Joe Keery Imagines

Oscar-Worthy Morning After-Joe Keery

Requested by minty-fox-candyyki

People often talk about the Oscars. They don't talk about the after-party. They really don't talk about the morning after the after-party.

Last night is pretty hazy. What's not hazy is the pounding in my head as I sat up. My heart jumped into my throat when my blanket fell off. I looked down to see that I wasn't wearing my pajamas. I wasn't wearing anything. I was about to get out of bed, but my heart jumped even higher.

I wasn't alone.

Through my hangover, I studied the guy next to me. It took a second but it finally hit me who it was. Joe Keery.

I tried to remember how we met but nothing came. I tried to remember how we got to talking and what led us to my bed. All I could remember about Joe was that he was there presenting the same award that a film I worked on won, Oscar for Best Art Director.

I jumped out of bed and quickly got dressed. I threw on a pair of shorts and the first shirt I could find. My stomach did a weird flip when I realized it wasn't my shirt. I quickly tore it off and grabbed my shirt. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to remember what we did last night.

I remembered drinking. A lot. I remembered dancing. A lot. I remembered drinking and dancing with someone. I remembered drunkenly making out with someone. I remembered me and that person making out in the back of a cab, outside my apartment, inside my apartment, in my bed, naked in my bed.

My heart plummeted into my stomach when there was one important piece of last night that I couldn't remember. I looked on the ground around my bed, hoping to find the wrapper. The longer I looked and came up empty, the more nervous I got.

"Where is it?"

I gasped, freezing when I realized I said that a little too loud. I looked over, holding my breath as I waited to see if I had accidentally woken Joe up.

I turned around and went back to looking for the condom. I was on my hands and knees searching for it.

"Where is it?" I mumbled. I repeated those three words over and over as I looked for that damn wrapper. "Where the hell is it?!"

"What are you looking for?"

I gasped, sat up, and turned toward my bed. I blushed when I saw a shirtless Joe smirking at me.

"I'm umm. . . I'm looking for. . . The. . . I'm trying to find. . ."

"Y/N?" He asked gently. "What's wrong?"

I stood up and wrapped my arms around myself. I couldn't look at him as I answered his question.

"I was trying to find the condom," I admitted, "because I can't remember if we used one."

"Let me help you. . ." He started to move but something made him stop. I looked away as he lifted the blanket and looked down.

"Found it," he chuckled. I glanced back at him but quickly looked away when I noticed he started to take off the condom.

I looked down to see his boxers next to my feet. I leaned down, picked them up, and tossed them onto the edge of the bed. Joe smiled at me in thanks but I ignored it. I could barely look at him. Whenever I did, I got small glimpses of what we did last night.

I glanced up at him when I heard my bed creek. As Joe found his clothes scattered around my room, I walked over and sat on the side of my bed. I put all my energy into picking a hangnail.

"Last night was a mistake," I whispered. "I'm sorry. I was drunk."

"Sorry?" Joe sat next to me and grabbed my hand. "Last night wasn't because of you. I was already drunk before I started talking to you and drinking with you."