Mette

21 | she/her | i have too much free time

[emmiewritesz]

welcome!

Mette ⟡ 21 ⟡ she/her

DISCLAIMER: This is a writing blog, there will be smut and mentioned of NSFW topics in certain stories. I will have a warning before every story if it has NSFW topics. I do not want minors to interact with those posts and interaction with them (from minors or un-aged blogs) will result in a block.

Asks & Requests: Open!

Guidelines & Masterlists ⟡ About me

Currently watching: Greys Anatomy, Fargo, Teen Wolf

Favorite movies: Spree, Cars, Nope, Project Hail Mary

Current faves: Steve Harrington, Joe Keery

Personal story favorites: Blue Light Glow and One Last Trip

[emmiewritesz]

Chapter 2: Normal Again

Innocence Looks Good on You ✩ Rich boy Steve Harrington x The innocent and untouchable girl (ongoing series)

Previous chapter - Next chapter (coming soon)

Minors do NOT interact ✩ nsfw content ✩ smut (later in the serie)

Chapter 2: Normal Again

Summary: Paired in a summer volunteer program, you and Steve Harrington are forced into weekly proximity. His cocky, teasing presence disrupts your controlled, structured life, leaving you increasingly aware of him in ways you don’t fully understand, while Steve grows more intrigued by you.

Warnings/tags: no use of Y/N, nickname usage, rich boy steve, purity ring, innocence, virgin reader, party, Your POV, volunteering, college stress, mention of nancy as a friend, suggestive comments.

W/C: 3.1K

Innocence Looks Good on You ✩ Rich boy Steve Harrington x The innocent and untouchable girl (ongoing series)

Steve Harrington Masterlist

(Your POV)

The funny thing about graduation is that everyone acts like it’s freedom. Like the second you walk across that stage everything changes, your life, your future, yourself, but three days later I was still standing in the cereal aisle of Hawkins General Store while my mother compared two boxes like it actually mattered which one we picked, like anything had changed at all. Milk, bread, eggs. The same things we always bought. The same routine. The same town. The same life.

“Did you hear me?”

“The college forms,” my mother said again.

Right. The college forms. The thing everyone kept circling back to like there was an answer waiting for me somewhere that I just hadn’t found yet.

“I heard you.”

“Then?”

Then nothing. Because the truth was I was behind, just slightly, just enough that it wasn’t obvious yet but it was there, sitting underneath everything. Applications that should’ve been done. Recommendations I still needed to ask for. Deadlines I was pretending weren’t already overdue.

“I’ll figure it out,” I said, because I always did. Eventually. Probably. Maybe.

That was the version of me people trusted. The one who didn’t fall apart because she never looked like she was close to it.

The rest of the day just kept going like it always did. Grocery bags. Cleaning my room. Sitting on my bed with college brochures I didn’t really read, just stared at until the words stopped meaning anything and turned into something like noise. Everyone in those pictures looked so certain, like they already knew exactly who they were supposed to be.

I didn’t.

My phone buzzed later.

Nancy.

They were still taking sign ups for the summer volunteer program. Said it looked good for college applications, which was really all I needed to hear even if I didn’t want to admit that was the only reason I was considering it. I wasn’t trying to start something new or change anything. I just needed something I could point to and say I didn’t waste time, I didn’t fall behind completely, I didn’t mess everything up before it even started.

So I said I’d go.

Simple. Practical. Fixing something before it became a problem.

But even after I sent the message I didn’t immediately put my phone down. I just stared at it for a second longer than I needed to, like I was waiting for the decision to feel like something solid instead of just… done.

I didn’t think too much about it the morning of the first volunteer shift. It was just another thing I had signed myself up for, another box I needed to tick, another way to make sure summer didn’t turn into something I had to explain later when someone asked what I’d done with it.

Nancy had texted me the address the night before. Town hall parking lot. Eight in the morning. Bring water. Wear something comfortable. Nothing dramatic, nothing that should’ve meant anything.

Except when I pulled into the parking lot, it already felt like something had started without me.

People were gathered in small groups near folding tables set up outside the building. Clipboards, forms, name lists. The kind of organized chaos that pretends it isn’t chaos at all. I checked in, said my name, nodded when someone pointed me toward a stack of papers and a group assignment sheet I barely looked at properly before my eyes moved again.

That was when I saw him.

Steve Harrington.

It didn’t feel like surprise exactly. More like my brain registering something it already didn’t want to deal with.

He was standing slightly off to the side, leaning back in his chair like he had been there longer than everyone else and was already tired of it. Talking to someone beside him, half listening, half not, pen spinning loosely between his fingers like he didn’t care if it fell or not.

And then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, his name was called.

“Steve Harrington and” the woman checking names glanced down at her list, “you.”

For a second I didn’t move.

Because that didn’t make sense.

Not really.

But then Nancy nudged me lightly from behind like I was supposed to understand what was happening faster than I was.

“Go,” she mouthed.

So I did.

Slowly.

Because apparently this was my life now.

Steve looked up when I stopped at the table. Just a glance at first, like he was confirming something, and then the expression on his face shifted slightly in a way I couldn’t quite read but didn’t like being aware of anyway.

“You,” he said.

Not a question.

Not exactly surprise either.

Just recognition.

Like I had been placed somewhere in his day unexpectedly, and now he was adjusting.

“I guess,” I said, because there wasn’t really anything else to say.

The woman at the table didn’t seem interested in whatever weird pause had just formed between us. She handed us both a sheet. “You’re on supply sorting this morning. After that you’ll get rotated to cleanup assignments downtown next week.”

Steve took the paper without looking at it for long. I did the same.

Then there was a moment where neither of us moved away immediately.

Like we both understood we were supposed to.

Just not quickly enough.

“You do this often?” he asked eventually.

“No,” I said. “You?”

He gave a small shrug like the answer didn’t matter either way. “Not really a choice.”

That was all he said. And somehow that was enough to stick in my head longer than it should have.

We were led inside after that. A long room with tables set up in rows, boxes already stacked in uneven piles waiting to be sorted into categories that looked simple enough on paper. Gloves, supplies, lists taped to cardboard like anyone actually cared if they stayed organized.

Someone split us into groups without much thought. Of course it put us together.

Because of course it did.

Steve didn’t comment on it. Just picked up a box like it weighed nothing and set it down on the table in front of us.

“So,” he said after a moment, not looking at me, “you volunteer for fun or just for the resume boost?”

It was said lightly. Casual. Like it didn’t matter what I said.

But nothing about him really felt casual in a way I could ignore.

“I need it,” I said honestly. “For applications.”

That got him to glance at me properly this time.

“Right,” he said. Like that explained something.

It did, apparently. He didn’t even question that application time was already overdue. To be fair, he probably didn’t even know the due date.

We worked in silence for a while after that. Sorting. Stacking. Folding. The kind of repetitive movement that made it easy not to think too much about anything else. Or at least that’s what it was supposed to do.

But I kept noticing small things I didn’t mean to notice.

The way he didn’t really focus on one task for too long but still somehow got everything done faster than he should’ve. The way he hummed under his breath when it got too quiet, like silence bothered him in a different way than it bothered me. The way he occasionally looked up without meaning to, like he was checking if I was still there or if I had disappeared into the background again.

It should’ve felt irrelevant.

It didn’t.

At one point he held out a box without looking at me. “Tape?”

I handed it over.

Our fingers didn’t touch.

They almost did.

It shouldn’t have meant anything.

It didn’t mean anything.

Except for the fact that I noticed it anyway.

And then hated that I did.

“Didn’t expect you to be here,” he said after a while, like he’d decided that silence wasn’t better anymore.

“I didn’t expect you to be here either.”

“That’s fair,” he said, almost amused.

There was something about the way he talked that made everything feel slightly less controlled than I wanted it to be. Like he didn’t care about the space between words the same way other people did. Like he didn’t mind letting things sit unfinished.

I didn’t know if I liked that.

We finished the first set of boxes quicker than I expected.

Someone came by to check progress, nodded, told us to move on to the next station downtown next week.

Next week.

So this wasn’t even a one time thing.

Of course it wasn’t.

Of course it was structured like this.

Of course it was going to repeat.

Steve rolled his shoulders slightly like it didn’t matter, like none of it did, like he had already accepted whatever version of summer this was going to become.

When we stepped outside again, the air felt heavier than before. Or maybe I just noticed it more now.

He walked a little ahead of me without turning back. Not waiting. Not checking.

Then, just before reaching his car, he glanced over his shoulder slightly.

“See you next week,” he said.

I didn’t think about him for the rest of the week. Okay that is a lie. He creeped back into my thoughts.

Not on purpose.

Just because.

Steve Harrington was a one-time thing. A strange pairing, a volunteer assignment, a brief interruption in something that was otherwise supposed to be normal again.

That’s what I told myself, anyway.

Except now I was standing in the same parking lot again, same folding tables, same stacks of forms, same summer heat already pressing down before the day had properly started, and the first thing I saw when I walked in wasn’t the paperwork.

It was him.

Of course it was.

Leaning back in the same chair like he had never moved from it all week, like he had been waiting there specifically for this moment and was completely unsurprised that I showed up.

Like he knew I would.

That annoyed me more than it should have.

“You’re late, pretty girl” he said when I stopped near the table.

I looked at him. “I’m not late.” The petname just making my eyes roll some, before ignoring it.

He glanced at the clock on the building wall without even turning fully.

“Technically,” he said, “you are.”

“I’m on time for check in.”

“Sure,” he nodded, like I had said something mildly entertaining. “If you want to be specific about it.”

“I do.”

That made him smile slightly.

Not big.

Just enough to make it obvious he was enjoying this more than I was.

I stepped closer to the table where the lists were already laid out again, trying to ignore the fact that he was still watching me like I was something mildly interesting that had returned on schedule.

“You came back,” I said before I could stop myself.

It wasn’t supposed to sound like anything.

It did anyway.

He tilted his head slightly. “Yeah. That’s kind of how this works.”

“I mean” I paused. “You didn’t have to.”

“Neither did you.”

That shut me up for half a second.

Because he was right.

We both could’ve just not come back.

And yet here we were.

Again.

He pushed off the chair finally, standing properly this time instead of lounging like he had been. A little closer than last week. Not enough to matter. Just enough that I noticed.

“I was starting to think you changed your mind,” he said.

“About what?”

“This. You usually try to avoid me.”

He gestured vaguely between us, the tables, the assignment sheet, the entire setup like it was obvious.

“I didn’t change my mind,” I said.

“Good,” he said immediately. “Would’ve been kind of disappointing.”

That made me frown. “Why?”

He shrugged like it was nothing. “Because then I would have to get a new partner.”

Partner.

The word landed strangely.

Not because it meant anything.

Because he said it in a way. Like it was some dirty secret we were having. I ignored his tone.

I picked up the sheet from the table, scanning it even though I already knew what it said. Same assignments. Same rotation. Same structure as last week.

Steve leaned slightly on the table edge, watching me read it.

“You always this serious about paperwork?” he asked.

“It’s instructions.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Very intense relationship you’ve got with instructions.”

I ignored that.

We started walking.

Same route as last week. Same heat already pressing into the pavement before we even reached downtown. Same trash bags crinkling in our hands like this was something normal people did with their mornings.

Except it didn’t feel the same anymore. Because Steve didn’t feel the same about it. He was quieter for maybe five seconds.

That was it.

Then he said, “You always like this?”

I didn’t look at him. “Like what.”

“Like you’re trying really hard not to be noticed.”

That made me pause, just slightly, even though I didn’t want it to.

“I’m not.”

He hummed like he didn’t believe me at all.

“Sure,” he said again, dragging it out like it amused him. “Pretty girl like you? You’re definitely not trying to be noticed.”

The words hit differently than they should’ve. He had said it before today. So it wasn’t a total shocker. It just got on my nerves. Because they were too casual. Like he had the right to say them. I glanced at him then, finally. “Don’t call me that.”

“Pretty girl?” he repeated, like he was testing it.

“Yes.”

He smiled a little. Not apologetic. Not even close.

“Why?” he asked. “Does it bother you?”

“No.”

That was too fast. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Mm,” he said softly, like he’d caught something he liked. “That sounded like a lie.”

I looked away again. He let it sit there for a moment, like he was turning it over in his head instead of dropping it. Then, lighter, almost conversational:

“You know what I think?” he said.

“I don’t care.”

“You do,” he replied immediately.

That made me go quiet.

He kept walking like he hadn’t just said something that landed too accurately.

“I think,” he continued anyway, “you’re not used to people actually talking to you like you’re a person.”

I stopped walking again. He didn’t immediately stop this time either, just like before, then turned when he realized.

“What?” he asked, but he was already smiling slightly.

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” he said, tilting his head.

I didn’t answer.

Because it was easier than trying to explain that I didn’t know what people were supposed to sound like when they weren’t just… polite. Predictable. Safe. Steve stepped a little closer again. Not enough to crowd me. Just enough that I was aware of him in a way I didn’t like.

“You’re doing it again,” he said.

“Doing what.”

“That thing.” He gestured slightly. “Like you’re about to say something real and then you just… don’t.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiled like that was exactly what he expected.

“Sure you don’t, beautiful.”

My stomach tightened again at that word. I hated that it did. Not because it was wrong. Because it didn’t sound like he meant it gently. It sounded like he was observing it.

Like he’d already decided what I was.

We started walking again, but slower this time. Like neither of us was in a hurry to stop the conversation. Steve kicked a crushed can out of the way, glancing sideways at me again.

“You know what’s funny?” he said.

“What.”

“You act like this is all very serious,” he said. “But I think you’re just curious.”

“I’m not.”

“That was fast,” he said immediately. “You really don’t like that idea.”

“I just don’t like being misunderstood.”

He laughed under his breath at that. Not mean. Worse than that. Like he enjoyed it.

“Oh, I get you just fine,” he said.

That made me look at him again. He was already watching me. Like he had been the whole time. And then, softer, like he was adding something just for himself:

“Pretty girl who thinks she’s not allowed to be anything else.”

I stopped again. This time he stopped with me. There was a beat where neither of us spoke. Just heat. Pavement. Summer air that felt too close.

Steve tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was something he hadn’t gotten bored of yet. Then he smiled again, slower this time. 

“Relax,” he said. “I’m not gonna bite.”

A pause. Then, almost like an afterthought:

“Unless you ask nicely.”

The silence after that felt heavier than it should’ve. Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just off.

Like the conversation had shifted slightly into a direction I didn’t have a map for, and everyone else had decided it was normal except me.

Steve was still standing there like nothing had changed. Like he had said something casual, something easy, something that belonged in the same category as everything else he’d said all morning.

But my brain didn’t treat it like that. It didn’t file it under jokes immediately. It didn’t file it under anything. 

It just… stalled.

Because I understood the words. That wasn’t the problem. It was the way they were said. The way he looked when he said them. Like he knew exactly what he was doing with them and didn’t care if I understood it or not. Like it was meant to land somewhere closer than conversation usually did.

And I didn’t have a place for that. Not in volunteer sheets. Not in schedules. Not in the version of people I knew how to deal with.

So I did the only thing I could think to do with something I couldn’t categorize properly.

I let it go quiet.

A small nod. Nothing that gave anything away. Nothing that asked for more. Just enough to acknowledge I’d heard him, even if I hadn’t processed what it meant.

Then I looked back down at the work in front of me like it mattered more than it did. Like I hadn’t just lost a second of understanding and didn’t know how to get it back.

Steve didn’t move right away. I could feel that he noticed. Not in a way that made him push.  Like he was curious about the silence more than the reaction. But eventually he just exhaled lightly, like the moment didn’t require fixing.

And turned back to the work. Like it was nothing. But it stayed with me anyway. Even after we started moving again. Even after the noise of everything else filled the space back in.

Innocence Looks Good on You ✩ Rich boy Steve Harrington x The innocent and untouchable girl (ongoing series)

Previous chapter - Next chapter (coming soon)

A/N: The first chapter and the whole story summary has been responded to so well! Thank you so much so far! It is going to be one of a spicy story soon! So just hang in for the smut :)

Taglist: @strangegirl26sff @stoneyggirl2 @pr33tygirlavenue @chrrygrly @ilikereadinghardcoresmut @eller41 @68trash37 @cuddlyeren Ask in comments to be added to the taglist!

[emmiewritesz]

One Last Trip

Steve Harrington (One Shot) (Smut with plot)

Minors do NOT interact ✩ nsfw content ✩ smut

One shot: One Last Trip

Inspired by @stvveou on tiktok!

Summary: Steve Harrington takes one last road trip with you before life changes for good. Somewhere between long drives and quiet stops, you both start to admit what’s been coming for a while: you’re ready for a family, and this is the last time it’s just the two of you.

Warnings/tags: No use of Y/N, female reader, established relationship, talks about pregnancy, smut (with plot), breeding kink, dirty talk, roadtrip, public sex, fluff, unprotected sex

W/C: 3.3K

Steve Harrington Masterlist

It started on a Tuesday. Not a special Tuesday. Not an anniversary. Not a birthday. Not even a particularly good day. Just a Tuesday.

The kind of day where the dishes were drying on the rack, the laundry still sat unfolded on the couch, and the two of you were debating whether leftovers counted as a proper dinner.

You were standing at the stove when he appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Let's go somewhere."

You looked over your shoulder. "Right now?"

"No." A pause. "Maybe."

You laughed. "Steve."

"What?"

"You can't just say let's go somewhere and not elaborate."

He shrugged. The problem was that he looked completely serious. "Okay," you said, setting down the spoon. "Where?"

"I don't know."

"Helpful."

"I mean it." He crossed the kitchen and leaned against the counter. "Just... somewhere." You studied him. Normally, when he had ideas, there was at least some kind of plan attached.

A destination. A reason. A brochure he found at work. Something. This felt different. "We have jobs," you reminded him.

"We can take a week off."

"We have responsibilities."

"We always have responsibilities."

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you having a crisis?"

"No."

The answer came too fast. Which meant yes. At least a little. You laughed again. He smiled despite himself. Then, after a moment, he looked away. Out the kitchen window. Toward absolutely nothing. And quietly said, "I just wanna go."

The honesty in it surprised you. Because it wasn't excitement. It wasn't adventure. It almost sounded like longing. A week later, you were pulling out of the driveway before sunrise.

The trunk was packed. Overpacked. Ridiculously overpacked. Which was entirely Steve's fault. "You packed three flashlights."

"They're for emergencies."

"We're driving through Illinois."

"Emergencies can happen anywhere."

You reached into the backseat. "Why do we have a first aid kit?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because what if something happens?"

You held up an entire roll of medical tape. "What exactly do you think is going to happen?"

"You never know."

"Are we road-tripping or preparing for the apocalypse?" Steve grabbed the tape from you. "Mock me all you want."

"I am."

"But if disaster strikes, you'll be thanking me." You snorted. The sun was beginning to rise as you merged onto the highway. Golden light spilled across the dashboard. The radio crackled softly between stations.

For a while, neither of you talked. Not because anything was wrong. Because there was something strangely peaceful about leaving before the world woke up.

The roads were mostly empty. The sky was streaked pink and orange. Everything felt suspended. Like life hadn't caught up to you yet. Steve drove with one hand on the wheel. The other resting loosely near the center console.

After a few minutes, your fingers found his. Neither of you looked down. You just intertwined your hands and kept driving.

Hours passed.

The first gas station stop happened somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The building looked older than both of you combined. Inside, Steve bought enough snacks for a family of six. "You know there's only two of us."

"We don't know how hungry we'll be later."

"We're not crossing a desert."

He ignored you. Five minutes later he emerged carrying chips, candy, two sodas, beef jerky, and something that looked legally questionable. "What is that?"

"I don't know."

"You bought food and you don't know what it is?"

"It looked interesting." You stared at him. "That's how people get poisoned."

"It's a road trip."

"That's not an answer."

"It is in spirit."

By the time you got back on the road, you were laughing so hard your stomach hurt. The kind of laughter that came from knowing someone too well. The kind built over years. The kind that felt effortless.

The scenery slowly changed. Small towns. Cornfields. Roadside diners. Billboards advertising attractions that definitely weren't worth stopping for. You made fun of every single one. Steve ranked them.

By lunch, he had created an entirely unnecessary scoring system.

By afternoon, he was passionately defending a giant fiberglass dinosaur.

By evening, he was somehow losing the argument.

The motel appeared just before sunset. A small place sitting off the highway. Nothing fancy. Nothing memorable. Exactly the kind of place people forgot about five minutes after leaving.

The room smelled faintly like old carpet. The television looked ancient. The bathroom light flickered. You dropped your overnight bag onto the bed. "This place might be haunted."

"It's charming."

"It's haunted."

"It's affordable."

"That's what haunted places say." Steve laughed. The sound echoed through the room. For a moment, he looked younger. Not physically. Just lighter. Like something had loosened inside him.

The stress he normally carried around wasn't there. Not completely. You ordered takeout. Ate sitting cross-legged on the bed. Watched terrible television. Argued over what movie to put on. The night unfolded slowly. Comfortably.

By the time darkness settled outside, the conversation had become softer. Less about where you were going. Old memories resurfaced. Stories you have told each other a hundred times. Somehow still funny. Somehow still worth hearing again.

At one point, Steve looked over at you and smiled. Not the big grin. Not the teasing one. Something smaller. Warmer.

"What?" You asked it automatically. He shook his head. "Nothing."

"You were staring."

"I was not."

"You absolutely were." His smile widened. Then faded slightly. Just enough for you to notice. "I like this." The words landed gently between you. "The motel?"

He laughed. "No."

"The haunted bathroom?"

"Definitely not."

You waited. Steve looked down at the takeout container balanced on his knee. Then back at you. "This." The room. The trip. The terrible food. The cheap television. The two of you. All of it.

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. Not because it was sad. Because it felt important. Even if you couldn't explain why.

Neither could he.

Not yet.

Outside, a truck rumbled past on the highway. The sound faded into the distance. The room fell quiet again. Steve reached over and tangled your fingers together.

The thing about Steve was that he got sentimental in weird places. Not anniversaries. Not birthdays. Not New Year's.

Those were expected.

No, Steve got emotional standing in hardware stores. He got attached to coffee mugs. He once refused to throw away a lawn chair because, according to him, it had "been through a lot."

So maybe you shouldn't have been surprised when it happened at a gas station somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

You were inside buying water. Steve was outside filling the car. Simple. Ordinary. The kind of thing you have done a hundred times before.

When he glanced toward the convenience store windows. And saw you laughing. Not with him. Not at anything important. Just laughing at something the cashier had said. Head tipped back. Smile easy. Comfortable. Happy.

The sight hit him unexpectedly. Not because you were beautiful. You always were. But because it felt familiar. And suddenly he realized how many versions of you he has known.

The first version. 

The one who barely knew him.

The version who rolled their eyes when he got cocky.

The version who stayed.

The version who moved in.

The version who helped pick out a couch.

The version who started leaving shampoo in his shower until it became your shower too.

Years.

Entire years.

And somehow he has lived all of them.

A car horn sounded somewhere nearby. Steve blinked. The gas pump clicked. Finished. Still, he didn't move. Because another thought had arrived. A dangerous one.

One he has been trying not to think about. The future. Not in a vague way. A specific one.

One with school drop-offs.

Family photos.

Tiny shoes by the front door.

A backyard.

A swing set.

The image arrived so clearly it startled him. Then disappeared just as quickly. You emerged from the store carrying drinks.

"Why are you standing there like that?"

Steve looked up. "What?"

"You've been staring at the gas pump."

"Oh."

You handed him a bottle of water. "Everything okay?"

The answer should've been easy. Instead, he twisted the cap open and looked away. "Yeah." A pause. "Just thinking."

"That never ends well."

That got a laugh out of him. "You know me too well."

"I literally live with you."

"Fair."

You climbed into the passenger seat. The conversation moved on. But the feeling didn't. It followed him back onto the highway. Followed him through the next town. The next mile. The next hour.

Because lately, everything seemed to remind him that time was moving.  The realization settled deeper later that evening. They found a small lake completely by accident. One of those places that wasn't in any travel brochure. Just a random turnoff.

A stretch of water glowing gold under the setting sun.

The two of you sat on the hood of the car. Shoes dangling over the bumper. Watching the light change. Neither of you speaking much. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It never was.

"Hey." Your voice broke the silence.

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

Steve smiled immediately. Because you always knew. Somehow you always knew.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

A laugh escaped him. You lifted your head. "Seriously."

He looked out at the lake. At the sunlight disappearing across the water. Then he sighed. Slowly. "I don't know." Not confused. Just honest.

The kind of answer he only gave when there wasn’t a better one. The lake kept moving like nothing had changed.

You didn’t push him.

You never really had to.

Steve shifted slightly on the hood of the car, hands resting loosely beside him. One of his knees bumped yours. A familiar kind of quiet settled again. But this one felt different.

After a while, he exhaled through his nose, almost like he was laughing at himself. “You know what’s weird?” You hummed. He looked down for a second before speaking again.

“I keep thinking about how many times we’ve done this.” A small pause. “Not this exact thing,” he added quickly, like he didn’t want it to sound dramatic. “But like us. Going somewhere. Just us.”

You glanced at him. Steve stared out at the lake. 

“I think this might be the last time it looks like this.”

That landed differently. Not because it was sad. Because it was true in a way neither of you needed explained.

He wasn’t talking about the trip. Not really. He was talking about the shape of your life.

You nudged his shoulder lightly. “We’re still going to travel.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re still going to do things.”

“I know.”

A pause again. Then quieter: “It just won’t be like this.”

The two of you. No schedule that wasn’t yours. No one waiting at home except responsibilities you could ignore for a week. No future needing attention every five minutes.

Just each other.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, like he was trying to figure out how to say the next part without making it too big.

But it wasn’t really big.

Not to you.

Not to him.

You have had this conversation before.

Not once. Not dramatically. Not like a movie scene. In pieces. Over months.

In bed at night. In the kitchen while doing dishes. In quiet “what if” moments that never needed answers right away. So when he finally said it, it didn’t feel new.

“I want it,” he said. You looked at him. He didn’t look away this time. “I want a family.” Then, softer, almost like he was reminding both of you: “I’ve wanted it. I just… keep noticing it more lately.”

He gave a small, uneven smile. “Like it’s been sitting there the whole time and I just finally learned how to see it.”

Silence.

Not awkward.

Not heavy.

Just full.

He glanced at you then, finally.

“And I don’t mean like tomorrow or anything,” he added quickly, because of course he did. “I just mean… I’m ready. When we are.”

Another pause. Then, quieter:

“I think this is the last trip where it’s just us like this.”

You were still sitting beside him on the hood of the car, close enough that your shoulders touched. He cleared his throat once, like he was trying to reset himself. Then a second time, softer. “I didn’t mean for that to turn into a whole thing,” he said, but there was no real panic in it.

You bumped your knee against his. “It’s not a thing,” you said.

A pause. Then, quieter: “It’s just us talking.”

That got him to look at you properly. Like he was checking if you meant it. You did. Steve’s expression shifted a little after that, less guarded, more present. Like he’d stopped trying to frame the conversation in the “future” and was just letting it exist in the “now.”

“That’s dangerous,” he muttered lightly.

“What is?”

“Us talking like that,” he said. “We start saying things and then suddenly they become plans.”

You smiled slightly. “That’s kind of how it’s always worked.” He let out a quiet laugh at that, because it was true. Everything you’d ever built together had started exactly like this, half jokes, half honesty, no clear line between them.

The wind moved across the lake again. Steve glanced down at your hand resting near his. Then, like it was the simplest thing in the world, he took it.  His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“I keep thinking about it,” he admitted after a moment.

“About what?” He hesitated, just long enough for it to matter. “…Doing it for real,” he said quietly. “Not just talking about it anymore.”

You didn’t need him to clarify. You never really did. The words sat there between you, steady and unhurried. A decision that wasn’t being made in that second, just acknowledged out loud.

You turned your hand slightly in his. “You mean while we’re out here?” you asked softly. Steve gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “Maybe.”

It didn’t take long before Steve kissed you. First a bit hurried, before going slow. Still on the hood of his car, no one around, just them at this silent pretty lake. His hands going softly under your shirt before he looks up for some. “What do you think?”

“Yeah” You just murmur for a second looking at him as well, forehead resting to his. “We are ready.” You hum to him before he kisses you again. All the reassurance he needed to know he can continue. His hand going higher under your shirt, just brushing your boobs a little bit as he laughs softly. “You will look so pretty pregnant.” 

It didn’t take long, probably 5 minutes of making out and being handsy, before he gets you out of your jeans. Fumbling with his own belt a little before you take it over. “Calm down” You say gigglish. Nervous Steve Harrington was one of the most cutest moods he could be in. This moment sort of a reminder of your first time with him. Which was not in a car, but the same clumsy nervous look on his face like right now.

Your hands take over, getting him his belt off, before palming him through his boxers. He just pushing his jeans a little down, not fully, not wanting to be fully exposed in the open. He rubs you over your panties, while you palm him over his boxers for some time. Half grinding softly on his hand, while he rubs your clit through it. 

Lips pressed against one another, before Steve looks around for a couple of seconds, standing fully in front of you while you sit on the hood. Pushing his own boxers down and then your panties to the side. 

Usually Steve was more of a foreplay guy, but in public, while just really wanting to fill you up. No he just wanted to dive straight in to be fair. He rubs his tip against your folds softly, coating himself in your wetness. Rubbing himself over your clit, rubbing himself just over the entrance, anything to hear those pretty whines out of your mouth.

“Steve” You complain after he took too long. Pressing another small peck to his lips, before pushing your hips closer to his. And he does what you want, slowly slipping inside of you. “Jesus, you really are made for me” He says against your neck, while he bottoms out inside of you. Soft kisses pressed just below your ear as his breathing gets the tiniest bit heavier.

He takes his time, unsure if he should try to make it more romantic or more as a quick fuck outside. Which makes you decide yourself as you buck your hips. “Just fuck me steve” you whine as he laughs a bit before nodding. “yeah sorry sorry” His hips starting to move, his hands on your waist to keep himself steady. As he stands in between your legs.

He goes slow first, loving the feeling of your pussy squeezing him. Slowly going faster, his hand going from your waist to your stomach as he pushes you down. Just so you lay on the hood instead of sitting.

“Just lay there for me pretty girl.” He says, hand keeps being on your tummy as he has pushed your shirt a bit up. Fascinated while fixating his eyes on it. “Gonna look so pretty filled up with my baby” He says breathy, half moaning. As you keep your moans in, teeth biting your lip as you roll your eyes back when he starts touching your clit aswell.

Slow circles first, before he goes faster. Wanting to feel you finish on him as fast as possible. Some ruffling comes from a tree as your face immediately goes that way. Steve doesn’t stop, going a little faster even. “Probably a animal baby” He says feeling you come closer and clenching around him. “Steve” is all you can say in that moany voice, before pressing your lips close again. Your own hand now going to cover your mouth.

He goes harder in his thrusts, and it doesn’t take long before he feels you finish and squeeze around him. “Good girl” he says his hand going back from your clit to your tummy. Pressing on where that uterus is, half feeling himself trust into there. “Gonna fill you up now okay?” He says looking at you while you nod. “Please Steve” 

“Yeah you want my babies huh” He says breathy before leaning forward just to press some more kisses to your lips and finally finishing inside of you. He stays in you for a couple of minutes, before pulling himself out. Pressing the cum back in a couple of times, giving you a kiss on your thighs. Before finally cleaning you up. And coming to lay next to you, his pants all back on, he had helped to put yours back on aswell, as they lay together on the hood of the car.

After a while, he gave a small laugh under his breath. “I was right about the trip,” he murmured. You glanced at him. “What about it?”

Steve looked up at the sky for a second before answering. “It wasn’t just a trip,” he said. “It was… I don’t know. A line we were crossing.” He turned back to you then.

His voice gentler. “And I’m glad it was with you.” The words settled easily between you.

Steve shifted slightly, forehead brushing yours for a second.“We should probably stay here a little longer,” he added quietly.

A/N: Hi hi! Hope you all like it. I am still trying to get better at actual smut writing, because it is pretty new to me. So hopefully I did okayish? For this story I was inspired by a random tiktok I saw "the last roadtrip with Steve before starting a family". inspired by @stvveou on tiktok!

[emmiewritesz]

Chapter 1: Summer After Graduation

Innocence Looks Good on You ✩ Rich boy Steve Harrington x The innocent and untouchable girl (ongoing series)

Next chapter

Minors do NOT interact ✩ nsfw content ✩ smut (later in story)

Chapter 1: Summer After Graduation

Summary: You were supposed to be someone from high school. Someone boring. Someone forgettable. Then you showed up at a party, looked completely out of place, and somehow became the only thing Steve Harrington could pay attention to all night.

Warnings/tags: Vulgar language, no use of Y/N, nickname usage, sexual implications, rich boy steve, purity ring, innocence, virgin reader, party, steve's POV, dual POV story.

W/C: 2.3K

Innocence Looks Good on You ✩ Rich boy Steve Harrington x The innocent and untouchable girl (ongoing series)

Steve Harrington Masterlist

(Steve's POV)

I thought I wouldn’t have to see her anymore. 

That was the agreement I made in my head, anyway.

Hawkins had a way of keeping people in their lanes, but graduation was supposed to fix that. Everyone splits, everyone disappears, everyone goes off to pretend they’re someone else for a while.

And yet. There you were. At a party you had absolutely no business being at. Standing there like you didn’t realize what kind of room you’d walked into. Or worse, like you did, and didn’t care.

Same look as always too. Quiet. Composed. Untouched. That annoying kind of perfect where nothing ever seems to stick to you. Like Hawkins tried to get its hands on you and just… slipped off.

I leaned against the wall with a drink I wasn’t really tasting anymore, watching you like I wasn’t. Which was bullshit. You turned your head once. And we locked eyes. Just a couple seconds. Long enough to be something. Short enough to pretend it wasn’t.

No smile.

No flinch.

No “oh my god, Steve Harrington is looking at me” reaction.

Nothing.

Just those puppy eyes that always made me wonder how pretty you would look on your knees in front of me.

Robin came up beside me, laughing before she even looked where I was looking. “Didn’t know Miss Perfect knew how to party.” She slapped my shoulder like she was trying to wake me up from something. I didn’t look away. 

“She doesn’t,” I said.

Robin followed my line of sight and immediately groaned.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“That’s not ‘what.’ That’s her.”

I finally glanced at her. “Yeah. I know who she is.”

“That’s the problem,” Robin said. “You’re staring like you forgot how eyes work.”

“I’m not staring.”

“Steve.”

I took a drink. “What.”

“That’s staring.”

I ignored her. Mostly. Because you were still there. Still not moving like you belonged. Still not reacting like you cared who was watching. Like the whole party could’ve burned down and you do still just be standing there deciding whether it was worth your time.

Jonathan showed up a second later, looking between me and you like he already knew he was walking into something annoying.

He laughed once. “You’re still on that?”

“On what?”

“You know exactly what.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not on anything.”

“Sure,” Jonathan said. “She doesn’t want you, man.”

That actually got me to look at him.

“Did I say she did?”

“You didn’t have to.”

Eddie appeared right after that like he’d smelled drama from across the yard.

He looked at you, then at me.

“Oh wow,” he said. “That’s who we’re doing this over?”

“We’re not doing anything,” I said immediately.

Eddie grinned. “You’re doing something. You’re just pretending it’s not happening yet.” Robin sighed. “Can we not turn Steve’s emotional constipation into a group discussion?” I ignored all of them again. Because you shifted. Just slightly. Like you were thinking about leaving. And I felt it instantly.

That small, stupid tension in my chest like I was waiting for you to make a decision I didn’t get a vote in. You didn’t leave. Of course you didn’t. People like you didn’t just walk into places and bail. You stayed. Quietly. Like you were proving something no one else understood.

Jonathan’s voice dropped a bit. “You are not her type.” I almost laughed. You didn’t date, we didn’t know if you even have a type. “We don’t know that,” I said.

Robin looked at me like I’d just said something interesting for the first time all night. “Oh,” she said slowly. “So that’s what this is.”

“This isn’t anything.”

Even I didn’t believe that sentence. Because I kept looking. And you kept not reacting. Which was, honestly, starting to piss me off in a way I couldn’t explain. Because everyone reacts. That’s the whole point.

But you just… existed there.

Untouched.

Unbothered.

Like you were above the noise of it all.

Across the yard, someone brushed into you. You barely moved. Just adjusted your stance like it didn’t matter.

No laughter.

No fluster.

No glance around to see who saw it.

Nothing.

And I swear that did more than anything else. Because people here were always performing something. You weren’t performing anything. Robin nudged me again.

“You’re going over there.”

“No I’m not.”

“Steve.”

“I said no.”

I didn’t move. Which meant I was already lying. Because I was already thinking about what I’d say when I got there. Something casual. Something easy. Something that wouldn’t sound like I’d been watching you all night like an idiot.

Eddie smirked. “Be careful, man.”

“Of what?”

“That kind of girl doesn’t usually go for your usual bullshit.”

I let out a short laugh.

“My usual bullshit works just fine.”

Robin raised her eyebrows. “Does it?”

I didn’t answer that. Because you started walking slightly toward the edge of the party again. Like you were testing your exit. And I hated how quickly I noticed it. You didn’t leave. Again. And something in me made a decision before I did. I pushed off the wall.

“Where are you going?” Robin asked.

“Nowhere,” I said.

And started walking anyway. Not because I had a plan. Not because I knew what I was doing. But because for the first time tonight, you felt like something I couldn’t just ignore. And I’ve never been good at ignoring anything I want to figure out.

I should've turned around. That's what normal people would've done. Walk away. Grab another drink. Find a girl who was already looking at me. Forget about it by tomorrow morning. Easy. Instead, I kept walking. Across the yard, through groups of people I'd known practically my entire life.

That's the thing about Hawkins. Everybody knew everybody. And if they didn't know you, they knew someone who did.

The party was packed with familiar faces. Former teammates. People I do gone to school with since kindergarten. Half of them were heading to college in the fall. The other half were pretending they had a plan.

I was probably somewhere in the middle. My parents wanted me at some business program. I wanted to spend the summer doing absolutely nothing. Neither side was winning.

"Ten bucks says she tells him to fuck off."

Eddie's voice carried over the music. I didn't even have to turn around to know he was talking about me. "Twenty says she doesn't even let him finish a sentence," Robin answered.

"You're both assholes."

Jonathan sounded bored. Which meant he was definitely listening. I flipped them off over my shoulder without looking back. That got a laugh out of Eddie.

My friends were the worst. Not that I was much better. We  somehow ended up stuck together over the years.

Robin had been around forever. Our moms were friends. Which basically meant she has spent her entire life reminding me when I was being an idiot. Unfortunately for me, she was usually right. 

Jonathan was quieter. Spent most of high school acting like he didn't care about anything. Which would've been convincing if I hadn't known him for years.

And Eddie… Eddie was Eddie. No explanation necessary. If chaos ever became a person, it'd probably look like him. I glanced back once. They were all watching. Of course they were. Assholes.

I looked away before they could see me smile. Then my attention landed back on you. You were standing near the back fence now. Away from most people. Talking to one of your friends. Not laughing. Just listening. The same way you always listened in school.

I remembered that. Which was weird. Because I didn't remember most things from school. I barely remembered half my classes. But somehow I remembered you.

Always sitting near the front. Always paying attention. Always wearing that ring. I remembered guys making jokes about it. I remembered girls talking about it. I remembered hearing your name attached to words like innocent and sweet and perfect.

Words I usually ignored. You never given anyone much else to talk about. No scandals. No drama. Nothing. You'd gone through high school without ever becoming a story. That alone was impressive. Especially in Hawkins.

You finally laughed at something your friend said. It wasn't loud. Wasn't dramatic. Just enough to catch my attention. Which was becoming a problem. I stopped a few feet away. Close enough to talk. Far enough away to leave if I wanted.

You looked up almost immediately. Like you'd already noticed me coming. That shouldn't have surprised me. But it did. Because most people were too busy watching themselves around me.

You seemed to spend more time watching everyone else. For a second neither of us said anything. You looked exactly as unimpressed as before. Which honestly felt a little personal at this point. I shoved my hands into my pockets.

"Hi beautiful. You're still here." The second it left my mouth I knew it was stupid. I always did that, stupid lil nicknames to annoy you. You never wanted to be associated with the guy who hooks up with every girl in hawkins.

You raised an eyebrow. "So are you."

Fair. Your friend looked between us. Then looked at you. Then at me. Then suddenly found something very interesting happening somewhere else. 

Traitor.

I watched her disappear into the crowd. Leaving you alone. You watched her go too. Like you were debating whether to follow. "Thought this wasn't your thing."

You looked back at me. "What isn't?" I gestured vaguely. 

The party.

The people.

The entire scene.

"You seem pretty confident for someone who keeps showing up places she doesn't belong."

That got a reaction. Tiny. But it was there.

"You don't think I belong here?"

I shrugged. "I think you're the only person here who looks like they're grading everyone." That almost got a smile. Almost.

Instead, you crossed your arms. "I'm not grading anyone."

"Sure."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

The corner of your mouth twitched. And for some ridiculous reason, that felt like a victory. Small. Pathetic. But a victory.

"Maybe you're just nervous." The words slipped out before I could stop them. Your eyes narrowed immediately. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"The Steve Harrington everyone talks about."

I laughed. "People talk about me?"

"Unfortunately."

That one actually got me. I looked away for a second, shaking my head. Then I glanced back. You looked pleased with yourself. Which was annoying. Mostly because you deserved to be. "Thought you said you weren't judging." You pointed at me. "That was an observation."

"Right."

"It was."

"You sound very sure about that."

"I am."

God. You really were impossible. Not because you were mean. Or difficult. You just never gave me what I expected. Every conversation felt slightly off balance. Like I was constantly missing a step. And somehow that only made me want to keep talking.

A loud cheer erupted somewhere behind us. Somebody had definitely done something stupid. The party carried on around us. People shouting over one another.

Normally I'd be over there. Normally I'd be in the middle of it. Instead, I was standing here. Talking to you.

Which suddenly felt ridiculous.

You looked like you were thinking the same thing. Like the conversation had gone on longer than either of us intended. Like we'd both accidentally ended up somewhere we shouldn't be. I cleared my throat.

"Well."

Brilliant, Harrington.

You glanced toward the crowd. Then back at me. Then away again. Neither of us said anything. For the first time all night, you looked unsure. Not nervous. Just aware. Aware that people noticed things. People talked. 

Especially in Hawkins. 

Especially about people like us.

You and me were never supposed to overlap. Not really. You belonged in one version of this town. I belonged in another. That was how it worked. And even everytime we had talked in highschool we had felt the same way. We aren’t each others crowd.

"I should probably go find my friends." The words came out before I could stop them. You nodded almost immediately. "Probably." There was no disappointment in your voice. No attempt to keep talking. Which should've made leaving easier.

Instead it did the opposite. Because for some reason, I wanted one more sentence. One more reason to stay standing there. One more excuse. I hated that.

"You staying long pretty girl?" I asked. Your eyebrows lifted slightly. Like you'd caught me doing something. 

"Why?"

"No reason."

That was a lie. You knew it. I knew it. Neither of us pointed it out. "I don't know," you said eventually. Then after a second: "Probably not."

I nodded. "Right." Another silence. Long enough to become awkward. Short enough that neither of us moved. This was stupid. Completely stupid. I didn't think about girls after one conversation. Hell, I barely thought about most people after one conversation.

Yet somehow I already knew I would be spending the rest of the night looking for you in every room. Not because I cared. Not because I was interested.

Just because...

Actually, I didn't have a good reason.

And that annoyed me more than anything.

You shifted your weight. "I should get back." There it was. The exit. The thing we both should've done ten minutes ago. "Yeah." I stepped aside. You gave a small nod. Then you walked away.

I watched you disappear back into the crowd. Immediately regretted watching. Immediately looked anyway. Because apparently I was an idiot. 

Across the yard, Robin caught me staring. She groaned dramatically. I flipped her off. She laughed. And somehow that made it worse. Because now everybody was going to think something was happening. When nothing was happening.

Absolutely nothing.

I grabbed another drink and forced myself to look anywhere else. At my friends. At the party. At literally anyone. It lasted maybe thirty seconds. Then my eyes found you again.

And for the first time all night, I started thinking graduation might not have solved my problem after all.

Innocence Looks Good on You ✩ Rich boy Steve Harrington x The innocent and untouchable girl (ongoing series)

Next chapter

A/N: My first chapter! Give me some feedback if you guys have any. I am not super confident in smut writing yet. Which isn't in this chapter yet, but will be later on. If anyone has some tips lol! Would love them!

Taglist: @strangegirl26sff @stoneyggirl2 @pr33tygirlavenue @chrrygrly @ilikereadinghardcoresmut Ask in comments to be added to the taglist!

[emmiewritesz]

Second Meeting

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series

Previous chapter

Chapter 3: Second Meeting

Summary: Joe is back in LA. It’s nothing special on paper, just a message, a call, and a simple plan to meet up again. But between casual conversation, coffee, and time that runs longer than expected, things start to feel a little more familiar than either of them probably planned for.

Warnings/tags: No use of y/n, meeting irl, no established relationship yet, friends

W/C: 1.9K

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Joe Keery Masterlist

Joe is back in LA.

That’s really all there is to it.

It doesn’t land like a big event or anything that needs attention. It just becomes part of your week the same way other things do, streams, messages, edits, normal routines that keep moving whether you think about them or not.

You’ve already been in contact regularly anyway. Texting when something funny happens. Sending clips when either of you catches something worth reacting to. Calling sometimes when typing feels like too much effort for whatever you’re trying to say. It’s all steady now. Not constant, not scheduled. Just there when it fits.

Today is no different. You’re between things when your phone buzzes. A message from him. “you busy or just doing stuff” You glance at it, sitting back slightly in your chair. “just doing stuff” Almost immediately: “same. you free for a bit or still in stuff mode”

You exhale a small laugh through your nose. “can call” No overthinking. No buildup. Just that.

The call connects quickly. “Hey,” he says. “Hey,” you reply. A short pause. Then, at the same time: “You’re busy?” 

“Not really.” Another small pause. “Cool,” he says. “Yeah.” That’s it. The conversation starts like that most of the time now. No formal entry. Just already being in it. You’re still sitting at your desk, half turned in your chair, not really in any specific posture that would suggest you were preparing for a call. It’s just happening in the background of your day while you mentally keep track of other things you were doing before it started.

He sounds the same as always. Relaxed. Slightly distracted in the way people are when they’re not doing anything in particular while talking. “What are you up to?” you ask.

“Nothing important,” he says. “I’m in LA for the week.” You hum slightly. “That sounds like a vague schedule.”

“It is a vague schedule.”

“Seems reliable.”

“It’s the most reliable kind I’ve had recently.” You snort quietly. There’s a short stretch of conversation that doesn’t really have direction. Not awkward. Just unstructured. He mentions something about meetings earlier in the day. You mention a stream clip that annoyed you a little but not enough to actually care about. He reacts like he’s seen something similar before, which he probably has at this point.

“I’ll probably be around most of the week here.” You glance at your screen for a second. Not because it changes anything immediately. Just because it sits there for a moment before you respond. “Yeah?” you say.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “So I’m around LA for the week.”

“Got it.”

The call keeps going the way it has been going for a while now. Not in any structured sense. Just drifting between topics without needing transitions that make them feel important. At some point, the conversation circles back to nothing in particular. You’re both quieter for a moment, not because anything ended, just because there’s nothing immediate being said.

Then he speaks again. “I might actually have a bit of free time tomorrow,” he says. You hum slightly, still half leaning back in your chair. “That sounds nice” “Yeah. Like, proper free time. Not the ‘I should be doing something but I’m not sure what yet’ kind.”

“That’s a rare category.”

“It is. I checked.”

You let out a small laugh. There’s a pause after that. Not heavy. Just… open. You can hear faint background noise on his end again, something shifting, maybe him moving around the room. Nothing distracting. Just present enough to remind you it’s a call, not a recording.

Then, casually, like it’s not anything more than a thought he just decided to say out loud: “We could probably meet up again while I’m here.” You blink slightly. Not because it feels dramatic. Just because you didn’t expect it.

You glance down at your desk for a second before answering. “Yeah,” you say. “We probably could.” Another pause. Not awkward. Just slightly more aware than the ones before it. He continues, still casual.

“Nothing complicated. Just like… coffee or something. Or food. I don’t know what normal people do when they meet up twice.”

“Usually they repeat the same thing,” you reply. “So coffee or food is actually correct.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“It’s very structured behavior.”

“I respect that.” You can hear the small laugh in his voice again.

“Alright. Tomorrow then?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “Tomorrow.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Another beat.

Then: “Talk later.”

“Yeah. Talk later.” And the call ends.

The next day doesn’t feel like it’s building toward anything special. It just arrives the same way every other day does.

You wake up, scroll a bit longer than you mean to, get up, make coffee in the usual slightly chaotic way that results in a spoon left somewhere you’ll forget about until later, and eventually settle into the idea that the day has started whether you feel ready for it or not. There is a stream planned later. And somewhere in between all of that sits the fact that you’re meeting Joe today.

You don’t text about it much in the morning. There’s no buildup conversation. No checking in repeatedly. Just the normal rhythm that has already become standard between you. A message at some point earlier: “still good for later?”  And his reply: “yeah, still works” That’s it.

When you arrive, it’s not a dramatic entrance for either of you. There’s no cinematic timing. No perfect moment where you both show up at the exact same second. You get there first.

You’re standing near the agreed spot, hands loosely occupied with your phone, not really scrolling, just holding it out of habit more than need. A minute or two passes. Then you see him. He spots you pretty quickly. Raises a hand slightly in acknowledgment before he gets closer. “Hey,” he says when he’s close enough. “Hey,” you reply.

There’s a second where you both just… stand there. Not because it’s uncomfortable. Just because there’s no immediate script for what comes after “hi” when you’ve already talked for hours on calls and messages. Then he gestures slightly with his head. “Coffee?” he asks. “Yeah,” you say. “That works.” And you start walking.

The place itself isn’t important really. It’s just a café. Normal noise. Normal movement. People doing their own things without paying attention to anything outside their immediate space. You fall into a table near the side without needing to think about it too much.

It feels familiar in a way that doesn’t quite match the fact that you’re technically meeting someone in person again. But it still sort of feel like meeting for the first time.

There’s a second where you both just sit there. He breaks it first, leaning back slightly in his chair and looking around the café like he’s actually taking it in now that the initial moment has passed. “This is a good café,” he says. You glance at him. “That’s a strong opinion for five seconds of observation.”

“I work fast.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“I’m efficient.” You shake your head slightly, but you’re smiling a little. The coffee arrives and neither of you really announce it or make a moment out of it. It just appears, gets moved slightly out of the way, and immediately becomes part of the conversation like it was always supposed to be there.

He wraps his hands around his cup for a second, not drinking yet, just holding it. You notice it without thinking much about it. “So,” he says after a moment, “this feels normal faster than I expected.” You tilt your head slightly. “You expected it to feel abnormal longer?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Like at least a little awkward phase.”

“There was a phase,” you say.

“When?”

“Like… thirty seconds ago when we just stood there.”

He laughs at that. “True. Very intense thirty seconds.”

“Emotionally challenging.”

“Life altering, honestly.”

Then it settles again naturally. “So,” he says, resting back in his chair a little, “how was your day before this extremely impactful meeting?” You glance at him like you’re considering how honest to be, then shrug lightly. “Normal,” you say. “Work stuff. Emails. A bit of editing. I tried to be productive and mostly succeeded in confusing myself instead.”

“That sounds like a productive day in disguise.”

“It’s very efficient chaos.”

He nods like that checks out. “I had interviews earlier,” he says. “A couple of promo things. Then studio for a bit.”

“Still doing a lot of that?” you ask.

“Yeah. It’s kind of a mix right now. Interviews, sessions, trying to make everything sound coherent when people ask about it in a sentence.”

“That sounds stressful.”

“It’s fine,” he says, then pauses. “Actually, it’s more repetitive than stressful.”

You tilt your head slightly. “I hate that.”

“Yeah,” he agrees immediately.

He takes another sip of coffee, then glances at you. “You’re better at this than I expected,” he says. “At sitting in a café?”

“At talking,” he corrects. “In person. It’s very natural.” You blink slightly at that, then shrug. “I talk a lot,” you say. “We have met before, you know how I am.”

“Still,” he says. “There’s a difference between talking online on video and talking like this.”

“Is there?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Online feels like you’re always aware of being observed. This doesn’t.”

You think about that for a second, then nod once. “That makes sense.” He smiles slightly like he’s glad you didn’t overcomplicate it.

The rest of the coffee meet up was comfortable. Talking about life, random things. Some small stories about their living in LA. Tiny small silent parts where they both just drink their drinks and look at one another. 

When they finished their drinks, they still stayed seated. Talking and talking and yeah it was way too comfortable between the two. Like two best friends just joking around, having fun and knowing one another their whole life. 3 hours later of drinks and even a shared cake you let out a little sight. “I am sorry, but I have streaming obligations.” An apologetic look in your eyes.

“We should do this again sometime.” Joe says way too quickly after saying you have to leave. A soft comfortable smile on your face as you nod. “Yeah whenever you are in LA.” You respond trying to keep it light and open. 

“What about tomorrow?” He says as I look at him. “I can after the stream in the evening?” You respond and he nods eager, maybe a little too eager. “Okay”

When you both stand, it’s almost automatic now. Not synced on purpose. Just aligned. He grabs his jacket, you adjust your bag. No one rushes.

At the door, there’s a pause again, but shorter this time. Not loaded. Just transitional. He looks at you briefly. “Text me when you get home?” he says. It’s casual. Not asked like a favor, more like a habit already forming without being named. “Yeah,” you say. “Will do.” He nods. “Cool.”

“Cool.” And then you both step out into the rest of the day without making it into something bigger than it is.

The walk home doesn’t feel long. Not in a noticeable way at least. By the time you’re unlocking your door, your phone is already in your hand again like it never really left it. You step inside, close the door behind you, and only then properly look at the screen. There’s already a message waiting.

“I really enjoyed today, can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

Fuck you like him.

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Previous chapter

Taglist: @hermionelaufeyson @omgwoah15 @sweatydjoshoes @noodlestheexplorer @magnificentcitadelcrest @eller41 @lilacdreamrxo

[emmiewritesz]

JKCU Melting Into a Kiss

Masterlist

Includes: Steve, Gator, Kurt, Keys, Teacake/Travis

Tiktok trend: seeing if they melt into the kiss

“Steve, can you stand like this?”

You lift your arms out to the sides. He blinks. “Like… this?”

“Yeah. Just copy me.”

He does it immediately, a little unsure, arms going up like he’s trying not to mess it up. You step closer while he’s still adjusting.

“Hold still.”

He laughs under his breath. “You’re being weird right now.”

“Just trust me.”

That makes him stop talking. You’re close enough now that he forgets what his arms are supposed to be doing.

“Okay,” he says softer.

And when you lean in and kiss him, he doesn’t hold the pose for more than a second.

His arms drop almost instantly, like his body gave up pretending that was ever the point. When you pull back, he is smiling like he is trying to act normal again.

“Gator, can you stand like this?”

He looks at you like he’s deciding whether this is worth humoring. “…Why.”

“Just do it.” A beat. Then he does. Not awkwardly. Not playfully. Like he is committing to it properly, even if he thinks it is dumb.

Arms up. Still. Controlled.

“This better have a point,” he mutters.

You step closer. His jaw tightens immediately. He notices the shift before anything even happens, and that’s where the attitude starts to slip.

“Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t move away. You don’t answer. That’s what gets him. He steps in first.

The kiss is immediate, not hesitant, not soft at the edges, but decisive, like he do rather take control of the moment than sit in it and think about it too long.

His arms drop as soon as it happens, like the pose was never part of the real situation.

When you pull back, he’s still close. Still watching you like he is annoyed that it worked… and more annoyed that he didn’t stop it.

“Kurt, can you stand like this?”

He looks at you. Immediately suspicious. “…Why?”

“Just do it.”

You lift your arms out to the sides. He copies you, but slower, like he is testing whether this is going to embarrass him.

“This is weird,” he mutters.

“You’re still doing it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He keeps his arms up… for a while. But it starts getting awkward. He shifts his weight. Adjusts his hands. Doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. “So what now?” he asks.

But you’re already closer. And that’s where he stops talking. The kiss happens and he goes still for half a second like his system lagged.

When you pull away, his arms are still kind of up there. Then he drops them too fast like he just remembered he has a body. “…Okay,” he says quietly, like he is trying to recover.

But he doesn’t say anything more about it. Just looks at you with that awkward grin on his face.

“Keys, can you stand like this?”

He pauses. “…Is this a test?”

“No.”

You lift your arms out to the sides. He nods once. Then mirrors you exactly. Precise. Correct. No improvisation. “Like this?”

“Perfect.” He stays like that. Completely committed to it. Even when you step closer. Even when the distance stops making sense. His expression shifts slightly, but his arms stay where they are.

“This feels… intentional,” he says quietly.

“It is.”

That earns the smallest reaction from him. But he doesn’t move. You kiss him. He freezes for half a second. Then responds, carefully at first, like he is still technically following instructions.

And even after, when you pull away, his arms are still up. Like he is waiting for the next step. “…Do I lower them now?” he asks.

“Teacake, can you stand like this?”

He is already smiling before you finish the sentence. “Like… a test? Because I feel like I’m going to fail this in a really embarrassing way.”

You lift your arms out to the sides. He mirrors you instantly.

“Oh, this is easy,” he says. “Okay, I thought it was going to be something complicated like emotional vulnerability or trust falls or..”

You cut him off “Just stay like that.”

“Right, right, I am staying like this.”

He drops his arms almost immediately without realizing it, because he is already too focused on you stepping closer. “Wait, am I supposed to keep my arms up? I feel like I was supposed to keep my arms up.”

“You were.”

“That feels like important information you should have led with.” You’re closer now. He notices mid-sentence.

And still doesn’t stop talking. “Okay, I think I understand what this is now, I think this is one of those...”

You kiss him.

He pauses for half a second against your mouth. Then, very softly, like he forgot he was supposed to stop:

“Oh okay, yeah, that makes sense actually.” His words blur into the kiss instead of stopping it. Not quiet. Just distracted.

Like he is still trying to finish a thought he already abandoned. When you pull back, he’s smiling immediately.

“Oh wow,” he says, still too close, still clearly not done talking. “I was not emotionally prepared for that, but also I think I might’ve been slightly right about what was happening there.” He laughs under his breath.

Then adds, like it’s unrelated but definitely isn’t: “Your timing is kind of insane, by the way.” And he is already leaning in again while he’s still talking.

[emmiewritesz]

Innocence Looks Good on You

Rich boy Steve Harrington x The innocent and untouchable girl (ongoing series)

Minors do NOT interact ✩ nsfw content ✩ smut

Summary: Steve Harrington has never been told no for very long.

Being rich makes things easy. Being a Harrington makes them even easier. The parties, the girls, the attention, everything always seemed to find its way into his hands eventually. And if it didn't, Steve was used to making it happen.

Then there is you.

The girl with the purity ring around your finger and a promise made years ago that you've never broken. The girl who leaves parties before midnight, who blushes when people make certain jokes, who somehow manages to stay untouched in a town where everyone seems desperate to grow up too fast.

You should be boring.

Instead, Steve can't stop thinking about you.

He knew you from highschool, ofcourse he does. And it makes his cravings for you look more like a obsession. A obsession to corrupt the innocent girl with the purity ring. Because every boundary you set only makes him want to step closer. Every polite rejection lingers in his mind longer than any girl who ever said yes. For the first time in his life, there's something he can't have and Steve Harrington has never handled that very well.

The closer he gets, the messier everything becomes.

Late night drives through Hawkins. Lingering stares across crowded rooms. Fingers brushing for a second too long. A friendship that starts feeling dangerous long before either of you are willing to admit why.

Everyone knows Steve Harrington is trouble.

The problem is that you're starting to know him too.

And somewhere between innocence and temptation, promises and desire, you're both about to discover that some lines are much harder to keep than they look.

Warnings/tags: No use of y/n, angst, fluff, heavy smut, MDNI, smut with plot, no talk about super natural things, no talk about the upside down, Steve is a rich boy, neglectful parents, vulgar language, sexualization, both POV's, corruption kink, obsessive behavior, just graduated, toxic parents, first person

W/C: TBC

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Main storyline

✩:: Chapter 1: Summer After Graduation (Steve's POV)

✩:: Chapter 2: Normal Again (Your POV)

✩:: Chapter 3: It Doesn’t Leave My Head (Steve's POV) (undecided date)

(more coming soon)

Inspiration: Million Kisses in your Lifetime by Monica Murphy (Book)

A/N: I got inspired by one of my favorite smutty books lol! It is absolutely very different, but i love the concept of rich boy x innocent girl. So hopefully this will work out! I will be writing two series at the same time. So hopefully that will be going great.

Taglist: @strangegirl26sff @stoneyggirl2 @pr33tygirlavenue @chrrygrly @ilikereadinghardcoresmut @eller41 @68trash37 @cuddlyeren Ask in comments to be added to the taglist!

[emmiewritesz]

thinking about how the different djolings would react to reader having bikini tan lines 😛

JKCU Reacting to Bikini Tan Lines

Masterlist

Includes: Steve, Gator, Kurt, Keys, Teacake/Travis

A/N: Thank you for your request! Really enjoyed this one and hopefully you will enjoy it too :)

Steve Harrington

Steve notices while you're stretched out beside him on the couch. He tries to keep talking. He really does. But his eyes flick downward for a second and suddenly he is forgotten whatever point he was making.

"What?" you ask. "Nothing." A pause. Then: "You should've worn more sunscreen." You laugh. "That's your takeaway?" His grin is sheepish, but there's something else underneath it. "No."

His hand settles against your knee absentmindedly, thumb brushing back and forth as the conversation slowly falls apart around you. By the time he finally leans in to kiss you, neither of you remembers what you were talking about in the first place.

Gator Tillman

Gator notices and doesn't look away fast enough. You catch him. His jaw tightens immediately.

"What?" you ask. "Nothin'." It's the most obvious lie you've ever heard. A smile starts tugging at your mouth. "Oh, you're staring."

"I'm not." He absolutely was. The teasing should end there, but instead it only seems to make him more stubborn. Every time you bring it up, his eyes flick back to you like he's trying to prove he isn't affected while very clearly being affected.

Eventually he's standing closer than before. Then closer still. "You think you're funny?" he asks. You shrug. "I think you're easy." That earns a laugh despite himself.

For a second, neither of you say anything. His eyes drop briefly before returning to yours. And suddenly it feels like you're having a completely different conversation than the one you started with.

Kurt Kunkle

Kurt notices. Not in a soft, accidental way, in a sudden stop-everything mid-sentence kind of way. He’s talking, then he isn’t. His eyes flick down, and whatever he was saying just… disappears.

You wait. Nothing. “Kurt?” He blinks like he’s just remembered where he is. “…Yeah.” But he’s not looking at your face anymore.

You shift slightly, already catching on. “Oh my God.” That finally gets a reaction, a short laugh, a breath through his nose, like he’s trying to play it off. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” That lands. You can see it in the way his expression changes, not embarrassment exactly, more like interest sharpening into focus he wasn’t planning on showing.

He leans back like he is trying to reset himself, but it doesn’t really work. His attention keeps slipping back to you, like it’s automatic now.

“Relax,” he says, but his voice is quieter than before.

The conversation tries to recover. It doesn’t. Every time you speak, he watches you like he is deciding something in real time. Every time you move, he notices.

At some point, the space between you stops feeling accidental. He shifts closer first, subtle, like it’s not intentional, like he’s just getting comfortable. Then again. His knee brushes yours and doesn’t move away. “You’re doing that on purpose,” he mutters.

“Doing what?” A pause. His eyes finally meet yours properly.

“That thing where you act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

The air between you changes after that. And Kurt doesn’t look away again.

Walter “Keys” McKey

Keys notices. Immediately looks away. Then spends the next hour trying very hard not to notice again. The problem is that now he is aware of it.

And once Keys becomes aware of something, it lives in his head forever. You're both working on separate things when he finally blurts out: "The tan lines are cute."

You stare at him. He stares back. The silence stretches. "I should've kept that to myself."

"Probably."

"Yeah." But neither of you go back to what you were doing. The laptops eventually get forgotten altogether.

Travis "Teacake" Meacham

Teacake notices almost immediately. Unlike most people, he doesn't pretend he didn't. His gaze lingers for a second before a slow smile appears. "That's cute."

You glance down. "The tan lines?"

"Yeah." The answer comes so naturally it catches you off guard. There's no teasing. No embarrassment. Just genuine appreciation. You roll your eyes anyway. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe." But he's still smiling. As the evening goes on, he keeps finding reasons to sit closer. His arm drapes along the back of the couch behind you. His knee brushes yours and stays there.

The conversation continues, but there's a warmth underneath it now. A quiet kind of flirting. The kind where neither person is trying very hard because they already know they're wanted. At some point you catch him looking again.

This time he doesn't even attempt to hide it. "What?" you ask.

"Nothing." The smile on his face says otherwise. A few seconds pass. Then he leans a little closer. And suddenly neither of you seem particularly interested in finishing the conversation.

[emmiewritesz]

First Time Calling

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Side story: First Time Calling

Summary: After weeks of texting and sending each other stream clips, your first call with Joe happens almost by accident. What starts as “this would be easier than typing” turns into a surprisingly easy, late night conversation that feels a little too natural for two people who technically barely know each other.

Warnings/tags: No use of y/n, not dating (yet), phone call, texting

W/C: 1.4K

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Joe Keery Masterlist

It doesn’t happen in a dramatic way. Nothing about it announces itself like a turning point. There’s no moment where you both agree that this is a big step or anything that would make it feel heavier than it actually is. It just… happens the way most things between you and him have started happening lately. Without planning it.

It starts, as usual, with nothing important.

A clip.

A short moment from your stream that had no intention of becoming anything outside of the stream itself, until chat did what chat always does and turned it into something slightly more chaotic than intended. You had been midsentence, trying to explain something completely normal, when someone in chat misunderstood it in real time and spiraled into a completely different interpretation. Within seconds, it had become a running joke in the room. You had laughed it off like you always did, corrected it once, then moved on.

But of course, it was clipped anyway. It always is. You see it later when you’re sitting down after stream, hair still slightly messy, half paying attention to your own reflection in a darkened monitor. The clip has already been reposted in a few places. The caption is dramatic in a way that makes you roll your eyes a little.

You don’t even think about it too long before sending it. It’s instinct now. A reflex. Something that happens before you even fully register that you’re doing it. “chat is actually insane btw” You add the clip and hit send. Then you set your phone down like it’s nothing.

A few minutes pass. Then your phone lights up again. “they are learning from you unfortunately” You snort quietly. Of course that’s what he replies with. There’s something about the way he responds to things now that feels different from how it started. Still casual, still light, but less like reacting and more like continuing.

You reply without overthinking it. “that is not my fault”

“it might be partially your fault”

“that is legally unprovable”

There’s a pause before the next message comes in. “you sound very confident for someone with a very chaotic chat” You glance at your screen, leaning back slightly in your chair. “confidence is part of the job description”

That gets a quick response. “that explains a lot actually” And it should end there. It usually would. But it doesn’t. Because a few seconds later, another message appears. Not about the clip. Not about chat.

Just “this is taking forever to type, let me call you”

You stare at the message after sending it. Not in panic. Just unsure. Because up until this point, everything between you has existed in text. Carefully unhurried. Easy to pause. Easy to re read. Easy to manage. A call is different. Not complicated. Just immediate.

You set your phone down for a second, like distance might help you think about it less. Then immediately pick it back up again. That alone feels louder than it should. A few seconds pass. Then you finally text back:

“yeah okay that actually makes sense”

“i’ll call you then”

You let it ring 3 times before finally picking up, sort of not wanting to seem so eager? Maybe stupid, just overthinking like always.

“Hey.” His voice comes through slightly different than you expected, sounding a bit deeper, probably because it is late at night. “Hi,” you say automatically, then silence comes back. A short laugh comes through on his end. 

“This is kind of… different,” he says. “Yeah,” you reply. “No typing delay to hide behind anymore.”

“That’s what I’m noticing,” he admits. There’s a brief pause, not awkward, just new. Like both of you are adjusting to the lack of space between thought and response. “I was honestly overthinking every reply in text,” he says after a moment. “This is easier.” You hum slightly. “Same. It stops becoming a paragraph competition.”

“That’s exactly what it felt like.” You lean back in your chair a little. “Yeah, okay,” you say, then hesitate briefly before adding, “we probably should’ve just done this earlier.” A small pause. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Probably.” Another beat. Then, casually you say: “I’m glad you suggested it though.” You glance down at your desk without really focusing on anything. “Yeah,” Joe says, softer. “Me too.”

The conversation settles strangely fast after that.

Not because the awkwardness disappears completely, but because neither of you seems interested in pretending it isn’t there. It becomes part of the rhythm instead. Small pauses. Slightly overlapping replies. The occasional quiet laugh when one of you starts speaking at the same time as the other.

“You sound different than when we met,” he says at one point. You narrow your eyes slightly even though he can’t see it. “That sounds offensive.”

“No, no,” he says quickly, laughing a little. “Not bad different. Just… calmer?”

“Calmer?”

“Yeah.”

You lean back further into your chair, absentmindedly spinning slightly side to side. “I literally stream for a living.”

“Exactly,” he says. “You have stream voice sometimes.” That makes you pause. “I do not have stream voice.”

“You absolutely do.”

“I actually don’t.”

“You do right now a little.”

You let out an offended laugh. “Okay, now I’m becoming self aware.”

“That’s my fault,” he replies easily. “Sorry.”

“You should be.” There’s another small silence after that. Comfortable this time. Less “new” than before. You can hear faint movement on his side of the call, fabric shifting slightly, maybe him readjusting somewhere. It’s strange how quickly your brain starts building an image out of tiny sounds alone. “What are you even doing right now?” you ask.

“Nothing interesting,” he says. “I’m sitting on the floor of my hotel room.” You blink once. “Why the floor?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I started sitting here and now I think I live here.”

“That’s concerning.”

“It’s comfortable.”

“You have furniture.”

“Allegedly.”

You laugh quietly again, and something about it feels easier now than it did at the start of the call. Less aware of itself. “What about you?” he asks. You glance around your room automatically even though he can’t see it. “Still at my desk.”

“You’ve been there for hours.”

“That sounds judgmental.”

“It’s observational data,” he replies immediately. You groan. “You can’t keep saying that every time you notice something about me.”

“Why not?”

“Because it sounds creepy.”

“It sounds scientific.”

“It sounds like you’re documenting me.”

A short pause. “Maybe I am,” he says lightly. You snort before you can stop yourself. “Okay, that one actually was weird.”

“Yeah, I heard it after I said it.”

“Good.”

“I’m glad we agree.”

The conversation drifts after that. Not in a direction. Just outward. Small stories. Random observations. Tiny things that wouldn’t have felt important enough to text but somehow become worth mentioning when there’s a voice on the other end reacting in real time.

He tells you about a painfully awkward interview earlier that day where both him and the interviewer accidentally spoke over each other for almost thirty seconds straight trying to be polite. You laugh so hard at the way he reenacts it that he stops halfway through.

“Okay wow,” he says. “You’re really enjoying this.”

“Because I can physically picture it happening.”

“It was horrible.”

“It sounds horrible.”

“It was spiritually damaging.”

You grin slightly into the quiet of your room. “That’s usually how press works, no?”

“Yeah, but this one felt uniquely cursed.” You can hear him smiling when he talks now. That’s the weird part. Not because it changes anything. But because your brain has already started recognizing tiny differences in tone this quickly.

At one point the conversation slows again, not dying out, just settling. You absentmindedly open a random app on your computer while listening to him talk about travel schedules and how disorienting time starts feeling after enough flights.

“You ever get recognized during IRL streams?” he asks suddenly.

“Sometimes.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“It can be,” you admit. “Most people are nice though.”

“Most?”

You hum quietly. “There’s always one weird person.”

“That’s true for literally everything.”

“Exactly.”

A short silence follows. Then: “I still can’t believe your chat moves that fast,” he says. You laugh softly. “You get used to reading it.”

“I don’t think I could.”

“You survived pretty well.”

“I survived barely.”

“That still counts.”

There’s another pause. This one stretches slightly longer than the others, but it doesn’t feel empty. You realize, somewhere in the middle of it, that neither of you seems in a hurry to leave. Not clinging to the conversation either. Like the call quietly shifted from “trying this out” into simply existing together for a while. And somehow, that feels more intimate than anything either of you has actually said.

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

A/N: Absolutely loved writing this one! I wanted to make it a small blurb... But I got carried away and made it a lot longer then I was planning to do! Hopefully you guys enjoy it.

Taglist: @hermionelaufeyson @omgwoah15 @sweatydjoshoes @noodlestheexplorer

[emmiewritesz]

Kurt's Passenger Princess

Kurt Kunkle's Masterlist

Summary: A small blurb about late night car rides with Kurt Kunkle

Warnings: No mention of Y/N, kissing, fluff, established relationship

Car rides with Kurt never start calmly, even if he pretends they do. He opens the passenger door like he is doing you a favor, then immediately reaches over to mess with the radio before you’ve even fully buckled in. There’s already a half eaten snack in the cup holder and something vaguely questionable rolling around in the back seat, but he acts like this is normal, like the car is just another extension of his personality.

At first, he talks a lot. Not always about anything important, just fragments of thoughts, observations, little jokes that don’t fully land because he is already moving on to the next one. He narrates traffic like it is a livestream nobody asked for, points out pedestrians like they’re background characters in something only he can see the script for. Every now and then he looks over at you for reaction, eyebrows lifted like he’s testing whether you’re keeping up with him.

The music changes constantly. He skips songs too fast, commits to nothing, then eventually lands on something upbeat and leaves it there longer than expected, like even he got tired of controlling the atmosphere. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time with it, half-focused on the road, half focused on you, always slightly too aware that you’re there.

At some red light, he looks over mid sentence and just stops talking entirely. You ask what, already smiling a little, and he shrugs like it is nothing. But his hand slides off the wheel for a second to tap against your knee absentmindedly, fingers lingering there like he forgot to pull away.

Then there is a shift. It happens quietly. He runs out of things to say, or maybe he just decides not to fill the space anymore. The silence doesn’t feel awkward right away, it just settles in slowly, like the car itself is exhaling. Kurt still drives a little too confidently, but his energy changes. Less performative, more present.

He glances at you more when he thinks you won’t notice. Not in a dramatic way, just quick looks that linger half a second longer than they should. Like he’s checking something he doesn’t know how to name. If you catch him, he usually scoffs softly or mutters something under his breath, immediately pretending it wasn’t intentional.

Later, stopped at another red light, he leans over suddenly and kisses you like it was just a passing thought he acted on before he could overthink it. Quick at first, almost careless, but softer when you kiss him back. When the light turns green, he pulls away with a quiet laugh under his breath and shakes his head once like he’s embarrassed by himself now.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, even though he’s smiling.

Eventually, the ride becomes something softer without either of you acknowledging it. He stops skipping songs as often. His jokes get slower, less sharp, more like thoughts he didn’t fully process before saying them. And when you laugh at something small Kurt says, he goes quiet for a second longer than usual, like he’s recalibrating.

By the time the car slows at the house again, he’s back to acting normal again. A quick comment, a teasing remark, a “don’t get used to this,” like he didn’t just spend the entire drive being a little less guarded than he meant to be.

[emmiewritesz]

After The Stream

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series

Previous chapter - Next chapter

Chapter 2: After The Stream

Summary: After an IRL stream with Joe Keery, your routine stays the same on the surface, but shared clips slowly turn into real conversations. What begins as casual reactions to stream moments quietly evolves into regular contact, shifting from content based interaction to growing presence in each other’s daily lives.

Warnings/tags: No use of y/n, text messages

W/C: 1.4K

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Joe Keery Masterlist

The next couple of days weren’t really that different. At least, not in the way that mattered if you tried to explain it to someone else. If someone asked, nothing in your life would sound unusual. You still streamed. You still woke up at the same time. You still made coffee in the same slightly chaotic way that always left a small mess you’d clean up later. Your setup still sat in the same corner of your room like it had been there for years instead of being the center of your work life. Everything continued as it always had. 

Nothing changed fast enough to force you to acknowledge anything had shifted at all.

It started, unexpectedly, with clips. Not something you actively went looking for. They just appeared the way internet things always do when something slightly notable happens, reposted, clipped, reshared, edited down into moments that no longer quite belonged to the full experience they came from.

Your stream with him had already started circulating faster than usual. Not viral in a dramatic sense. Just… noticed. More than your usual IRL content.

You saw your own face mid sentence, frozen in ten second fragments where context didn’t fully survive the cut. You saw chat reactions turned into text overlays, exaggerated for effect. You saw him in pieces too, small reactions, pauses, moments where he looked like he was trying to figure out how to deal with the weirdness of the stream.

It was strange to watch. Like seeing something you lived through replayed from a distance that made it feel slightly less like yours. You stared at one clip longer than you meant to.

Not because it was special.

Because it was just a fun clip of the two of them laughing. “we wanna see more of them” written above it. And without really thinking about it for long, you opened your messages. You didn’t overanalyze it. You just sent it.

“our stream was a big success btw”

A few minutes passed. Then:

“why do i look like that”

You let out a short laugh before your brain even fully processed the message.

The next day, it happened again. This time, it was you who got clipped. Someone had uploaded a segment where chat completely derailed something you said in real time, turning a normal sentence into a chaotic misunderstanding that escalated faster than you could correct it.

You watched it once. Then sent it without thinking too much about it.

“this is insane behavior btw”

The response came in after a short delay. "you agreed with me"

"that was before i understood the consequences." You paused for a second.

Then laughed out loud. Not because it was particularly funny. Just because this was comfy, sharing stupid clips of each other. It progressed in different things. If Joe saw a clip of mine in a recent stream he would send it now. Mostly to show his support? Or he was secretly just actually watching the stream.

“your chat scares me a little”

You replied: “they scare me too sometimes don’t worry”

A pause. Then: “that makes me feel slightly better”

It didn’t become something overnight. It didn’t shift suddenly into constant conversation, or anything dramatic enough that you could point at a specific moment and say this is where it started changing.

It was slower than that. More accidental. More repetitive in a way that only made sense after it had already become routine. At first, it stayed exactly what it had been. Clips. Reactions. Small exchanges that existed because there was still shared context fresh enough to justify them.

At some point, without either of you saying anything about it, the clips stopped being the main part. The messages around them started growing. Slowly at first. Barely noticeable. A reaction that turned into a sentence instead of a one liner. A sentence that turned into a follow up. A follow up that didn’t need a clip attached to make sense.

“did your stream go okay today?” You paused when you saw that one. It wasn’t attached to anything. No clip. No reference. Just the question.

You replied after a moment: “yeah it was fine. pretty normal actually.” A short pause. Then: “normal sounds suspiciously peaceful.” You snorted. “it was dangerously peaceful yes.” That should’ve been the end of it. 

But it wasn’t. Because a few minutes later: “mine was mostly interviews today. i think i prefer yours.” That made you stop for half a second. Not because it was deep. Because it was slightly unexpected in that he continued the convo. You replied: “you can have mine. i will take interviews instead” “deal”

That was the first time it felt less like reacting to content and more like talking about life. Small shift. But there.

By the time the next week rolled around, the structure had changed without either of you acknowledging it. Clips were still sent. But they weren’t the reason you messaged anymore. They were just… entry points. Something to start from, not something to respond to.

The actual conversations started happening in between them.

“you were quieter on stream today.” You stared at that message longer than expected. Not because it was invasive. Because it was observant. You replied: “was i? didn’t notice honestly”

“yeah. not bad quieter. just different”

You leaned back slightly in your chair. Different.

You typed: “think i was just tired” A pause. Then: “or distracted”

“how so?” Joe asked, probably curious.

You hesitated for a second before replying. “nothing specific”

“okay”

The conversations started stretching. Not in length at first. But in weight. They didn’t stay confined to clips anymore. They moved into moments of the day. Not dramatic ones. Just small observations that didn’t need context.

“i tried baking again today and it was fine but i don’t trust it”

“that sounds like emotional damage from previous stream incidents”

“it is exactly that”

It stopped feeling like responding to each other. Started feeling like continuing a conversation that never fully closed. Even when there were gaps between messages. Even when neither of you were actively sending clips anymore.

“how was your day?” You paused before replying. Not because it was complicated. Because it wasn’t. “pretty normal. yours?”

“long but okay”

That should’ve ended it. But instead another message came from Joe:

“do you always stream this much or do you take breaks sometimes”

You blinked at that. Then replied: “depends. i should take more breaks than i do”

“same”

At some point, you stopped noticing when it started feeling normal to hear from him. Not constantly. But consistently enough that silence started feeling slightly incomplete instead of default. You didn’t check your phone waiting. But you did check it without realizing you were expecting something. That was the part you didn’t label yet.

That became a pattern too. Not just sharing content anymore. Checking in. Not in a way that felt heavy. Just… present. Like someone occasionally tapping into your day without needing a reason to do it. And you did the same. Without thinking too much about it.

“long day?”

“yeah. interviews mostly”

“that sounds exhausting”

“it was fine. just repetitive”

“repetition is a special kind of tired”

That made Joe pause longer than usual before replying.

“that is exactly it actually”

One evening, you found yourself opening your phone without thinking. Not because it buzzed. Not because it needed anything. Just because you had finished a stream and your brain automatically expected something to exist on the other side of it now. And it did.

“you streamed longer today”

You stared at it for a second. Then replied: “did i? didn’t notice”

“you were in a talking mood”

“that is dangerous information to have about me”

“it is observational data” You smiled slightly. “you are collecting data on my behavior now”

“i am noticing patterns”

That made you pause. Then type: “that sounds concerning when phrased like that”

“it is neutral when phrased like that”

“it is still weird when phrased like that”

“fair”

Somewhere in between all of this, something subtle changed in how you felt during streams too. Not dramatically. Not in a way chat would notice. But in small interruptions. You would say something and think, briefly, about whether you would mention it later. You would read chat and wonder what Joe would say about a specific moment. You would finish a stream and feel less like it ended in isolation and more like it ended into something ongoing.

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Previous chapter - Next chapter

A/N: Working on a part about their first phone call at the moment! Will just be a lil short small blurb.

Taglist: @hermionelaufeyson @omgwoah15 @sweatydjoshoes @noodlestheexplorer

[emmiewritesz]

JKCU College Major AU

Masterlist

Includes: Steve, Gator, Kurt, Keys, Teacake/Travis

Steve Harrington

Major: Sports Management / Physical Education (with a surprise minor in Child Development he didn’t plan on)

Steve absolutely started college thinking he’d stay in athletics, maybe go into business. But eventually gets into Sports Management and Physical Education, because Robin ones told him he would be a good coach. That sticked with him. He keeps accidentally becoming the guy who organizes everyone’s lives, fixes group project disasters, and ends up basically running student support roles without realizing it.

He is extremely popular, and still has no idea what he actually wants to do longterm.

Kurt Kunkle

Major: Film Production / Media Studies

Kurt goes into Film Production / Media Studies because he is already convinced he understands internet culture better than most people. He thinks college will just “formalize” what he already knows about content, virality, and audience behavior.

He treats every assignment like it should have the potential to blow up online, and gets frustrated when professors care more about structure and critique than “the idea.” Group projects quickly become complicated because he starts pushing for bigger, louder, more attention grabbing concepts no one else fully agrees with.

He is constantly chasing validation through attention, and starts to struggle when that attention doesn’t show up the way he expects.

Gator Tillman

Major: Criminal Justice

Gator ends up in Criminal Justice partly because it sounds powerful, and partly because he wants something that feels like it gives him authority or direction.

He tries to present himself as confident in class, but the moment he feels challenged or corrected, he gets defensive in a way that starts to affect how people see him. He tends to take things personally, even when they aren’t meant that way, and struggles to separate ego from feedback.

He is constantly trying to prove himself, but the harder he tries, the more unstable his choices start to become.

Keys

Major: Computer Science / Game Development

He learned the code the moment he got behind the PC as a kid. He is good at systems, logic, and problem-solving, and he slips into the technical side of things naturally.

He spends most of his time buried in code, fixing problems other people don’t even understand, and quietly becoming essential in group projects without ever really asking for recognition.

The issue is that he struggles with everything outside of the technical world. Emotional conversations, social expectations, even basic communication can feel like things he doesn’t fully know how to navigate, so he tends to withdraw into work instead.

Teacake

Major: Creative Writing / Psychology

He moves through college in phases. One semester he is completely focused and analytical, the next he’s writing constantly and barely sleeping, then suddenly he disappears for a bit and comes back with a completely different perspective on everything.

He is the kind of person who is always observing people a little too closely, not in a harmful way, just in a way that makes it clear he is always thinking about meaning, emotion, and narrative even when he’s not trying to.

He is constantly changing, but somehow always feels like himself, just in different versions.

A/N: Really liked doing this little college AU. Might do some more in the future it's pretty funnn.

[emmiewritesz]

Hi everyone! Small update from my side. The upcoming days will be mostly auto uploads of some chapters and small blurbs i wrote! I am on vacation this weekend, so I will do requests when I am back! I hope everyone has a amazing and great weekend <3

This weekend will have some great uploads coming up for the Blue Light Glow series though!! Hope you guys enjoy :)

[emmiewritesz]

First Meeting

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Previous chapter ✩ Next chapter

Chapter 1: First Meeting

Summary: An IRL twitch stream collaboration brings you and Joe into a shared, unscripted space where conversation flows easier than expected and the audience reacts instantly. What begins as a simple guest appearance slowly shifts into something more natural, leaving a sense that this connection won’t end when the stream does.

Warnings/tags: No use of y/n, first meeting, not together yet, strangers

W/C: 1.8K

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Joe Keery Masterlist

The email doesn’t feel real at first.

Not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s structured too neatly, the kind of professionalism that usually surrounds bigger names, bigger budgets, bigger expectations than you’re used to thinking about in your day to day work. 

Proposed IRL Livestream Interview Collaboration.

You read it once. Then again, slower this time.

The format is simple: an in person Twitch IRL stream, hosted by you, interview style, casual tone, one guest. Cameras, production support, light direction but no heavy scripting. A conversation designed to feel like a conversation, not a press piece. Just them in a comfortable setting supposed to talk about his music and nonsense.

You’ve done this before. Smaller creators. Actors with new projects. Musicians passing through promotional cycles. People who know how to exist in front of a camera but still relax when the structure isn’t too rigid. This is supposed to be like that.

Until you reach the name. Joe Keery. It takes you a moment to process it properly. Not because you don’t recognize it, you do, but because your brain briefly refuses to connect the idea of that name with your actual physical reality.

He exists, to you, in fragments. Interview clips you’ve scrolled past. Movie scenes you half remember. Music recommendations that showed up in playlists that spotify would recommend to you. A public figure the internet treats as familiar enough to mention casually, but distant enough to never expect interaction with.

And now he’s supposed to sit across from you on a live stream.

The days leading up to it are quieter than you expect. There’s coordination, of course. Scheduling teams. Platform logistics. Location confirmation. A production crew that feels slightly more official than the ones you’re used to, but still insists on keeping things “natural.”

No script. No pre-written questions. Just a general structure: introduction, conversation, audience interaction, optional walk segment if the environment allows it.

You reread that last part more than once. Optional walk segment. That means it’s not just a studio setup. It’s IRL. Real world. Moving camera. Probably a house then or a public space, not a stuck up forced to being sit in a clean studio environment. It always changes the energy slightly. You like that. Mostly.

You don’t dwell on it too much as the day arrives. You fall into your usual pre-stream rhythm instead, the one your body knows better than your mind does at this point.

Coffee. Outfit choice that feels comfortable but still camera presentable. Checking your phone too many times for no reason. Running through mental notes you don’t actually need because IRL streams don’t work like that.

You remind yourself of that. No script. No structure beyond flow. Just you, a guest, and a live audience watching it all unfold in real time. Still, there’s a small awareness sitting somewhere in the back of your mind.

Not anxiety. Not pressure. Just… anticipation.

The setup location is softer than you expected. Not sterile. Not overly branded. It feels like someone actually considered comfort first and production second, which immediately puts you at ease in a way you don’t realize until it happens. Cameras are already being tested when you arrive. You greet the crew like usual, slipping into familiar small talk, letting your hands move naturally as you check angles and audio levels. 

You hear movement before you see him. Not loud. Just enough to shift attention in the room. When you look up, he’s already there. No dramatic entrance. No staged moment. Just someone stepping into the space like he’s trying to understand the rhythm before joining it.

And he does. Joe takes in the setup quietly at first, cameras, crew, then looks toward you once he registers where you are in the room. There’s a second where neither of you say anything immediately. Not awkward. Okay maybe a lil awkward. Then you both move at the same time like it finally clicks that you two have to greet one another.

“Hey,” you say first. “Hey,” Joe replies, a slight smile forming like he’s already adjusting to something more relaxed than he might’ve expected. The handshake is brief. Normal. Grounding.

When the stream goes live, the shift is immediate. It always is. The chat appears like a flood that never learned how to slow down.

WAIT THIS IS ACTUALLY HIM

NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY

THIS IS THE COLLAB STREAM??

BE NICE CHAT BE NORMAL

You exhale a quiet laugh as you settle into position, mic adjusted, camera framing you both naturally instead of formally. “Hi,” you say into the stream, tone light, familiar. “Everyone behave. Or at least pretend to behave for five minutes.” That does absolutely nothing to calm them.

The first few minutes are structured in the loosest way possible. You introduce him properly, casually, like you would any guest, even though your brain is very aware this is not “any guest” in the way chat is currently treating it.

He waves slightly toward the camera. “Hey,” he says simply. And chat loses it again. You tilt your head slightly. “They’re being weird, I’m sorry in advance.” Joe looks at the chat, then back at you. “They’re being nice weird or…?” 

“Depends on how you define nice,” you say. 

“That sounds concerning.” 

“It is.”

That gets another laugh out of him, and you notice something shift very slightly. Not in the stream itself. In him. Like the tension he might’ve had coming in has already started loosening just a bit. Not gone. Just softer.

You move into conversation naturally after that. No formal questions. Just flow. Trying to use your usual dryness you are a lil known for. “How’s your day been?” you ask.

“Long,” he says immediately. Then adds, “But good. This is… definitely the most interactive part of it so far.”

“You’re welcome,” you say dryly. Chat reacts instantly. He laughs.

HE’S ADAPTING SO FAST

HE’S FUNNY???

THIS IS NOT FAIR

You glance at the messages and sigh dramatically. “Chat is already trying to decide things,” you say. “Don’t encourage them.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies.

“You laughed.”

“That’s not illegal.”

“It is on Twitch.”

The conversation drifts into easier rhythm after that. You ask him about doing IRL formats like this before. He tells her about these dumb livestreams he does. Where he just goes live with his friends, don’t talk and end it 30 seconds later. He asks you how long you’ve been doing this style of streaming, and you can hear genuine interest when you answer.

Not performative interest. Not press mode curiosity. Just someone trying to understand your world. And that changes how you speak without you noticing at first. You explain things more naturally. Less like content explanation, more like conversation.

At one point, the topic shifts to your usual content. “You said you do baking streams?” he asks. You nod. “Yeah.”

“That seems very peaceful.” You snort slightly. “It is. Until I forget something’s in the oven and everyone in chat starts panicking.”

“That happens often?”

“…define often.”

He laughs again, properly this time. And you notice chat spike again.

HE’S SO INTERESTED IN HER???

BAKING STREAM WHEN?!!!

THIS IS ACTUALLY SO CUTE STOP

You feel your ears get slightly warm in the way you refuse to acknowledge. “Don’t hype him up,” you tell chat. “He’s going to get ideas.”

“What ideas?” he asks. “That you’re likable.”

“I am likable.”

“That’s debatable,” you say immediately.

He leans back slightly in his chair. “I feel like I’m doing okay.”

“You are doing suspiciously okay,” you correct. That gets another laugh from him, quieter this time, like he’s settling into it more.

The stream stabilizes in a way you don’t fully expect. Not because anything slows down. Chat is still insane. But because the dynamic between you and him stops feeling like “host and guest” and starts feeling like… conversation. Back and forth. No pressure. No awkward gaps you have to fill alone. Just flow.

The conversation drifts into safer territory. How your setup works. What IRL streams usually involve. What it’s like having to talk while also being aware of cameras, audio, and a live audience all at once.

He listens closely when you explain it, not interrupting, not redirecting, just absorbing it in that quiet way people do when they’re genuinely trying to understand something outside their usual environment.

And when he responds, it’s thoughtful. “That’s a lot of… simultaneous awareness,” he says at one point. You nod. “Yeah. You get used to it.”

“I can tell,” he replies. There’s no weight behind it. But it lands in a way that makes you pause for half a second longer than expected. You talk about streaming culture. He asks about how people usually react to IRL streams. You explain the unpredictability of it, how chat often becomes its own character, how moments get clipped and turned into something completely different within minutes.

He laughs at that. Not because it’s funny in a surface way. But because it sounds absurd from the outside.

“It’s like watching a conversation get re-edited while it’s still happening,” he says. “Yeah,” you agree. “Pretty much.”

The stream continues like that for a while. Soft pacing. Occasional bursts of chat chaos. Mostly now talking about his album and the songs on it. Moments of laughter that happen without prompting. Small pauses that don’t feel like gaps anymore. Just breathing space. And every now and then, you catch something in the way he responds that makes it clear he’s not just “doing an appearance.”

Eventually, the production team signals timing.

You don’t rush the ending.

You rarely do with IRL streams like this.

You let it end naturally.

You thank chat.

Joe thanks chat.

You do the usual outro: simple, clean, familiar.

And then it ends.

The silence after is immediate. Different from stream silence. Less like absence of noise. More like the world stepping back into place. You lean slightly back in your chair, exhaling without thinking. He does the same, looking around for a second like he’s re-entering himself after being “on” for a while.

Then he laughs softly. “That was… easier than I expected,” he says. You glance at him. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it keeps being true,” he replies. 

There’s a small beat of quiet between you.

Not uncomfortable.

Just undefined.

Then he adds, a little more casually “I didn’t really know what to expect coming into that.”

“Same,” you admit.

When he leaves a little later, crew breaking down equipment, final thank you's exchanged, everything wrapping back into normality, it feels surprisingly unceremonious. Like nothing huge has happened. And yet everything feels slightly shifted. Not your life. Not yet. Just the direction of it.

Later that night, after everything has gone quiet again and your stream setup is dark, your phone lights up. A message. Simple. No structure. No formality. Just:

hey, that was actually really nice. thanks for making it easy

You stare at it for a moment. Then type back. And this time, it doesn’t feel like the end of a collaboration. Just the beginning of a conversation that didn’t stop when the cameras did.

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Previous chapter ✩ Next chapter

A/N: They met!! I don't really have much else to say than that I am having so much fun writing this story so far. The first chapters are obviously not much details yet. They just met and everything, but the story now will progress to much more fun! Aka them starting to be more together and hang out!

Taglist: @noodlestheexplorer @hermionelaufeyson @omgwoah15

[emmiewritesz]

JKCU Toxic Traits

Masterlist

Includes: Steve, Gator, Kurt, Keys, Teacake/Travis

Warning: Talks about toxic traits, toxic relationships, red flags

Steve’s most toxic trait is probably that he tries to earn love by being useful. He overextends himself emotionally until he quietly starts resenting people for needing him so much. He will insist he is “fine,” do everything for everyone, then eventually snap because nobody noticed he was drowning too.

He also has a tendency to romanticize relationships as “saving” someone or being needed by them, which can make him cling to situations long after they stop being healthy.

Gator’s most toxic trait is insecurity turning into cruelty. He lashes out the second he feels embarrassed, rejected, or powerless. Instead of admitting hurt, he doubles down on aggression because vulnerability feels humiliating to him.

He constantly needs approval from people he fears, and that makes him dangerous in relationships, he will choose pride, ego, or loyalty to toxic authority over emotional honesty every single time.

There is also this deep need to prove himself that makes him impulsive and destructive.

Kurt’s toxic trait is that he sees human connection as performance. Every interaction is filtered through “how am I being perceived right now?” instead of genuine empathy.

He desperately wants validation, but he treats people like props in the narrative of his own life. He confuses attention with intimacy. Even when he is trying to be vulnerable, there is still this layer of self awareness that makes it feel transactional.

Also: catastrophic victim complex. Nothing is ever fully his fault in his own mind.

Keys’ toxic trait is avoidance. He intellectualizes everything instead of dealing with emotions directly. If something gets too real, he retreats into work, sarcasm, or overthinking instead of saying what he actually feels.

He can also accidentally make people feel emotionally neglected because he assumes “they probably already know I care.” Meanwhile he has not communicated a single feeling out loud in six months.

He means well. He is just bad at emotional confrontation.

Teacake’s toxic trait is probably inconsistency. He gives affection very intensely and very naturally, but he follows emotion in the moment instead of thinking longterm, which can make people feel unstable around him.

He’d be the type to promise huge things because he genuinely means them right then, but later realize he can’t actually follow through. Not maliciously, he just lives emotionally first and practically second.

He also seems like the kind of person who avoids difficult conversations until they explode into bigger problems later.

[emmiewritesz]

Kurt Kunkle Masterlist

Includes: Kurt Kunkle

Guidelines & Masterlists

REQUEST STATUS: Open

✩:: Kurt's Passenger Princess

(more coming soon)

[emmiewritesz]

Before They Meet

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Next chapter

Prologue: Before They Meet

Summary: Before you meet Joe Keery, your life is a balance of cozy online fame and quiet offline reality, where you spend your days streaming, creating, and sharing your world with an audience that feels close but still distant, while he moves through his own separate life of music, acting, and touring without any awareness that your paths are slowly heading toward each other.

Warnings/tags: No use of y/n, cozy streamer, before meeting Joe, no mentioned of them together (yet)

W/C: 1.2K

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

Joe Keery Masterlist

Life was good, life was chaotic in that good chaotic way. Both you and Joe loved being busy. Your fame had come slow, there was never a big peak in it always slowly came up. Usually streaming from 3 pm until 2 am almost everyday. It was exhausting, but also so so much fun. 

You don’t really think of yourself either as someone who lives online, that is usually what people assumed when they heard your job. Just a streamer, youtuber or influencer, whatever they decided to call you, living inside your bedroom behind a screen all day. But to you it never really was like living inside that screen. 

The variation helped though. You grew from being a gaming and just chatting streamer to one doing more active and fun ones aswell. Having guests over for interviews, doing baking streams and sometimes even in real life ones. Not that you didn’t still do gaming, but it definitely had more variety then before.

Your Twitch channel started small in a way that felt pretty surreal now. Late night streams where you weren’t expecting anyone to show up. You would sit infront of your screen, pretty much in the dark except for the soft led lights in that blueish color it was still usually on. Just playing whatever game you were obsessed with at that time. Talking to yourself more then anything else, until slowly, chat started filling itself with people.

First ten.

Then fifty.

Then hundreds.

At some point you stopped counting. Now it’s part of your routine the same way brushing your teeth or making coffee is. You go live, and people arrive like they are stepping into a familiar space.

Your audience aren’t just “viewers” to you. They’re a kind of background presence that has grown up with you. Some of them have been around for years. They remember your old setup, your old playlists, your old inside jokes that have evolved into something bigger than their original meaning.

They notice everything.

When you’re tired. When you’re extra energetic. When something is off, even if you don’t say it out loud.

Most of your streams fall into three categories. Just chatting, where nothing and everything happens at once. You talk about your day, answer questions, go on long tangents about things like random internet drama, favorite snacks, or why certain songs feel like a specific time of night.

Gaming streams, where you pretend you’re focused but end up talking more than playing. Your chat has learned to accept that watching you play is really just watching you react to things.

And irl fun activity streams, mostly baking ones. Those are your favorite. They happen less frequently, but they always feel special. The kitchen becomes a different version of your streaming space: warmer, slower, less chaotic. You prop your camera up on the counter, sleeves rolled up and suddenly the entire internet is watching you measure flour like it’s important.

You talk while you bake. But to be fair you always talk.

About anything, shows you’re watching, stories from when you were younger, things you want to try but probably never will, random thoughts that come and go as you mix ingredients.

Sometimes chat helps you decide what to make. Sometimes they just watch quietly, which is rare but comforting in its own way. And when something actually turns out well, you get overly proud of it in a way your audience finds endlessly entertaining. You like those streams because they don’t feel like performance.

Outside of streaming, your life is not nearly as dramatic as people online sometimes imagine it to be. You go outside. A lot, actually. You go to cafes with friends where no one is watching you through a camera. You walk without thinking about angles or lighting. You buy things without wondering if they’ll look good on camera later. You have days where your phone stays in your bag for hours at a time. There are afternoons where you forget you even have a platform. Those are your favorite ones.

You still get recognized, it’s unavoidable, but it’s usually quick and kind. A “hey, I think I watch your streams,” a nervous smile, a photo request that you almost always say yes to unless you’re clearly in the middle of something. Most people don’t treat you like a spectacle. Just a person they already kind of know.

You also make YouTube videos, though they feel different from Twitch in a way you can’t fully explain. Twitch is conversation, immediate, messy, alive. YouTube is memory, edited, shaped, slightly more intentional. Your vlogs are usually simple things: days out, travel, conventions, little behind the scenes moments from your streaming life. Sometimes you film yourself baking and forget halfway through that the camera is still recording because it feels so normal to talk while doing things. It is just comfortable things, fun things to remember for later.

Somewhere outside your world, completely disconnected from your daily rhythm, another life is moving at its own pace. Joe Keery is busy in a way that has nothing to do with streaming, chat messages, or baking schedules. He’s in a different cycle entirely, filming, interviews, and music promotion as Djo just released The Crux, the album he’s currently touring and talking about in press cycles. His world is structured around travel, sets, studios, and short bursts of public visibility before disappearing back into private work again.

You’re aware of him the same way you’re aware of a lot of public figures. Not personally. Not specifically. Just as another name that exists in the wider ecosystem of entertainment you know off but don’t intersect with. He’s busy. You’re busy. And for now, that’s where the connection ends.

And so, for now, your life continues exactly as it has been. You go live. You talk to people who feel like a familiar crowd even though you’ve never met most of them. You laugh at something stupid in chat. You lose track of time. You end the stream later than you meant to again, because it always happens like that.

Afterward, you sit in the quiet of your room with the glow of your monitor still fading, the sudden absence of noise settling around you like comfort after a tiring day. You check your messages. You scroll.

And somewhere in that same stretch of time, in a completely different place, under completely different lighting, in a completely different rhythm of life, Joe Keery finishes another interview, another session, another scheduled moment of visibility before stepping back into the quieter spaces between them.

Two lives, moving forward independently. Parallel. Unaware. Still separate in every meaningful way. Until they’re not.

Because somewhere in the system that connects interviews, management, scheduling, production teams, and digital platforms, a suggestion is made. Not dramatic. Not intentional in any emotional sense. Just practical. A crossover idea. A stream collaboration.

A joint online appearance meant to bridge audiences, boost engagement, create something “interesting” for both communities. It gets forwarded. Reviewed. Adjusted. Sent again. It moves through people who are thinking about logistics, not stories. Timing, not meaning. Visibility, not consequence.

And eventually, it lands. Somewhere in your inbox. Not labeled as life-changing. Not marked as anything important. Just another opportunity. A collaboration request. A proposed stream. With someone you’ve never met.

Next chapter

Blue Light Glow ✩ Joe Keery x Streamer/Influencer (ongoing series)

A/N: My first chapter whooo!! I wanted to write a part for before they met. Just to set the story, show a bit of what kind of streamer you are. So hopefully you guys like it! I have never published a ongoing full fanfiction, so hopefully it is a fun idea and i am doing good at it! Any requests in the story as in like small story ideas: Joe his first stream, or things like that are appreciated! And feedback is also appreciated :)

Taglist: @noodlestheexplorer @hermionelaufeyson @omgwoah15