile tugs at your lips before you can stop it.

he notices. he’s just staring at your lips. you step closer, your hands now resting on his shoulders.

he takes it as an indication, you used to do that very often: step closer, hands resting there, looking at him just so he’d melt into your mouth softly. so he remembers. he remembers everything about you, he always does.

and he kisses you. first soft, then deeper. his hands don’t waste time, settling on your lower back, your hands running through his hair.

a knock echoes faintly from outside, followed by a voice calling his name.

you separate slowly. he exhales, glancing at the door, then back at you.

“i really do have to go.”

you nod, but this time it doesn’t feel like an ending.

“go,” you say softly.

he squeezes your hand once, like he doesn’t quite want to let go, but he does.

“I’ll be back in 30 minutes,” he says.

you raise a brow slightly. “you better.”

a hint of a grin breaks through. “yeah. i better.”

he takes a step back, then another, reluctant, but lighter somehow.

at the door, he pauses.

looks at you again.

and then he goes.