#djo fluff

[heaven4lostgirls]

hiiiii i loveeeeee how you write angst and comfort!!! i was wondering potentially if i could request something similar to one of our previous works

maybe reader and steve are dating and she helps with the upside down. maybe they get into an argument which makes reader go with dustin and eddie, steve gets stubborn and doesnt say i love you to reader before parting

reader runs after eddie and saves dustin from the demobats but gets badly hurt and is barely awake. dustin helps her to steve and crew and steve is trying to keep her awake and saying i love you. plssss have her survive and it end in fluff😭😭😭

loml

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: request above!

word count: 3.2k

content warnings: violence, graphic injuries, near death experience, steve is an ass, but he's your ass, mean steve, insecure reader, jealous reader, no nancy hate tolerated. not proofread, angst! heavy angst, hurt/comfort. the comfort is that she lives xx. platonic eddie x reader.

authors note: this was sm longer than i intended but nonetheless hope you like it! thank you for requesting xx

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

The upside down is nothing like you’d expected. It’s simultaneously worse and better than you’d expected.

It smells damp, the air is thick like smog, and you can’t bring yourself to look down to where you’re walking, the sound of your converse dragging through the sludge is enough to have you feeling nauseous.

Everyone else seems to be handling it much better than you—probably because they’ve done this before. It’s hard not to feel somewhat resentful that Steve had only brought all of this up to you by pure chance.

You knew he’d been hiding something. He was secretive, holding that goddamn walkie-talkie with him like it was the second coming of Christ and most obviously, never let you meet his friends.

Besides Robin, you liked Robin. Though it had been practically unbearable to sit politely and smile as they both regaled you of stories of Dustin, or any of the rest of The Party. It all festered underneath your skin, why did he never bring you around them?

Until the night you’d just happened to be over at his house when Dustin had attempted to recruit Steve to help find Eddie Munson. Eddie, drug dealer Eddie, who was now accused of murder.

“Steve he didn’t do it, it’s the upside down—” Dustin babbles incoherently, you can barely keep up. None of the words coming out of his mouth make sense to you.

The upside down?

“Steve?” you whisper to your boyfriend, who’s staring at the highschooler before you in dawning horror and grim acceptance.

“I’ll drive. Get in the car—I have to—” Steve waves over to you in a vague gesture and Dustin’s eyes grow wide as his jaw slackens.

“You haven’t told her?” He sounds horrified by the idea of it. Told you what.

“Car Henderson. Now.” Steve states firmly, throwing the curly haired teen his keys as he turns to you with a solemn expression.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You’d like to think you’d taken the news of a sadistic other-worldly demonic creature hellbent on killing pretty well, considering the fact that you were currently in his…world? Plain? Planet?

You had been rightfully angry with Steve for not telling you but given that there were bigger stakes than your feelings involved, you’d decided to lay your argument to rest.

Only for you to subsequently discover that Nancy Wheeler knew. Nancy Wheeler that Steve had fallen in love with. The same Nancy you watched Steve grow glassy eyed when talking about.

The same Nancy you tried to measure yourself up against and fell short on all aspects no matter how hard you seemed to try. You watched him with her, as much as it pained you.

He looked so happy, like the fate of the world wasn’t resting on his shoulders. Granted, Nancy was in a relationship, that was a point of contention amongst the two. You assumed some sort of shared history.

Nancy was sweet to you, checking in on you, asking if you needed anything. You couldn’t fault her for your own feelings. Hell, if you were in Steve shoes, you’d probably also have fallen in love with her.

You heard them talking in the van on the drive back from the hardware store, huddled in the back with Eddie and Dustin. It doesn’t feel like a conversation you should be listening in on, but you can’t help it.

“It’s—it’s silly but I—I’ve actually um—I always had this dream that I’d always have this really big family. I’m talkin like full brood of Harringtons, like 5, 6 kids” Steve confesses, laughing alongside her.

Your heart thumps louder in your chest. He’s never told you that. Why wouldn’t he tell you that? It’s not like you’ve been dating long enough for that to have been a conversation but—just why wouldn’t he have said something to you?

Why would you have to listen to this from the backseat of a stolen van as he confesses his hopes and dreams to a girl who he claims he “used” to love?

“Six?” Nancy asks incredulously. You crack a smile; you can’t help it. She’s funny, you think to yourself. Funnier than you’ve ever been.

“Yeah, six little nuggets. Three girls—” you drown out Steve’s voice as you watch their silhouettes.

They would make pretty babies, you think. Beautiful babies, full of Nancy’s intelligence and Steve’s smile. They’d play basketball or do ballet. Steve would be their coach—and Nancy would be working at some big corporate office and they’d be—they’d be so happy.

Bile rises in your throat. You can’t even compete with her. She’s perfect, pretty, smart, witty—what do you have? You have the boy, plus one for that—but what good does that do when he looks at a her like she’s hung the moon and the stars.

You wonder if he’s ever looked at you like that.

You think you might be better off not knowing.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You’re embarrassed to admit that overhearing their conversation makes you distance yourself from the both of them.

You find yourself flocking to Eddie’s side,  joking and laughing with each other.

“You’re a good guy Munson.” You murmur softly as you both watch as Dustin and Mike duel with fake swords and shields, yelping each time they catch each other.

“You’d be the first to think so.” Eddie replies to your left, humour masking the insecurity in his tone.

“I highly doubt that.” You contest, smiling up at the older boy. “Dustin certainly thinks so.”

“Yeah well the munchkin’s biased,” He scoffs with a smirk, leaning back against the stump of wood behind the both of you.

You snort, “He thinks you’re the greatest. He talks about you all the time.” You insist.

Eddie’s expression melts softly, something adoring taking place of what was once anxiety and manufactured aloofness. “He’s a good kid. Don’t know why he likes me so much, but I’m lucky to have him.” He admits.

“You treat him like he’s a person. He’s always going on about how you ask him about his opinion, how you actually listen.”

Eddie blows out a breath, nodding slowly as he digests your words. He turns to you slightly, “You’re a sweet girl,” he tells you seriously and you look up at him in slight shock.

“Don’t lose that, would be a damn shame if we didn’t have you around.” He smiles, slinging an arm over your shoulder as he calls out for Dustin to fix his posture.

You snort with a smile, leaning into him.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Steve watches the two of you from higher on the hill with a scowl on his face.

“Scared Munson’s gonna steal your girl?” Robin teases, huffing as she tugs a rope from the backdoor of the van.

Steve scoffs, irritation bleeding into his tone. “No,” he replies shortly “Munson wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Robin hums suspiciously high, “Seems to me like he’s doing pretty well for himself.” She mentions, gesturing back over to the two of you.

Steve’s glare grows as he catches sight of Eddie’s arm slung over your shoulder. His irritation rising as he spins to glower at Robin, “Who’s side are you on?” he growls.

Robin holds her hand up in surrender, “Just saying. You two haven’t spoken since you arrived—you’ve spent more time with me and Nancy than you have with her.” She says conversationally.

Steve frowns. Has he actually? Sure, he’s been pretty focused on getting things ready to go into the upside down, so he didn’t really have the time to be checking in on you.

It was purely coincidence that he, Robin and Nancy ended up working together considering they were carrying the bulk of the ammunition and knew how to work them.

“She’s fine.” Steve mutters uncertainly. “We’ll talk after.” He insists.

Robin frowns, saying nothing but glances between the two of you in concern.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The tension between you and Steve as you enter the upside down is undeniable. The growing distance seemingly seems to stretch between the two of you the longer that you walk.

You’re side by side, walking in silence as Nancy, Jonathan and Robin walk slightly ahead of everyone whilst Eddie and Dustin remain slightly behind.

“Okay,” Nancy starts firmly, stopping in front of the group in a small expanse of land. The small group forms a circle in front of her, all watching her in rapt attention.

“You all know the plan yes? No deviations, we can’t take any risk that this doesn’t work.” 

You’re all nodding, you listen as she goes over the plan for Max to bait Vecna, the Creel House and the demobats. It’s perfectly planned out, Nancy Wheeler style.

When you all break off, you grab hold of Steve’s arm, who turns to look at you in confusion, “I uh—I’m going to go with Dustin and Eddie alright?” you say softly, avoiding eye contact with him.

Steve frowns, watching your face closely before scoffing, making you look towards him in perplexion, “Yeah, sure. Fine.” He says sarcastically, shrugging your arm off of him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve’s voice is hard and angry, “It means that if you wanna go run off with Munson while the rest of us are trying to save the world—be my guest.”

You blink, staring at Steve with your mouth agape, “You think—Eddie?”

Steve snorts, rolling his eyes, “Yes, Eddie. I see the way the two of you have been…canoodling,” he offers weakly.

You scoff, “Real mature Steve.”

Nancy and Robin stop in front of the two of you when the notice you’ve both stopped following them. They’re far away enough to not being able to hear but close enough to notice the start of an argument between you both.

“What? You have a problem?”

Your expression morphs into hurt, “Six little nuggets?” you ask him accusingly as he stares at you, unflinching.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

It’s the weakest argument you’ve heard from him yet, “Why?” you push. “Because it involved Nancy, that it? I didn’t fit into your white picket fence suburban dream?”

Steve flinches, his expression turning uncertain and dread fills your very being.

He doesn’t see you there.

“Can we—can we not do this now?” he asks, pleadingly.

You shake your head, “No, Steve. I want to know.”

“Know what?” He argues, throwing his arms up in the air.

“If you love me Steve!” you burst out, your voice echoing lightly through the vast expanse of the Upside Down.

“Guys—” Eddie calls hesitantly, but you both pay him no mind.

You shove your finger into Steve’s chest hard enough to make him flinch, “I want to know if you see a future with me! Do you? Do you see me in that big old family picture? Because—” your voice breaks, tugging at Steve’s heart strings.

“Because I love you, and if you don’t—if you don’t see that future with me, then maybe we’re not meant to be together,” you whimper, lifting your hand to your mouth to try and muffle your cries.

Steve slumps in shock, looking as if you’ve just torn his heart out from his chest.

“You’re breaking up with me?” he whispers desperately, scanning your face like he’s searching for something, anything.

You shake your head, your teary gaze meeting his shocked one. “I’m asking you if you’d choose me Steve, if given the chance.” You whisper.

“Baby, of course I—"

“You can’t even say you love me Steve.” You scoff with a laugh, self-deprecation coating your tone.

He stands in shock, like he’s not sure what to do.

“Steve!” Nancy calls from the back, frustration in her voice from being held up.

Steve watches you pleadingly as you school your expression, taking a step back when he turns to look back at her.

Always her, you think bitterly.

“I—” Steve pleads, panic in his tone.

“Just go Steve.” You reply tonelessly, turning to walk towards Eddie and Dustin who have been watching the both of you in concern.

“Baby—” You hear him call after you, desperation in his voice as you walk away. You shake your head, sniffling before looking towards the two boys in front of you.

“Are you okay?—” Dustin asks hesitantly.

You force a smile, “Fine.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

If you thought you knew pain before, the sting of walking away from Steve was worse. Every bone if your body wants to turn around and run back into his arms, but you refuse to subject yourself to any more humiliation.

You walk with Eddie and Dustin in silence, setting up the amp and Eddie’s guitar with little fanfare.

When the time comes, Eddie plays like a man possessed. You think he was made for this, a true metal rockstar. He looks almost godlike in view.

The bats swarm the trailer with almost no time to spare. Eddie, Dustin and you rush into the trailer as it rocks with the force and sound of flapping wings.

You almost think you’ve done it before they start flooding in. One after another they come through the vents, met with your handcrafted weaponry.

Dustin grabs the rope leading back into the real world, but when you catch Eddie’s gaze watching him, you already know what’s going to happen. What’s more rockstar than saving the world.

He looks at you and then back to the bedsheets, offering you a way out. You see the determined look on his face, and with a shared nod, he cuts the rope.

“What are you doing?!” Dustin screams to the both of you, watching as you both grab your weapons and Eddie’s shield.

“Buying more time.” The two of you chorus, launching yourselves out of the trailer in tandem as Eddie rides the bike with you running behind him.

The bats follow you like a moth to a flame, swarming around the two of you within minutes. You feel it before you see it, the sound of your flesh tearing and ripping open as the bats latch onto your skin.

You feel the warmth of your blood pool around you as you swing and crush the bats that fly towards you. You find Eddie doing the same in your peripheral vision. You watch as the bats sink their teeth into him, drawing a guttural scream from his chest.

Your wounds start to get the better of you as you stagger on your feet, slumping over onto the ground as you crash to your knees. You can hear Eddie calling your name and you turn to see him slumped a few meters behind you.

You crawl over to him, mindless of the bats still latched to the two of you. Your eyes meet and you share a bloody smile.

It’s then that you notice the silence, the bats that fall around the two of you. “They did it,” you croak, blood bubbling through your throat.

Eddie groans, “We did good,” he affirms, turning his head to look at you.

You hear footsteps rushing your way, and a small part of you hopes that its Steve. The curly hair however in unmistakable.

“Henderson,” Eddie coos, coughing slightly as blood stains his lips.

“Eddie—Y/N, no no no.” he chants, falling to his knees.

“Hey,” you whisper dazedly. “We’re okay,” you reassure him.

“You’re bleeding—” he chokes out.

“Can either of you stand?” he asks Eddie abruptly, turning to look at him. Eddie frowns, looking down on his leg before looking at you, “Dustin, buddy you can’t take both of us—"

“I don’t care,” he bursts out. “I need to know if you can stand, if I can get you back to the trailer, we can alert the rest of them that Y/N is down and—” he babbles.

“I—” Eddie blows out a breath, looking hesitant. You both knew when you’d left that trailer than you’d had no intention of coming back, it was a suicide mission.

“Please,” Dustin begs. Eddie hesitates before nodding abruptly, “Okay,” he concedes. “Okay—we’re coming back.” He tells you seriously.

You smile, nodding softly. Your clothes are starting to stick to your skin with the amount of blood pooling from your wounds.

It’s too dark for them to see, they can’t possibly know how bad your injuries are. Eddie looks by far worse than you, his wounds uncovered by his clothes.

“Okay,” you say.

They leave, Eddie hobbling beside Dustin as they walk towards the trailer. You’re not sure how long you spend staring at the sky before rushing footsteps are coming back to you.

You think you might already be dead when you see Steve rushing to your side instead of Dustin. “St’ve?” you slur, your eyelids drooping from exhaustion.

“Oh baby,” he moans desperately as he drops down next to you, his hands hovering uncertainly as if he’s too scared to touch you.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you.

“You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay,” he chants to himself as he lifts you into his arms despite your loud groaning in complaint of being jostled.

“You gotta keep your eyes open for me honey, c’mon look at me—look at me baby.” He pleads with you, rushing towards the trailer as yo9ur blood starts to soak his own clothes.

“I’m getting’ y’u d’rty.” You complain breathlessly as your head lolls to the side. Steve whimpers, reply wetly, “That’s okay baby—I—I don’t mind, I’ll put it in the wash when we get home okay?” he says consolingly, sounding panicked.

“’kay,” you agree mindlessly, your eyes drooping.

“Think ‘m gonna sleep now—”

Steve shakes you awake, making you cough as the feeling of the liquid filling your throat.

“Sorry—sorry honey, you can’t—fuck, baby you can’t sleep. Haven’t even got to tell you how much I love you yet sweetheart, you don’t even know,” He says, simultaneously awestruck and horrified.

“You don’t even know how much I love you baby, God, I—I was so dumb earlier, I shoulda run after you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—never gonna make that mistake again. But you’ve gotta stay awake for me okay? Because I’ve got a lot of making up to do huh?” He chokes up, muffling his sobs.

“Cause you can’t die—I, we have so many things left to do—can’t leave me alone—I can’t do this alone, you—you have to stay,” he sobs.

He almost chokes on the relief he feels when he sees the trailer, stumbling as he runs as fast as his feet can carry him towards the silver home.

Your breathing is shallow in his arms, and he would think you were already dead if not for the slow rise of your chest.

“Please,” he chokes out the paramedic he sees when he gets back to the real world. He holds you out, begging for them to take you. “You—you have to help her. She—she’s lost so much blood—oh god, please help her.” He begs desperately, succumbing to his own tears.

They take you immediately, transferring you to a stretcher as they rush you to an ambulance whilst Steve follows behind them, refusing to let you out of his sight for another second.

Whilst they load you, Steve pleads with them, “Please let me go with her—I’m the only one she knows, she’ll be so scared I need to be there—”

“You can ride with her, but we need to go now.” The paramedic rushes him in, letting him take the seat next to you as the strap you to a heart rate monitor and place a breathing mask over you.

He clenches his hands around your own as you blink slowly at him, “Hey,” he whispers into the silence of the ambulance, the paramedic watching the two of you in concern.

“I love you,” he blurts out again, frantically hoping you hear him. Your small smile calms a small portion of his fear, and he feels you shakily trace a pattern on his palm.

L-U-V-U.

[keerymehome]

hey!! what about joe w massive baby fever after seeing reader w his nieces

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Someday, Under the Oak

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Joe Keery x Reader

Summary: You fall asleep under an oak tree with Joe's niece in your arms - and wake to find him watching you like he's seen the rest of his life. He doesn't know you heard him say I want to build everything with you.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Oh he's down BAD

A/N: thank you for the request!! I needed a change up tonight, we've gone ultra fluff mode 😘

Word Count: 1,923

The weather had turned crisp that October afternoon, the kind of day where the air smells like woodsmoke. You were at Joe's sister's place for a family barbecue, a significant step in your relationship - meeting his extended family, the small cousins, the people who had known him when he had braces and a terrible haircut.

You'd been nervous. You'd changed about three times. But now, three hours in, you were barefoot in the backyard, grass cool between your toes, and you'd forgotten that you were anxious entirely.

Because of her.

Cora was three, all chubby wrists and sticky fingers with a crown of dark curls that defied gravity. She had attached herself to you within minutes of arrival, somehow sensing your soft spot for kids, your weakness for small things with big feelings.

Now the two of you were conspiring in the far corner of the yard, engaged in some very serious business.

"More," Cora commanded, her hands on her hips, her pink overalls dusted with grass stains.

"More of what, my love?" you asked, crouching to her level.

"More pwetty." She gestured dramatically at the pile of autumn leaves you'd been slowly collecting, as if you were personally offending her with an insufficient quantity.

You laughed, the sound carrying across the yard, and Joe - who had been helping man the grill - felt it hit him right in the heart. That laugh. God, that laugh. He watched you rake together another pile, your hair falling loose from its clip, your sweater riding up to expose a stripe of skin at your waist that his eyes were trained on.

"Ready?" you asked Cora, and she nodded on time with the gravity of a judge delivering a verdict.

"One… two…"

"Fwee!"

You fell backward into the leaves together, Cora's shrieks of delight mixing with your own breathless laughter. She immediately climbed onto your stomach, bouncing with that destructive toddler glee, sending red and gold leaves fluttering into the air like confetti.

"Again!" she demanded.

So you did it again. And again. You gave her piggyback rides across the lawn, your knees had become grass-stained, your voice hoarse from neighing like a horse at her request. You pushed her on the swing until your arms ached, higher and higher, catching her at the apex of each arc while she threw her head back and squealed at the sky.

Joe flipped burgers and tried not to stare. Tried not to memorize the way you looked with his niece's hand tucked trustingly in yours, the way you slowed your pace to match her stumbling steps, the way you listened to her endless, nonsensical stories with genuine interest, crouching down to meet her eyes like her words were precious.

"She's relentless," his sister said, appearing at his elbow with a platter of buns. "You don't have to let her monopolize your girlfriend, you know."

"She's fine," Joe said, too quickly. "They're fine."

His sister followed his gaze, saw the soft, stupid expression he wasn't bothering to hide, and smiled knowingly. "Oh, I see."

"You don't see anything."

"I see my little brother mentally picking out baby names, but go off I guess."

Joe threw a napkin at her. She laughed and walked away, victorious.

The afternoon wore on in that drowsy way autumn afternoons do. The sunlight slanted lower gradually, turning everything honey-colored and slow. You could feel the day settling into evening, the air growing cooler, the energy of the party softening into contentment.

You and Cora had migrated to the base of the old oak tree at the yard's edge, its trunk massive and gnarled, its leaves a canopy of rust and gold. She'd had found a "fairy house" in the roots - a small hollow between two thick tendrils of wood, carpeted with moss and last year's acorns.

"We nap," Cora announced suddenly, her eyes heavy, her earlier frenzy finally catching up with her small body.

"You want to nap here?" you asked, amused.

"Wif you." She climbed into your lap without waiting for permission, her familiar weight settling against your chest. She smelled like grass, sugar and that particular warm scent of clean. "You be da bed."

"Okay, bug." You adjusted your back against the tree trunk, finding the most comfortable angle you could. "Just a little rest."

She tucked her thumb in her mouth, her other hand finding your hair, winding a strand around her finger the way she had all afternoon on the piggybacks. Her eyelashes fluttered, fought, failed. Within minutes she was heavy and limp against you, her breath deepening into the rhythm of sleep.

You should move. You should find her mother, deposit her in a proper bed, rejoin the adults. But the tree was supporting your tired back, and Cora was radiating warmth like a small furnace. The afternoon had wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Your own eyes grew heavy without you really even noticing. The sounds of the party faded to a pleasant murmur. The last thing you felt was Cora's hand relaxing in your hair, her thumb slipping free of her mouth as she settled deeper against your heart.

You let yourself drift off for just for a moment.

Joe found you twenty minutes later.

He'd been looking, though he told himself he was just checking, just being responsible. The grill was cleaned, the burgers eaten, the sun sinking toward the horizon in a blaze of rose and amber. He'd grabbed a throw blanket from the couch - just in case, it's getting chilly - and followed the path you'd worn through the grass.

Then he stopped. And stared. And felt his heart physically clench in his chest.

You were asleep under that oak tree that held so many of his own memories, your head tilted back against the bark, your mouth slightly open, your chest rising and falling in the deep, even rhythm of exhausted contentment. And Cora - his niece, his sister's daughter, not yours, not yet at least - was curled into you like you were the safest harbor she'd ever known. Her face was smushed against your collarbone, one hand still tangled in your hair, her legs drawn up to her chest and held close by your arm.

The blanket fell from his hand.

He should take a picture. He knew he should take a picture. But he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but stand there and let the future crash over him in waves.

He saw it all, suddenly, with devastating clarity. Not abstract imaginings but specific moments, textured, colored and real.

You, seven months along, too uncomfortable to sleep in the bed, reading on the couch at 2 AM while he rubbed your feet and promised this would all be worth it. The nursery you would obsess over, every detail perfect had to be perfect, while he teased you about nesting but secretly loved watching you prepare. The way you'd look at him across a hospital room, terrified, fierce and ready, right before everything changed forever.

He saw you like this - like you were now - but in their living room, their child asleep against your chest while you dozed in the glider they'd bought secondhand and refinished together. He saw himself covering you with a blanket, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to the soft forehead of their baby's head. He saw years of this. Soccer games, skinned knees and bedtime stories. He saw you teaching their daughter to braid hair, their son to be gentle. He saw the tantrums, the milestones and the million ordinary moments that made up a life built together.

And he saw himself, older, standing in a doorway much like he was now, watching you with grandchildren maybe, still looking at you like you were the miracle he didn't deserve but got anyway.

This, he thought, his throat tight with want. I want this. I want her. I want them. I want everything.

He didn't realize he'd made a sound until Cora stirred, murmuring something against your neck. You didn't wake - too far gone, too trusting in your surroundings - but your arm tightened around her instinctively, protective even in sleep.

Joe crossed the grass quietly, retrieved the fallen blanket, and approached with confidence of a man who finally understood what they wanted. He draped it over both of you, tucking it around Cora's small feet, around your shoulders. Then he sank to his knees in the grass beside you, close enough to feel your warmth, to hear the soft twinning of your breath.

He reached out, hesitantly, and brushed a leaf from your hair. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your ear, the line of your jaw. You sighed in your sleep, leaning into his touch, and something in his chest broke open and rebuilt itself, stronger, oriented entirely toward this - toward you, toward them.

"I love you," he whispered, even though you couldn't hear. "I love you, and I want to build everything with you. The mess, the noise, the sleepless nights, the tiny shoes by the door. I want to be scared with you. I want to be tired with you. I want to watch you be a mother and be the one who gets to support you, learn from you, grow with you."

He looked at Cora, at the peaceful slackness of her sleeping face, and imagined your features there. Your eyes, your smile. Or his. Some perfect combination that would make him weak every single day.

"She's not even ours," he murmured, half-laughing at himself, "and I can't - I can't breathe looking at you. How am I going to survive our own kid?"

You shifted, your eyes fluttering open, unfocused and drowsy. You found him immediately, like you always did, your lips curving in a sleepy smile.

"Hey," you mumbled. "How long was I out?"

"Not long." He stroked your cheek with his thumb. "You looked peaceful. Didn't want to wake you."

You looked down at Cora, still heavy against you, and the tenderness that softened your face made his heart physically ache. "She crashed hard. Poor bug wore herself out."

"She's not the only one." He stood, holding out his hands. "Come on. I'll carry her inside. You can have the chair by the fire, I'll bring you tea, and you can pretend to be social for twenty more minutes before I make excuses and take you home."

"Such a good boyfriend," you teased, but you took his hand, let him pull you up while carefully transferring Cora's weight to his chest.

She stirred, protested weakly - "Bee?" - but settled quickly against him, recognizing family even in sleep.

"I've got her, bug," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her curls. "Go back to sleep."

You walked beside him across the yard, your hand in his, the blanket draped over your shoulders. The fairy lights were flickering on as the sun said its finally goodbye, painting everything in soft, forgiving glow.

"You okay?" you asked, noticing his silence, the intensity of his grip on your hand.

He stopped at the patio door, Cora warm and real in his arms, you radiant and glowing beside him. He looked at you with everything he felt laid out bare in his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, and his voice was rough, honest, open. "I'm just… I'm really happy. And I really want to keep this. All of it. With you."

You didn't ask what he meant. Maybe you knew. Maybe you felt it too, the weight of potential, the shape of a future pressing close enough to touch.

So you just squeezed his hand and said, "Me too, Joe. Me too."

And when he leaned down to kiss you, careful not to jostle his sleeping niece, it tasted like promise. Like autumn. Like the beginning of everything.

[hexyissy]

the girl next door (is not a grandma)

pairing: joe keery x reader

wc: 4.7k

warning: mention of Y/N three times (?), JUST TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF.

summary: joe thinks his new neighbor is someone's grandma.

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You swipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, exhaling as you set the last box down with a soft thud.

Finally.

New York.

The word alone feels too big for the small apartment you’re standing in—half-unpacked boxes, bare walls, the faint hum of the city leaking in through the windows. New job, new environment, new people. It should be terrifying.

It is, a little but there’s something else too—something lighter, brighter. Excitement, maybe. The kind that sits in your chest and refuses to settle, stretching your smile wider no matter how tired you are.

The landlord had called you lucky. “Last unit in the building,” he said, handing over the keys. “Sixth floor. Elevator works…most days.”

You didn’t mind.

Then came the warning, “Only two neighbors up there. One’s a musician. The other—old guy. Walks with a cane.”

You had just nodded. “That’s fine.” and you meant it.

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

After months of touring in South America, Joe Keery is more than ready to be home.

New York greets him the same way it always does—loud, restless, alive in a way that never quite lets him breathe properly until he’s behind his own door.

He drags his suitcase down the hallway, keys already in hand, when something feels… off. Well not wrong, just different.

A lights coming from the little space on 6B. 

Right.

The landlord did mention something. A new neighbor.

Joe glances at the door beside his for a second longer than necessary before unlocking his own, curiosity flickering briefly before exhaustion wins.

He’ll deal with it later.

Night settles in slowly, like the city never fully commits to sleeping.

Joe lies sprawled across his couch, a book resting open on his chest, one arm thrown over his eyes. The quiet is almost unfamiliar after weeks of noise—crowds, music, constant movement.

Then, a music. .

Soft at first. Barely there. A voice drifts through the wall, warm and honeyed, wrapped in the faint crackle of what sounds like vinyl.

Let’s fall in love…Why shouldn’t we fall in love…

Joe lowers his arm, listening.

Jazz.

Old jazz.

He lets out a quiet huff of amusement, staring up at the ceiling. Well, That answers that. New neighbor’s probably, what—seventy?

He doesn’t mind, though.

If anything, it’s… nice. Different from the usual bass-heavy, wall-shaking nonsense he’s used to. The song continues, filling the space in a way that feels oddly comforting. Joe closes his eyes again, letting it play.

Morning comes earlier than you’d like but you’re already up.

There’s something about a new place that makes you want to start right—make it yours, make it warm.

And what better way than baking?

Flour dusts the counter, the faint smell of vanilla and butter already curling through the apartment as you move around your tiny kitchen. It’s familiar. Grounding.

By the time the cupcakes come out of the oven, golden and soft, the space feels a little less empty. A little more like home.

You carefully arrange them into containers, wiping your hands on a dish towel before heading out into the hallway.

First stop: 6D, the old man with the cane.

You knock twice. There’s a pause, then the slow shuffle of footsteps before the door creaks open.

A frail man peers at you, brows lifting slightly in surprise. “Oh, hello.”

You brighten instantly. “Hi! I’m Y/N—I just moved in yesterday. I made some cupcakes and thought I’d introduce myself.” You hold the container out.

His expression softens, something fond slipping into his eyes. “Well, aren’t you a sweet thing,” he says. “But I’m afraid I can’t…doctor’s orders. No sugar.”

You perk up immediately. “Oh! That’s okay—I made a few sugar-free ones too, just in case.”

Then he chuckles, shaking his head. “Prepared, aren’t you?”

You grin. “Well… I try.”

He accepts the container this time. “Thank you, dear.”

“Of course.”

The door closes gently, and you step back into the hallway, already turning toward your other neighbor’s door.

You knock.

Once.

Twice.

Nothing.

You wait a moment, tilting your head slightly. Still nothing.

“Hm,” you murmur. They’re probably asleep. 

You glance down at the container in your hands, frowning slightly at the thought of just leaving it on the floor.

No, that won’t do.

You slip back inside your apartment, returning a second later with a small chair, placing it carefully beside their door. The container goes on top, safe and steady.

Then, after a second of hesitation, you grab a pen and a scrap of paper. Your handwriting is quick, a little messy:

To: 6A Just moved in yesterday, please accept this as a small hello :) – 6B

You tuck the note neatly under the container.

There.

Satisfied, you give the setup one last glance before heading down the hall, the faint smell of sugar trailing behind you.

It’s 8:30 am when joe came back after his morning run, when he notice at his door. A cupcake on a chair the definitely not his. 

He steps closer, cautious for no real reason, eyes landing on the container sitting neatly on top.

Oh.

Right.

The neighbor.

Joe huffs out a quiet breath, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leans in, spotting the note tucked underneath.

He pulls it free, reading it once. Then again.

6B.

So that’s you.

“‘Small hello,’” he murmurs to himself.

He glances briefly at the door beside his, sillent. Then back at the container. Carefully—like it might somehow be a trap, he lifts the lid.

The smell hits him first.

Sweet. Warm. Vanilla, maybe a hint of butter. It’s… ridiculously comforting. The kind of smell that doesn’t belong in a hallway like this, it belongs to a home. 

Inside sits a cupcake, frosting piped on top in a slightly uneven swirl.

Homemade.

Joe stares at it for a second longer than necessary, something soft flickering across his expression. “Huh.”

He picks it up, turning it slightly in his fingers like he’s inspecting it. This, paired with the music from last night? Yeah, That tracks.

He glances back at your door again, brows lifting a little as the idea settles more firmly in his head.

Definitely an old lady. A nice one, though.

The baking kind. The jazz kind.

The “leaves pastries outside your door” kind.

Joe lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he finally unlocks his door. “Guess I’ve got a grandma neighbor,” he mutters.

Inside, he drops his keys by the table and sets the container on the kitchen counter. For a moment, he just stands there, staring at it again like he’s debating something.

“Alright,” he says to no one. He peels back the wrapper and takes a bite.

His brows lift immediately. “…okay.”

Another bite, bigger this time. “Okay, damn.”

He lets out a small, surprised laugh, glancing toward the wall that separates your apartments. “You’re showing off now,” he says under his breath, like you can somehow hear him.

He leans back against the counter, finishing the cupcake slower this time, actually tasting it.

It’s good.

Really good.

Too good for store-bought. Too good for casual. He wipes a bit of frosting from his thumb, still smiling faintly, something warmer settling in his chest now. The apartment doesn’t feel as empty.

Not with the lingering sweetness in the air. Not with the faint memory of jazz still stuck in his head.

Joe glances at the wall again, thoughtful. “…Yeah,” he murmurs, definitely a grandma.

The thought sticks with him longer than he expects. Long enough that he ends up standing in his kitchen ten minutes later, staring at a blank sticky note.

He taps the pen against it once. Twice.

Then writes:

Thanks for the cupcake. It was… really good. – 6A

He pauses and frowns, “that’s boring.” He sighs, peeling it off and trying again.

Thanks for the cupcake. I think you just ruined store-bought desserts for me. – 6A

Better.

Still, He glances around his apartment, then toward the small stack of photos sitting near his camera. His fingers hover for a second before picking one up.

A mountain.

Early morning light spilling over the ridges, soft and golden. Quiet.

He flips it over, hesitates—then adds beneath the note:

Small hello back to you.

It’s nearly 9 p.m. when you finally make it home. The day had been long, but good. New routines settling in faster than you expected, conversations easier, the unfamiliar already starting to feel… manageable.

You unlock your door, stepping into the hallway—and pause. There’s something on the floor.

A photograph.

You bend slightly, picking it up.

A mountain stretches across the frame, bathed in soft light. Calm. Still. Beautiful in a way that makes your chest tighten just a little.

It reminds you of home. Not exactly the same—but close enough. You turn it over.

Thanks for the cupcake. I think you just ruined store-bought desserts for me. Small hello back. – 6A

A smile spreads across your face before you can stop it, so this is your other neighbor. You glance briefly at the door beside yours, like you might somehow see him through it. Then back at the photo. 

“Cute,” you murmur softly.

Inside, you set your things down, carefully pinning the photo onto your corkboard—right where you’ll see it.

You’d already eaten dinner outside, so the night is yours. It settles around you gently, like something waiting to be shaped.

You wash up, letting the warmth of the water ease the day from your shoulders—long hours, unfamiliar faces, the quiet effort of fitting yourself into a place that still feels slightly too big, too new. The kind of tired that isn’t heavy, just… lingering.

When you step back into your room, it feels softer somehow.

More yours.

You change into something comfortable, fabric brushing against your skin like a quiet reward, then reach for the candle on your bedside table. The flame flickers to life, small but steady, casting a golden glow that fills the corners of the apartment—turning bare walls into something warmer, something closer to home.

Your record clicks softly into place.

You make me smile with my heart…

The sound spills into the room like honey, slow and warm, wrapping itself around everything—the dim light, the quiet air, the steady rhythm of your breathing. It softens the edges of the day, blurring the sharpness of unfamiliar things.

Your looks are laughable, un-photographable…

You hum along under your breath, a small smile tugging at your lips as you move absentmindedly around the space, adjusting a book here, straightening a corner there.

…yet, you’re my favorite work of art.

The lyrics linger, hanging gently in the air like they belong there. Like they’ve always belonged there and maybe it’s silly but you’re aware of it.

The walls aren’t that thick.

Whoever lives next door can probably hear every note, every crackle of the vinyl, every quiet hum you don’t even realize you’re making.

You pause for a second, glancing toward the wall.

Listening.

Nothing comes back. No complaints. No knocking. No sign that you’re bothering anyone. Just silence. A soft exhale leaves you, something between relief and amusement.

“Well,” you murmur to yourself, voice barely louder than the music, “I’ll take that as approval.”

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s been a month.

A whole month of passing the same hallway, the same doors, the same quiet space between you and apartment 6A.

And still, you haven’t met him.

The musician.

You know he exists. You hear it sometimes—soft guitar drifting through the walls, not loud enough to intrude, just enough to remind you he’s there. A presence without a face.

It’s strange, in a way. To feel like you know someone’s habits, but not their name.

Still, you don’t push. Everyone has their own rhythm. Their own life unfolding behind closed doors. You’ve learned not to interrupt that.

So instead, you bake.

On your days off, the kitchen fills with warmth—cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, brownies. The kind of things that make a place feel lived in. The kind of things that are easier to share than words.

And when you’re not baking, you’re here. Sitting across from the old man in 6D, a chessboard between you, the afternoon light stretching lazily across the table.

He moves slowly, but never uncertain.

“Have you met your neighbor yet?” he asks, eyes still fixed on the board.

You shake your head, nudging your pawn forward. “No, not yet.”

A small pause. “I leave baked goods sometimes,” you add, almost sheepish. “And he leaves notes. That’s… kind of our thing, I guess.”

Your pawn lands on C4, a quiet offering.

The old man hums, considering, before sliding his knight into place. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s a good man.”

You glance up briefly. “You know him?”

“A little.” Something is known in the way he says it, but he doesn’t elaborate.

You look back down at the board, tapping your finger lightly against the edge.

“I guess we just never catch each other,” you murmur. “Even in the hallway.”

A beat, “sometimes I hear him play guitar, though.”

The old man smiles faintly at that, shifting another piece with careful precision. “And I hear your music every night,” he says. “That old jazz.”

You smile, a little brighter now. “Yeah, Ella Fitzgerald. She’s my favorite.”

“It reminds me of my wife.”

That makes you pause. Not in surprise—but in the way something soft settles into the moment, asking you to slow down.

You look up.

He’s not looking at you anymore. His gaze is somewhere else entirely, distant in a way that feels… familiar. Like he’s seeing something that isn’t here.

“Do you miss her?” you ask gently.

He lets out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh—but softer. “My soul yearns for her,” he says. 

The words don’t feel heavy just hones, like something he’s learned to carry.

You don’t say anything for a moment. Just nod, letting the silence sit between you—not empty, but full in its own quiet way.

Then, he moves his queen. Smooth. Certain.

“Checkmate.”

You blink, looking down at the board—then let out a surprised laugh. “Wait—what? No, that’s…” you lean forward, scanning the pieces, realization dawning too late. “You’ve been setting that up this whole time.”

He smiles, just a little. “Patience,” he says.

You shake your head, laughing under your breath as you lean back in your chair. “Remind me never to underestimate you again.”

“Too late for that,” he replies.

Your laughter fades into something softer, your gaze drifting briefly toward the direction of your apartment.

Toward 6A.

Toward the quiet, unseen neighbor who exists somewhere just beyond your reach.

“Maybe I’ll meet him eventually,” you murmur.

The old man follows your gaze, something knowing flickering in his expression. “Oh,” he says quietly. “you will.”

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Joe’s phone is propped up against a stack of books, his sisters’ faces filling the screen as they talk over each other, as usual.

“Are you eating properly?” one of them asks.

“Are you sleeping?” the other cuts in.

“Do you even know what sleep is?”

Joe huffs a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, I’m eating. Yes, I’m sleeping. I’m alive, I promise.”

“That’s not convincing,” one of them says.

He rolls his eyes, leaning back against the couch. “Okay, fine. I’ve been surviving off baked goods lately.”

“Oh?”

“My neighbor,” he adds, something softer slipping into his tone without him noticing. “She’s—uh… probably someone’s grandma. Loves to bake. Leaves stuff outside my door.”

His sisters immediately light up.

“Oh my god.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Right?” Joe says, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Her cupcakes are insane. Like, life-changing. I don’t even think I can eat store-bought anymore.”

“Have you met her?”

He pauses “…no.”

“What?” they both say at the same time.

“I mean…we just, you know. Miss each other.” He shrugs. “Schedules.”

They stare at him.

“Joe.”

“What?”

“Go meet your grandma.”

He groans. “I’m not knocking on her door like some weirdo.”

“You literally eat her food.”

“Exactly,” he says. “That makes it worse.”

They laugh, he shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “Alright, I gotta go,” he says, reaching for his phone. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Go meet her!” they call before the screen goes dark.

The apartment feels quieter after the call ends. Joe glances toward the door without really meaning to.

Toward 6B.

He thinks about the last note he left. The way you’d written back before that—simple, warm, easy. It’s a little strange. To feel like you know someone through scraps of paper and sugar. And it’s making him miss home, his family. 

It’s been a week of no cupcakes. no brownies. no cinnamon rolls. not even a note. Joe doesn’t mention it because who would he even say it to? but he notices.

Every morning, when he steps into the hallway, there’s a small, stupid part of him that looks down automatically. 

Nothing.

He opens his fridge one afternoon, staring at the plastic container of store-bought cupcakes sitting untouched on the shelf. He bought them two days ago.

They’re… fine. Too sweet. Too perfect. No personality.

Joe shuts the fridge with a quiet sigh. “Yeah,” he mutters to himself. “Not the same.”

He leans against the counter for a second, arms crossed. Maybe you’re busy. Maybe you got tired of baking. Maybe, he shakes his head slightly, cutting the thought off, “It’s not like she has to,” he says under his breath.

Still.

The hallway feels a little emptier.

A few days later, on the first floor, Joe stands waiting for the elevator, headphones hanging loosely around his neck. The doors haven’t opened yet when he hears the slow tap of a cane.

He turns, “Hey,” he says, recognizing the old man from upstairs.

“Well, if it isn’t the musician,” the old man replies, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “How are you, Joe?”

“I’m good,” Joe says. “You?”

“Still alive. That’s something.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh. A pause settles between them, comfortable.

“Have you met our neighbor yet?” the old man asks casually.

Joe shakes his head. “No. But she keeps me fed.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Joe says, a grin forming. “Cupcakes, pies, muffins… I’ve got a whole bakery situation going on upstairs.”

The old man hums, amused. “A very sweet woman,” Joe adds, clearly entertained by himself.

“Very,” the old man agrees, watching him closely.

Joe glances at him, catching the look. “What?”

“Nothing,” the old man says. “Just wondering why you haven’t asked her to coffee yet.”

Joe lets out a short laugh. “Oh—no. Nope. Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Joe shrugs. “Feels… weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. Like what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, thanks for the baked goods, wanna hang out?’” He shakes his head. “Hard pass.”

The old man studies him for a moment, something amused and knowing sitting just beneath the surface. “You might regret that,” he says.

Joe smirks. “What, I’m trying to set you up here?”

The old man raises his cane slightly, pointing it at him. “Careful, boy. My wife might come back and haunt you.”

Joe laughs. “Yeah? I’d like to see her try.”

The elevator dings, doors sliding open. They step inside, still smiling.

 Later that night, Joe sits on his bed, guitar resting against his thigh, fingers idly strumming as he works through a melody that refuses to settle.

The apartment is quiet, then the melodies finally made it, faint at first.

Familiar.

There’s a somebody I’m longin’ to see…

Joe pauses for half a second, fingers hovering over the strings before continuing.

Someone who’ll watch over me…

Ella Fitzgerald again.

He almost smiles. It’s been a week since he’s heard it. A week since—laughter cuts through the song, a bright, unrestrained, and close. 

Joe’s hand stills completely this time. The sound carries through the wall, through the slight crack of his open window. Not soft. Not quiet.

Alive.

He frowns slightly, tilting his head. “She’s got someone over,” he murmurs. That must be it. That’s why the baking stopped.

Why the hallway’s been empty.

His fingers press absently against the strings, but he doesn’t play. The laughter comes again, lighter this time, fading into the music. Joe leans back slightly, staring at nothing in particular.

“…yeah,” he mutters. Makes sense but something about it sits strange in his chest. Not bad, just different. 

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Three days have passed since you invited the old man from 6D over for dinner.

In exchange, he told you stories, long, winding ones about his late wife. The way she laughed, the way she danced in the kitchen, the way she filled a room without trying.

You’d listened the whole night, chin resting on your hand, smiling softly.

It lingered with you.

That kind of love.

The kind that stays, even after.

Now, you’re in the elevator, balancing two grocery bags in each hand, the plastic handles digging slightly into your fingers.

Your headphones sit snug over your ears, music playing low—just enough to keep you company, not enough to drown the world out completely.

It’s been a long day. You just want to get upstairs.

The elevator doors begin to close, and then a hand appears trying to get between them. 

You look up. For a split second, you catch a glimpse of someone on the other side. Tall. Slightly out of breath. Familiar in a way that makes your brows knit together.

You’ve seen him before. You’re sure of it but before your brain can place it the doors slide shut.

The elevator continues upward. You blink “…huh.”

You shift the bags in your hands, the plastic rustling softly as your mind tries to catch up. Where have you seen him? Not in the building—no, you would remember that.

Or… would you?

On the other side, Joe exhales, dropping his hand as the elevator doors fully close in front of him. “Seriously?”

He lets out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. He was right there.

The girl inside, he frowns slightly. He knows that face. Not personally. Not exactly. But there’s something about it. Something that feels… close.

He shakes his head.

“Whatever,” he mutters, stepping back as he waits for the next elevator.

By the time you reach the sixth floor, your arms are starting to ache. You step out carefully, adjusting your grip as you make your way down the hallway.

Almost there, almost, then one of the bags slips.

“—shit.”

You barely catch it before it hits the floor, but a few items tumble out anyway—an apple rolling a short distance, a box of something sliding across the tiles.

You sigh, crouching down awkwardly, trying to gather everything without dropping the rest.

The elevator dings behind you. You don’t turn, too focused.

Joe steps out, already reaching for his keys then pauses. There’s someone crouched in the hallway. Groceries scattered slightly around them. He hesitates for half a second.

Then,  “Hey—uh, wait,” he says, stepping forward. “I got it.”

You glance up, startled.

It’s him.

The guy from the elevator. Up close, he looks even more familiar. Before you can think about it, he’s already crouching beside you, picking up the apple and handing it back.

“Thanks,” you say, a little breathless.

“Yeah, no problem.”

There’s a small pause as you both reach for the same item at the same time—your fingers brushing briefly.

You pull back first. “Sorry.”

“No—my bad,” he says quickly.

Another pause, not uncomfortable. Just… unsure.

You stand, adjusting the bags again, and he does the same—except he doesn’t have anything in his hands, so now he’s just standing there. Looking at you like he’s trying to figure something out.

“You live up here?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” he nods, then gestures vaguely behind him. “Uh—6A.”

You blink.

Oh.

Oh.

Something clicks; it might be a stupid and rude move, but you immediately go inside your apartment. Trying not to embarrass yourself more in front of Joe Keery. 

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The hallway smells like sugar again.

Joe notices it before anything else—warm, soft, something like vanilla and butter baked into the walls. It’s been like that for weeks now, always in the evenings. Always paired with the low hum of old music bleeding through the floorboards—brassy, smooth, something that sounds like it belongs in a different decade.

He’s halfway to convincing himself to knock when the door across from his opens.

You step out.

Not eighty.

Not even close.

You’re holding a small plate, a cupcake perched neatly in the center, frosting swirled a little uneven like it was done in a rush.

Joe just… stares.

“Oh—uh,” you say, offering a small smile, holding the plate out toward him. “Hi. I am the one who just moved in and I want to apologize for my rude behavior aside from, you know… assaulting the hallway with baked goods.”

He blinks. Once. Twice.

“Right. Yeah. No—yeah, that’s… that’s okay.” He takes the plate automatically, still looking at you like his brain is buffering. “Thanks.”

Then, because his mouth always moves faster than his thoughts.  “Tell your grandma thanks too,” he adds, nodding toward the door behind you. “She’s been, uh… really generous with the pastries.”

Silence.

You blink at him. “My… what?”

“Your grandma,” Joe repeats, suddenly less confident. He gestures vaguely. “The music, the baking..I just figured—”

There’s a pause. Not awkward yet. Just confused. Then your brows knit together, and you let out a short, almost disbelieving laugh.

“I don’t—” you shake your head a little, like you’re trying to catch up to him. “My grandma’s dead.”

Joe freezes, completely, “Oh.”

The word drops like a brick between you.

“I mean—not like—recently,” you add quickly, not unkindly, but definitely trying not to laugh now. “I just…there’s no grandma in there. It’s just me.”

Joe looks at the cupcake in his hand. Then back at you. Then at your door. Like, maybe an elderly woman will magically appear and save him.

She does not.

“…I thought you were, like, seventy,” he admits.

That does it. You laugh—, eally laugh this time, shoulders shaking, hand coming up to your mouth.

“Seventy?”

“The music!” he defends, pointing at the wall. “And the baking! And, there’s vinyl, right? I heard—”

“I like Ella Fitzgerald, oh my god, is that illegal now?” you shoot back, still smiling.

“No! No, it’s just—most people our age are playing, I don’t know, depressing indie music and eating instant noodles.”

“I do that too,” you say. “Just… with better snacks.”

That earns a small, helpless laugh from him. “Okay. Yeah. That tracks.”

A softer pause settles this time, less awkward more curious.

“I’m…Joe, by the way.”

“I know,” you say, a little too quickly—then wince. “I mean—not in a weird way. You’re just… you know.”

He raises a brow.

“Yeah?”

You gesture vaguely. “Well-known”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Right.”

You nod toward the cupcake. “You should try it before you decide I’m secretly an old lady.”

Joe peels back the wrapper, still smiling a little to himself. “Tastes like something a seventy-year-old would make,” he says, taking a bite.

You gasp. “Rude.”

He grins. “Really good, though.”

He shifts his weight slightly, glancing at you, then away, then back again.like he’s deciding something.

“Hey—uh…” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “This might be… kind of random, but”

You tilt your head, waiting.

“I feel like I owe you,” he says, holding up the cupcake a little. “For all the baked goods. And the, uh… emotional damage from thinking you were someone’s grandma.”

You laugh softly.

“So…” he continues, a little more sure now, “would you maybe want to grab coffee sometime?”

You study him for a second—not seriously, just enough to make him a little nervous.

“Only if you’re willing to teach me how to play guitar.”

Joe blinks then smiles,  “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I can do that.”

You nod once, satisfied. “Then we’ve got a deal.”

Another beat lingers between you—quiet, warm, something new settling in the space where there used to be just a wall.

The hallway still smells like sugar but now it feels like something else, too. Something just beginning.

the girl next door (is not a grandma) masterlist

masterlist

[hanwritesthings]

hii love ur stufffff

idea for a storyy: maybe that reader is an upcoming artist or kinda like lizzy mcalpine vibe famous, and shes close w finn wolfhard so he invites her to come to Djo’s closing show in nyc.

finn asks joe and hes like wait you’re friends w reader? and hes like yea we met at a premiere. and joe thinks somethings between her and finn but finns like no way + she was still w her now ex when finn and her met. and joe’s like; “soo shes single now?” thinking he’s being lowkey but ofc finn clocks him and his interest for this possible cute indie singer.

anddd so the night before the show he has a sleepy slip up and likes oneof her old posts. then next day, shes at the show, he spots her and they end up finding eachother at the after party for his crew and friends!

ok ivenever put in a req before so i dont know if this is too unclear or too detailed orrrr yea. hope u like it!!! i just love to read where reader is like nichely famous like ur potion story where shes clairooo

friend of a friend - joe keery

pairing- joe keery x indie girl!reader

a/n: i LOVE this dynamic tysm for requesting

wc: 2.2k

you can’t recall how exactly finn came into your life. he sort of weaseled his way in, in true finn fashion.

you think it may have started with a dm, which turned into him being backstage at one of your shows, which turned into him just never leaving you alone. now, he was like a little brother to you. an annoying little brother.

so it was a no brainer when joe invited finn to his last show in new york that he would bring you. the two boys were out for lunch the day before, joe had just gotten back to the city.

“you’re coming tomorrow night, right?” joe asks finn between bites. finn nods.

“yeah. oh, i hope you don’t mind but i invited a friend. i figured you be fine with a plus one.”

joe pauses. “who is it?”

“y/n.”

joe furrows his brows at finn. “wait, y/n? you’re friends with her?”

“uh, yeah.” finn replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“oh.” joe nods, processing the information. “are you, like… seeing her?”

finn almost chokes on his drink. “no, god no. i mean, i did have a minor crush on on her when i met her, but she was in a relationship at the time. that’s didn’t last long, now she’s like my mom or something.”

joe chews thoughtfully. “she’s too old for you anyway.”

“she’s only a few years older. closer to you in age.” finn shrugs.

“so, she was in a relationship. is she not anymore?” joe asks, trying to come off nonchalant.

“no, she finally dumped her ex like… i dunno, six months ago. he was a grade a asshole, total meathead.”

“and you don’t like her anymore?”

“no, i’m not her type anyway. she’s more into guys like… well…” finn’s voice trails off, smirk blooming on his face as he looks at joe across the table.

“what?” joe asks.

“oh, nothing. you’re a fan of her, right?”

“i mean, yeah. who isn’t?” joe asks, a hint of defense in his tone.

“hm.” finn hums, smirking as he takes a bite of his food.

“you’re being weird.” joe huffs, rolling his eyes at the younger boy.

“and you’re in love.”

“shut up, man.”

-

joe couldn’t sleep later that night. he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. his mind was on so many things. the show tomorrow, you being there, you.

joe had been a casual fan of yours, a silent supporter for a while. he thought you were incredible, in simple terms.

sighing to himself, joe reaches over to his nightstand for his phone. he squints at the screen as he unlocks it and navigates to instagram. he quickly goes to the search tab and types in your name.

he already followed you, of course he did. joe examined your profile picture and your bio before he started scrolling. he slowly looks through your posts, taking in every feature on your face, all the other random things you’d posted pictures of, your captions.

he’d been scrolling for fifteen minutes, and was on a post from four years ago when he finally began to drift off. unbeknownst to joe, his thumb slips clumsily, liking the post.

he only dozed off for a minute, but by the time he stirs, his phone is locked. joe lets out a groan, checking the time on the locked screen before setting the phone back onto the table and rolling over, sleep consuming him once more.

somewhere across the city, your in your own bed, book in hand. your phone buzzes next to you and you reluctantly pick it up, doing a double take when you do.

djotime liked your post

you sat up a bit, slightly confused by the notification. you hadn’t posted recently, had you? you click the notification and are greeted by some random post from four years ago.

was it a glitch? surely it had to be you thought to yourself as you refreshed the page. it loaded again and you were met with the same notification.

“no way.” you laugh softly to yourself. you had just caught joe keery stalking your instagram, and he either had no idea or did not care.

you thought about it the rest of the night until you drifted off to sleep.

-

you decided not to tell finn about joe liking your post. you checked once more before leaving for the concert and the post was still liked. the thought made your stomach twist with nerves, but you pushed them away.

now, as you stand in the vip section on the balcony, it’s all you can think about. it didn’t help that finn had been chatting your ear off the entire time about how much you and joe would get along and all the stuff you had in common.

you were thankful when the house lights went down and joe took the stage. you were mesmerized, to say the least. you were already a fan of his music, but seeing him perform was a whole different feeling.

about halfway through the set, joe’s eyes lifted to the balcony and landed on you. he froze for a second, not enough for anyone to notice. but you did. a smile spread across his face and he gave a slight nod. you smile back, ignoring the way your stomach flipped.

you glanced at finn, making sure he was oblivious to the interaction. he wasn’t, but you didn’t have to know that. finn only filed away that information for later.

-

when the concert ended, you and finn made your way to a nearby bar joe’s crew had rented out to throw a party celebrating the last show of the tour.

“are you sure it’s fine i come to this?” you ask finn as you enter the building. finn rolls his eyes, shooting you a ridiculous look.

“it’s just a small party. it’s fine. joe invited both of us.”

you don’t argue. you let out a sigh and stick close to finn. neither of you spot joe yet so you make your way to the bar, both ordering drinks.

“please don’t get drunk tonight. i don’t know if i have the strength to take care of you tonight.” you tell finn as he sips the beer that was slid to him.

“don’t worry about me. just worry about yourself and impressing joe.” finn teases. you shoot him a glare before sipping your drink.

“you’re insufferable.”

twenty minutes go by, you and finn making small talk with the other people that were there, when finally the doors open again and the room fills with cheers.

you rise on your toes to peer over the crowd to see joe flanked by his band mates coming in. he’s wearing a bashful smile, waving off the people who were clapping and patting him on the back.

“man of the hour.” finn says from beside you before nudging you with his elbow. you roll your eyes, downing the rest of your drink.

after a few minutes, joe spots finn and makes his way over.

“hey man. great show.” finn says as joe pulls him into a hug. joe thanks him as he pulls back, his gaze immediately falling on you. the smile on his face shifts slightly, almost into something more shy.

finn introduces the two of you with a smirk on his face.

“hi. the show was amazing.” you say with an easy smile that makes joe’s heart skip.

“i play better when i have great people in the audience. especially great musicians.” joe says smoothly.

finn makes a gag sound then clears his throat. “i’m gonna go bug wes. you kids have fun and don’t anything i wouldn’t do.”

finn slips away before either of you could object. you’re left standing there feeling slightly awkward.

“god, that kid.” joe chuckles, shaking his head.

“tell me about it.”

joe looks back at you and stares at you for a moment, like he’s examining you. you can feel the heat of his gaze.

“i’m a big fan, you know. i love your music.”

“is that why you were stalking my instagram at one am?” the words leave your mouth before you could stop them. you slap a hand over your mouth and stare at joe with wide eyes. what the hell did they put in that drink?

joe’s eyes widen, like a kid that got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “w-what?”

“i don’t know why i said that. i’m sorry.” you can’t help but laugh, the entire moment feeling crazy.

“how do you know about that?” joe asks, shocked but not upset.

“you liked one of my posts. from four years ago. and judging by your reaction it wasn’t intentional.”

joe’s hands cover his face as he groans. “oh my god i am so sorry.”

his words melt any tension you felt and you laugh. “no it’s okay. rookie mistake.”

“i feel like such an idiot. note to self, don’t stalk people when you’re half asleep.”

“don’t worry. we’ve all been there. usually, we just unlike the post right away but i appreciate the commitment.” you tease, suddenly feeling lighter.

joe pulls his hands away from his face and chuckles. “god this is so embarrassing.”

“don’t be embarrassed. i’m not creeped out or anything. if anything, i’m flattered.”

joe looks at you for a moment, trying to decide if you’re being honest or just trying to make him feel better. he let out a little sigh of relief before smiling.

“so, are you and finn…” his voice trails off as he waves his hand in front of him. he obviously knew the answer, but wanted to hear you say it.

you face instantly screws up into disgust before you burst out laughing.

“oh no. no no no, not at all. he’s more of a little brother. no, i’m not seeing anyone.” you chuckle, add on that last part casually.

joe smiles to himself and nods. “good to know.”

-

you lose track of time, tucked away in a corner with joe. multiple times throughout the night, his band mates had spotted him and had come up to question where he had been, but then they saw you and the look on joe’s face as he listening to you talk and thought better of it.

joe was enamored by you. they way you talked about things, your laugh, they way you carried yourself, how you weren’t afraid to joke or look stupid. he felt silly how smitten with you he was by the end of the night.

the party began to wind down and you were beginning to stifle a few yawns. joe noticed and cleared his throat.

“i’ll probably head out soon. do you need a ride? we can give you one.” you smile but shake your head.

“no that’s okay, i’ll get an uber.” the two of you stood there and argued over it for a good few minutes.

“joe, please. it’s okay, i promise. i’m a big girl.” your words hadn’t done much to convince him but your hand resting on his arm made him forget how to breathe. so finally, he nodded.

“fine. but let me order it for you.” compromise, you told yourself.

and so you stood outside the bar with joe waiting for your uber, his band mates lingering around the van a few feet away, definitely not eavesdropping.

“i’m really glad you came tonight.” joe says, breaking the silence. you look up at him with a soft smile.

“yeah, i am too. thank you for having me.” a beat of silence passed, broken only by and exaggerated, loud throat being cleared from joe’s friend with the long hair. wes, if you remembered correctly.

joe sends him a glare over his shoulder before turning his attention back on you.

“i think i enjoyed getting to know you more than any other part of the night. i’d love to see you again, if you want. no pressure.”

your grin grows as you take joe in. the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, the hand rubbing the back of his neck, his soft puppy eyes gazing down at you.

“i would love that very much.”

joe breaks out into a wide smile. “really? cool, cool. here, put your number in.”

he pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up a new contact page before handing it to you. you type your number and name in. as you’re finishing up, your uber rolls up to the curb.

“i’ll text you right now so you’ll have my number. let me know you make it home safely.” joe says as he opens the car door for you. you nod.

“oh, and joe?” he stops, holding the door open as you climb into the seat.

“next time you’re thinking about me at two am, just call.” joe’s face burns hot, but he nods before shutting the door.

in the back of the uber, you smile to yourself as you watch the buildings pass in a blur. your phone buzzes twice and you look down.

unknown number: What if I think about you 24/7 now?

finn: tell me EVERYTHING

part two

[vanillavienna]

hollywood - joe keery

pairing: joe keery x famous!reader

summary; being new in the hollywood industry was overwhelming, and being at a grammy after party? it was a lot.. yet something or rather, someone, was keeping you from leaving.

word count; 2.5k

rosalia writes; i really liked this concept yet i was soo caught up in my life i didn't get to writing it. but i finally finished it so i'm excited for you guys to read it!!

a breeze blows through your perfectly curled hair as you take in the view. the big hollywood sign up the mountain, staring back at you.

your heels are kicked off next to you, the bass drumming through the walls leading to the balcony. it’s surprising no one else is here, the view is absolutely breathtaking. but then again, inside the venue are some of the most famous celebrities you could imagine. all there, and you’re out here.

tonight you’ve won a grammy award for best new artist. a grammy. just two years ago you were working at a supermarket and going to school full time.

now you’re stood in a gown of a brand you can’t even pronounce and jewelry so expensive you’re scared you’ll lose it. it’s all a bit surreal. hence why you’re on the balcony, and not enjoying the grammy’s after party. you’re overwhelmed.

so lost in thought, you don’t even notice someone has stepped next to you, leaning against the railing.

he didn’t say hello immediately, just took in the same view before he spoke.

“did you know the sign used to say ‘hollywoodland’?” joe said, glancing over to you.

your eyes snapped away from the view, looking surprised joe keery was talking to you.

you blinked, taking in what he just said. “oh, i didn’t know.” you gave him a polite smile as you looked back at the sign.

you knew of joe keery, liked his music even. but you couldn’t keep up the small talk anymore tonight.

he nodded, taking your short answer as a sign not to bother you further, so he took a cigarette in between his lips, looking for a lighter in his pocket.

you noticed how he tapped every possible pocket he had, but no lighter. so you dug into your purse, holding one up. you snapped it open and sparked it, flames casting a shadow on both your faces on the dimly lit balcony.

his eyes met yours as he leaned forward a bit, letting the cigarette between his lips touch the flame. when it wouldn’t lit, he put his hands around the lighter, shielding it from any wind, eye contact never wavering, his hands touching your hand.

you’d be lying if you said that didn’t give you butterflies.

“thanks.” he said, blowing out smoke, offering you a drag.

you just shook your head. “you’re welcome.” you looked at him as he turned to face the railing again, taking him in.

after another beat, he turns to look at you again.

“i’m joe by the way.” he extended his hand to you. he didn’t need an introduction, you knew all about him.

you chuckled softly, taking his hand in yours, shaking it. “i know who you are.” you replied, giving him your name after.

“well, still feels a bit rude to assume you knew it.” he says, holding your hand a litte longer than necessary.

a moment passes, you look back at the party that’s happening inside, then at him. “are you not enjoying the party?” you ask.

he took a breath as he shook his head. “..bit too crowded in there. plus it’s all just less party, more networking. not really my type of thing.”

you just nodded, understanding him.

“shouldn’t you be in there? best new artist? congrats by the way.” he said, looking at you, smiling.

you huffed out a smile hesitantly. the title ‘best new artist’ didn’t sound real yet. “thank you. probably should, yeah.” you answered but honestly you had no desires to be back in that room. “i just feel a bit out of place there.”

he took another drag of his cigarette, eyes roaming over your face, like he’s trying to see you more clearly. “yeah? i mean, you deserve to be there, you know.”

in a way you knew it was true, your debut album had gone viral and the last year had consisted of interviews, concerts, fans approaching you on the street. you’re even invited to be on a talkshow next week. yet, you still felt like the girl who wrote songs in her childhood room because she wouldn’t get a text back.

joe could tell you were unconvinced. “they’re mostly nice people,” he said, his head nudging to the door. “i mean, speaking for myself, i don’t bite.”

you chuckled ever so softly. “not even a little?” you meant it more as a joke, but it definitely sounded like a flirt. a faint heat creeping up your neck from.. embarrassment?

all he did was grin as he took another drag from his cigarette, head shaking a little as he blew out the smoke.

a beat passes before he speaks again. “i really liked your album by the way.” he said.

“really?” joe keery listened to your stuff?

“yeah really,” he leaned back against the railing, running a hand through his hair. you sound surprised.”

“wow, i guess i just.. didn’t expect you to have heard it.” you answered. it’s true, you really didn’t. his music is pretty different from yours. “i like your music.”

by the look on his face he’s surprised that you like his stuff too. “you do?”

“mhm.” you tucked a strand of hair between your ear, should you tell him you even go as far as owning a record of his?

“well, thank you.”

there’s a small pause again, but this one feels different. less awkward, more… aware.

he studies you for a second, like he’s deciding something.

“what’s your favorite song on it?” he asks, nodding slightly toward you.

you blink. “on your album?”

he hums, taking another drag. “yeah. don’t say the popular one just to be polite.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “i wouldn’t do that.”

he raises a brow like he doesn’t fully believe you.

you lean back against the railing beside him, a little closer than before. “probably fly,” you admit after a second. “it’s… calmer than the rest. i like that.”

he goes quiet for a beat.

not in a bad way, more like you caught him off guard.

“huh,” he exhales, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “most people don’t pick that one.”

“most people don’t listen properly.” you shrug lightly. you’ve had that song on repeat. when you’d go to bed, when you were writing. it was calm, cleared your head on occasion.

that earns you a look though. a real one this time. there’s something softer in it now.

“you always this honest?” he asks.

you tilt your head slightly. “you always this surprised when someone is?”

he lets out a quiet laugh, looking down for a second before glancing back at you.

“no,” he admits, voice a little lower now. “just didn’t expect it from you.”

“from me?” you echo.

his eyes flick over you, your dress, the jewelry, the whole polished image, before settling back on your face.

“yeah. you look like you belong in there,” he nods toward the party. “not out here… hiding.”

your breath catches a little at that.

“maybe i don’t want to belong in there,” you say softly.

another beat.

closer now, somehow, even though neither of you moved much.

he flicks ash off his cigarette over the railing. “then where do you want to belong?”

your eyes meet his, and for the first time tonight, you don’t feel overwhelmed.

just… steady.

“not sure yet,” you admit. “but this is better.”

his lips twitch.

“yeah?” he says, a little teasing again. “just the view, or…”

you smile slightly, a humorous scoff escaping you but you’re not looking away this time.

“depends,” you murmur. “are you part of the view?”

he’s about to respond when the balcony doors slide open, a couple giggling celebrities who’ve had way too much to drink, come out for a smoke, interrupting the moment.

one of them spots you. “oh. my. god.” she says as her steps are now headed towards you as she pulls whoever guy she’s with, with her.

“i am just, utterly obsessed with you!!” she says, her hand on your arm. you’ve seen her before on tv, some reality show you occasionally put on if you really feel like frying your brain.

you greet her, smiling politely. but you’d desperately want to go back to flirting with joe keery.

“your win is so inspiring. like, it really shows anyone can make it.” she says.

you blink. did she just give you the most back handed compliment ever? you shoot a look at joe, who already has his eyebrows raised.

the girl rambles on some more, the slurring in her words getting more noticeable as she speaks. the guy with her, completely spaced out.

finally when it’s taken too long, joe steps in slightly. “this grammy winner has somewhere to be, excuse us.”

the girl’s face turns a little sour, an obvious hint of jealousy tainting her face.

you can’t help the surprised smile on your face as you quickly step back in to your heels.

joe takes your hand in his and starts walking, guiding you to some other place.

“where are we going?” you ask, looking at his hand holding yours as he’s walking in front of you.

“just trust me.” is all he answers.

“grammy winner?” you recall, smirking at the way he had ‘casually’ mentioned it to the girl.

“grammy winner.” he just replies.

when you’ve walked up a staircase, you realize you’re going up to the rooftop. this felt so random, so thrilling? joe keery is taking you to a rooftop.

when he opens the door, it reveals a beautiful pool, accompanied by some lounge chairs and a bunch of little lights, creating warm glows all across.

“wow.” you say, when you’re both stood still at the edge of the pool, hands still intertwined.

he hums, almost proud of himself for knowing about this place.

“are we even allowed to be here?” you look around, settling your eyes on his.

“i don’t know. probably not,” he says, the ambience lighting creating soft shadows on his face. “but it’s better than hearing that girl give you one more ‘compliment’.”

you chuckle. “anything is better than that.” you let go of his hand and when you do, you’re already missing the warmth of it.

heels are kicked off again as you sit down, dangling your legs in the water.

for a beat, it’s just quiet as he sits next to you, facing you. you’re unsure of what to say, the silence growing heavier.

you finally turn your face to look at him, his eyes already trained on yours, making your heart skip a beat.

his eyes roam over your face.

“what?” you ask, voice a lot softer than intended, a blush creeping up on your neck and face.

after a second, his hand reaches up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your face, causing your breath to hitch.

his hand lingers on your jaw, thumb drawing circles against your cheek.

“is this.. too much?” he asks, voice soft and a little rougher than before.

all you can do is gently shake your head no, all words lost when those brown eyes are piercing yours.

his eyes look like he’s still silently seeking permission, so you lean in the tiniest bit, lips parting ever so slightly.

he couldn’t hold back any longer, from the moment he’s found out about your existence he was intrigued, it started off with enjoying your music, finding out you’re charismatic from the occasional clips he’d see passing by on his phone.

then when he saw you get on that stage and accept your grammy? he realized he definitely had been harbouring some sort of celebrity crush for you, so getting to talk to you on that balcony couldn’t have worked out better for him.

the pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip gently, before finally closing the distance. his hand goes to cup your jaw again, your eyes fluttering shut as you move your mouth against his.

angling your body more towards him, you lift a leg out of the pool, tucking it under you as you lean more into it, your hand at the nape of his neck.

your heart is racing, mind going blank as you feel his tongue against your teeth, lips parting further to grant him access. you can faintly taste the smoke on his tongue, clashing with the champagne on yours.

the kiss is full of pent up desire and heat, and despite the cold air of the night, your body feels hotter than ever.

his other hand moves to grab your waist, tucking you a little closer to him. he kisses like a man who’s loves, rather than a man who lusts and it takes you by surprise. his lips were soft and warm, tongue brushing against yours.

when you’re parting again, you’re breathing a bit heavier, eyes still shut for a second as you bite at the bottom of your now kiss-swollen lips.

his hand stays at your waist as he finally opens his eyes too, thumb moving up and down. it was intoxicating, and you’d kill to kiss him like that again.

“god, you’re beautiful.” he says, eyes so soft and slightly dazed.

though, the moment is cut short by the sound of the rooftop door creaking open.

you barely have time to pull back before your manager steps through, eyes widening when she finally spots you.

joe reluctantly removes his hand from your waist, giving you some more ‘respectable’ space, though the warmth of his touch still lingers.

“i have been looking everywhere for you, the people want to see you!” the manager says, voice raised as she just stands in the door opening. with the way her eyes are wide, brows furrowed, arms folded, she’s pissed.

you look at her, and back at joe.

you don’t want to leave, not now.

but when your manager calls.. you answer.

“i guess that’s my cue.” you say quietly.

joe stands, extending his hands to help you up. you take them, and for a second, neither of you lets go.

“yeah,” he says, softer this time.

you look at his face, unable to read his expression.

you hesitate but you decide to speak again. “…i don’t want this to be one of those things people forget in the morning.” you say, feeling a little vulnerable.

you didn’t just ‘kiss’ around, so you prayed he thought the same.

he blinks, a tiny smile at the corners of his lips. “good,” he says. “me neither.”

and just like that, the tight feeling in your chest loosens.

because somehow, you know this isn’t where it ends.

the next morning...

[fool4youxo]

hiii! I loved your most recent Joe pranking fic and I would love if you could do one with the “current boyfriend trend”

Forever yours

Summary: trying out a trend you saw on tiktok on your loving boyfriend. 

Warnings : nothing just pure fluff

a/n: Hi! thank you for the request! so glad you liked it!

You were scrolling on your phone in bed absentmindedly as Joe was in the kitchen cooking breakfast when you came across a video. 

“Calling my boyfriend my ‘current boyfriend’ to see how he will react”

Watching it you smiled at how the guy in the video had reacted so sweetly and that one video had convinced you that this would be a perfect trend to do on Joe. 

Smiling to yourself you shifted in bed, pulling the cool blankets over your legs and sitting up straight as you hear the sounds of Joe cooking fade away as he finishes up. 

He insists on cooking you breakfast every Sunday to ‘end the week well’ a tradition that had become so comfortable in your house you looked forward to it throughout the week. 

Joe creaked the bedroom door open, smiling at you as his eyes landed on you sitting there. Carrying two plates of bacon, eggs and pancakes Joe slowly walked over to you, keeping his eyes on the food to make sure it didn’t spill. 

“Breakfast is served!” He smiles as he places the plate down on the tray at your bedside table before sliding into bed next to you. 

“Wait wait!” You say quickly, making sure he didn’t eat yet as you wanted to save it for the prank. 

Joe froze, his fork being held in the air as he turned to look at you in pure confusion as you grabbed your phone and set it up in front of you. 

“I want to give a review!” You saw smiling as you press record.

Joe slowly nods, placing his fork back down.

“Okay guys so today I am going to be reviewing this breakfast place here” 

Lifting the place up you show it to the camera as how smiles gently at you in the corner. 

“I am joined here today!” 

Moving your phone slightly to show more of Joe who scoots closer to you to fit in the camera. 

“So with me is my current boyfriend who cooked me this breakfast!” You saw smiling, speaking quickly and causally like it was the most natural sentence ever. 

Joe smiles at first before pausing and turning to look at you. 

“Wait what?” 

You raise your eyebrows at him to say you don’t understand what he is confused about, instead picking up the bacon and taking a bite. 

“What did you just call me?” 

“Nothing? What? Lets just do the review”

Chewing on the bacon you swallowed before speaking to the camera.

“Okay bacon 10/10 wow my current boyfriend sure knows how to cook!”

Joe paused and turned to you again. 

“That!”

“What?”

“You called me your current boyfriend”

“Because you are? You are my boyfriend in this moment right now?”

Joe sighed and ran his hand over his face. 

“Baby no! That sounds like I’m replaceable! Like were going to break up”

You look at him in confusion trying not to laugh. 

“What no! You’re overthinking it” 

“Absolutely not babe I am yours, you are mine, forever! I am not your current boyfriend I am your future husband” 

You can’t help it anymore and burst out laughing which just confuses Joe even more. 

“It’s a prank!” 

You giggle and lean you head on his shoulder as he visibly relaxes at the revelation. You reach for your phone to pause the video but he grabs it before you can. 

“This is to everyone, I am her forever boyfriend so no more flirting with her!”

This just makes you laugh harder before pressing your finger on the post button. 

Comments: 

“Hes so cute stop”

“He was so confused its the sweetest thing” 

“Future husband right there!” 

“HE MAKES YOU BREAKFAST?” 

[leaawrites]

One For The Road

Joe Keery x fem!reader

Summary: when his car breaks down, there's no other way of escaping his feelings anymore

Warnings: established relationship, fluff, slight bits of angst, Joe has had bad relationship experiences but nothing major

Wordcount: 1.8k

Masterlist, Rockstar Boyfriend Masterlist

The rain wasn't pouring like in the movies. It was softly plopping down on the windshield, reminded the two of them that they were stuck there with it. The little river next to the road flowing as steady as ever but nothing about it could calm her mind from the tension that seemed to grow with every second passing and every word that came out of his mouth as he argued with some mechanic who seemed to have put them on the bottom of his list of priorities.

"It's no use," she tried talking him out of wasting time once more. Never turning her head but her voice carried itself to his ear every time anyway.

Letting out a sigh from the driver side, pinching the bridge of his nose as he had to hear about some 'very important' tree that needed to be taken from the middle of the road again, he finally seemed to see through her words.

"You know what, man, we'll figure it out on our own," he said, sarcasm lacing his words. Hanging up and throwing his phone into the backseat, gripping the steering wheel as if it might help him stay on solid ground and for the anger to convert into leather and plastic.

She only heard him mutter an, "This is so stupid," before a cold shot of air shoved itself inside the vehicle. He appeared again in her peripheral vision, the sound of his shoes on angry ground audible through the metal of the chassis. The hood of the car got pushed up into her view, wrinkles appearing on her forehead as her eyebrows knit together.

Fiddling with the handle on her own side for a few seconds as her fingers repeatedly slipped from it before letting the cold air treat in through her side too. It was colder than anticipated. Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked over next to him.

"If you're actually attempting to fix this, try not making it worse than it already is," she said, concern in her tone as she watched him shift and check different canisters that neither of them could put a name to. Tilting her head as if it might help figuring out the thought behind his actions—if there even was one.

A small hiss was heard from somewhere under the hood—whether it was him or the engine, she couldn't tell, but she hoped dearly that it was the first. Shaking the pain out of his hand, Joe dove back up, holding out his hand towards her. Rubbing the motor oil that stuck to his knuckles off on his white shirt, the stain creating a pattern of his ribs and the flesh that laid over it. The curve of his waist visible in the uneven stripe of black.

"If you actually get anything in there to spit smoke, I might just throw you into the river. At least then I'd have better chances at surviving." Handing him the pack of cigarettes she stored in her jacket pocket and the fire that was decorated with his initials in rhinestones, slightly shoving him with the movement before going back inside.

Leaving the door open in case of needing to flee or help, tapping her foot against the fabric embracing the door in an uneven beat she heard coming from him in the studio an hour prior, staring out into the sky that seemed to get darker the longer she hoped for times to get better. Everything seemed to go against her will these days.

Light blocked her thoughts from continue tumbling down a hill of the unknown as Joe pushed the hood back down. The burning cig still in between his lips, ever glowing as he breathed in the poison. Hands stained heavier, the stark contrast capturing her focus for longer than necessary. Every crease was now defined. Every rill was now identifiable.

Opening her mouth to say something in return to the annoyed look on his face as he sat back in the driver seat, door closing with a harsh force, he spoke before she could. "I don't want to hear it."

Falling back into the seat, resting her head on the edge of the backrest. Looking his way as if the highway wasn't stretched out in front of her with nature to admire. "It wasn't even going to be something bad," she tried defending herself, holding her hands up in defense. Shrugging like it would make her testimony more believable.

Silence stretched like the dark clouds over them, the rain pouring harder up to the point where she had to sacrifice the fresh air that carried out the tension between them for the interior of the car not getting wet.

Neither knew exactly why they were on bad terms. It was one word spoken too soon and another too late. The apology never coming from either and saying nothing became more convenient than potentially making matters worse. Though he still insisted on taking her home instead of her catching a ride with the other guys and she didn't complain when she had to stay longer in the studio to wait for him to finish up.

The memory coming back, the melody still lingering in the back of her head.

"What was that song you played around with back in the studio?" she tried again, lifting her leg high enough to nudge his thigh and get his attention on her. Stretching it out over his lap, smiling when his hand caressed her calf without thinking twice about the action. Soft massages easing the muscles in her body and the strain in her brain.

"Nothing worth dwelling on," he brushed it off.

Pulling her leg closer, leaving enough space for the other one to follow. Untangling the laces of her shoes, pulling them off gently and readjusting her socks when they came down with it. Throwing them into the legroom without hitting her. Drawing little shapes and incoherent words on to her skin as the melody came back into his head. A heart following her name. Some sort of lightning traveling down her leg as he changed the tone of his voice while humming.

"It sounded good, a bit calmer than the other stuff you've been working on lately," she said in between his thoughts, trying to catch his attention without catching him out of his train of thought. "It's a nice contradiction, some soft contrast that still hold weight when you look at it."

"You like it?" he asked, finally looking over at her. Squinting as if he couldn't believe what she was saying to him.

"Of course, I do." Reaching out to play with the hair that grew out for too long so now it stood up against his ear, she could feel him lean into her touch. "I like all of your stuff."

"It's about you," he confessed, closing his eyes to hold the memories back that came before her. The stuttered out excuses and laughter that held too much weight to make him laugh too. But she was nowhere close to comparison. Instead of stretched out silence and hesitated movements, she hummed while her hands traveled further down. Outlining his jaw and the shape of his lips.

"Can you sing it again?" she requested, nuzzling deeper into the passenger seat. "This time clear enough for me to follow you."

Looking over, he could make out the genuine interest in her eyes. The rain still falling heavily onto the roof. Accompanying the rapid beating of his heart.

Reaching behind himself into the backseat to get to the guitar case that was still closed, he opened the metal clasps, taking it out with a sort of care he reserved for those things that seemed too precious to harm in any kind. Placing it in his lap, her feet now drawn back, knees against her chest, he started strumming the chords that were stuck in his head for the last couple of days.

Humming the soft melody that she could already imitate perfectly, adding a new layer to it simultaneously, he started pulling broken words and phrases from his mind. Lines he'd written months back in the past at midnight when she was already softly asleep beside him and he couldn't help but her beauty into poetry and rhymes. Focusing on the chords and how his fingers moved instead of her gaze that was pinned to him without the needle intending to harm him.

It didn't feel complete when he finished it. Letting his hands fall to his side, draping them over the outer-body of the instrument, he turned his head far enough to see the faint blush that crept up on her face during the duration of the song. She never understood how he could make her flustered so easily, all it took was his smile and a soft dedication that would slip over everyone's head who wasn't intentionally looking for it.

"You still like it?" he asked. Somewhere in between the promises and rose-coloured pictures of their future, he still had a voice in the back of his head, nagging him about her chance of rejection and unwanted affection.

"It's perfect like this," she nodded. "I don't think there should be more than you and the guitar. Maybe a soft piano melody but only in the background. You should be the focus."

"I thought about one more thing," he said, placing the guitar back in its case. "I want you on it."

Bonus: The Studio

Her nerves had been up since the night before as he told her about his plans for the upcoming studio session. Drenched in low lights and a soft humming of static and technology, it was a place that usually eased her mind. Joe's sound engineer, Matt, was already waiting for the pair. Smiling reassuringly as they entered.

"It'll be alright," Joe comforted her, running his hands up and down her back, trying to soothe and saddle her mind. "It's just us, no one else."

Settling in the booth next to him, her fingers trying to become familiar with the sheet music and the black and white keys, Joe sat waiting patiently. Going through his own notes, talking with Matt to set up the mics and amplifiers.

His hand on her thigh, squeezing it once to get her attention. "You good?"

"What if I mess it up?" she asked, looking at Joe in panic as the thought settled in: she would be responsible for the outcome of this song.

"You’re gonna be great. You always are."

So she started playing. Listening to his voice close to her.

[slxtforzaddypedro]

dontcha' wanna taste? - steve harrington

description: y/n and steve are getting to know eachother, sneaking off to indulge in pleasure.

warnings   ✉️ྀི   ⋮  heavy kissing. mentions of kissing. mostly fluff tho.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚

it’s not supposed to feel like this.

you keep telling yourself that as you stand on the sidewalk with the rest of the group, neon lights bleeding from the bar windows behind you, laughter spilling out in uneven bursts. the next crawl isn’t for another day or two, which means there’s nothing to do but hover. wait. pretend you’re not hyperaware of where everyone is standing.

especially steve.

steve Harrington is leaning against his car, arms crossed, keys dangling from his fingers. he looks casual in the way only he ever manages to pull off—like he didn’t spend ten minutes fixing his hair in the bathroom mirror before coming out. like he’s not checking his watch every sixty seconds.

your ex, johnathan, laughs too loud at something someone says. his arm is slung easily around her shoulders now, like it’s always belonged there. like that doesn’t still sting.

you swallow, forcing your gaze away.

“you okay?” steve asks, voice low enough that only you hear it.

you glance at him, startled. he’s closer than he was a second ago. you hadn’t noticed him move.

“yeah,” you lie, then soften it. “i mean—yeah. just… waiting.”

he nods like he understands. because he does. because his ex is standing ten feet away, laughing with yours like this was always inevitable. like the universe has a cruel sense of humor.

there’s a beat of silence between you. thick. buzzing.

“we could… not wait here,” steve says finally, rubbing the back of his neck. nervous habit. you’ve started to recognize them.

you raise an eyebrow. “what, ditch the group?”

“not ditch,” he says quickly, a smile tugging at his mouth. “just… take a lap. kill some time. we’ve got plenty of time, plus i have my walkie in case they need us” he says playfully. 

you hesitate, eyes flicking back to the group. to the way johnathan barely glances your way anymore. to how nancy  doesn’t look at him at all.

“yeah,” you say before you can overthink it. “okay.”

steve’s smile widens, relieved. “cool. yeah. cool.”

he opens the passenger door for you like it’s second nature. you slide in, heart doing something traitorous in your chest as he closes it gently, like you’re fragile. like this moment is.

the car smells like him—clean laundry, a hint of cologne, something warm and familiar. the radio hums softly when he turns the key, some late-night rock station crackling through the speakers.

as he pulls away from the curb, you catch a glimpse of the group in the side mirror. someone notices you leaving. someone doesn’t.

the streetlights blur together as hawkins stretches out in front of you, quieter the farther you go. steve rolls the windows down halfway, cool air rushing in, tangling your hair.

“hope this is okay,” he says, glancing at you. “i just figured… it might be less weird if we weren’t all just standing there.”

you huff a soft laugh. “less weird than our exes dating each other?”

he winces. “yeah. that.”

another pause. not awkward. just full.

“for what it’s worth,” he adds, eyes on the road, “i’m really glad you said yes.”

your chest tightens. “yeah, me too.”

he takes a turn you don’t expect, heading out of town.

“where are we going?” you ask.

“you’ll see,” he says, grin slipping back into place.

the road winds upward, trees thinning until the town lights glow below you like scattered stars. steve pulls off near the hills overlooking hawkins, parking where the grass is flattened from years of people doing exactly this.

he hops out first, jogging around to your side to open the door again. “gentlemanly habit,” he says when you smile at him.

“i’m not complaining.”

the night air is cooler up here. quieter. the world feels far away in a way that makes your shoulders finally drop.

steve pops the trunk and pulls out a small blanket, a paper bag, and two sodas. he freezes when he realizes you’re watching him.

“i swear this wasn’t, like, planned,” he says quickly. “i just—keep this stuff back here sometimes.”

“sometimes,” you echo, amused.

he shrugs. “you never know.”

he spreads the blanket out, smoothing it with his hands like he wants it perfect. you sit beside him, knees almost touching. almost.

the paper bag holds sandwiches from the gas station on main. nothing fancy. still warm.

“i know it’s not much,” he says.

you shake your head. “it’s perfect.”

and it is. because it’s quiet. because it’s just you and him and the hum of the town below. because no one else is here to complicate it.

you eat slowly, talking about nothing and everything. work. music. how weird it is seeing familiar places at night. steve makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, and you don’t remember the last time that happened so easily.

eventually, conversation drifts. the space between you shrinks without either of you noticing. your shoulder brushes his arm. his knee nudges yours.

“can i ask you something?” steve says, voice softer now.

you nod. “yeah.”

“does this feel… strange to you?” he asks. “us, i mean.”

you consider it. the obvious answer would be yes. the complicated answer is something else entirely.

“it feels… new,” you say carefully. “and a little scary. but not wrong.”

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “yeah. that’s—yeah. that’s it.”

steve watches you, something hopeful flickering across his face. “we should probably head back soon.”

“yeah,” you agree. neither of you moves.

the silence shifts. heavier now. charged.

steve turns toward you, bracing one arm behind him on the blanket. “can i—”

you don’t let him finish.

your hand finds his wrist first. grounding. then his jaw. warm. familiar, even though it shouldn’t be yet.

his breath stutters when you lean in.

“you okay?” he whispers, forehead brushing yours.

you nod, heart hammering. “yeah.”

the kiss starts soft. hesitant. like you’re both afraid this might be crossing some invisible line. his lips are warm, gentle, like he’s trying not to rush it.

then something gives.

his hand slides to your waist, fingers curling into your jacket. you kiss him deeper, slower, feeling the way he melts into it. the way he sighs against your mouth.

it’s not rushed. it’s not desperate. it’s intentional.

his thumb brushes your hip, sending a spark straight up your spine. you shift closer without thinking, knees fully touching now. his other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, grounding you.

you break apart only when you need air, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.

“we should stop,” he murmurs, even as he doesn’t pull away.

“yeah,” you agree, not moving.

he laughs quietly, breathless. “you’re kind of dangerous, you know that?”

you smile. “takes one to know one.”

he kisses you again. deeper this time. hungrier. still careful. his hand slides into your hair, gentle but firm, like he wants to remember exactly how this feels.

when you finally pull back, your lips are swollen, your heart racing. steve looks at you like you’ve just changed his entire world.

“okay,” he says, clearing his throat. “yeah. we should definitely head back now before i forget how to act normal.”

you laugh, standing and brushing off the blanket. “good plan.”

as you walk back to the car, his hand finds yours. casual. natural. like it’s always been there.

down below, hawkins waits. the group waits. reality waits.

but for now, in this small pocket of night, it’s just the two of you—and the promise of something that’s only just beginning.

—————————

a few weeks is all it takes for something to become a habit.

not a bad one. not a dangerous one. just… inevitable.

it started small. stolen glances across the room. steve’s hand brushing yours when he passes by. the way you both somehow always end up walking a few steps behind the group, like gravity is gently pulling you together and you’re both pretending not to notice.

and then there’s the van.

the WSQK van is not romantic by any stretch of the imagination. it smells faintly like old coffee, dust, and whatever cleaner someone used once in 1974 and never again. the seats are cracked vinyl, the floor permanently sticky in places no one can explain.

but it’s private.

and apparently, that’s all you need.

the first time it happens, it’s an accident. you’re both sent out to grab something from the van—steve volunteering before anyone else can, you following because you’re already standing. the door slides shut behind you with a heavy thud, sealing you in.

there’s a second of silence.

then steve looks at you, really looks at you, and smiles in that way that feels like a secret.

“we’ve got, like… two minutes,” he says quietly.

you don’t even answer. you just lean closer.

after that, it becomes your place.

any chance you get—five minutes before a meeting, ten minutes after everyone else heads inside, a quick break when no one’s paying attention—you end up pressed together in the back of that van. kissing slow and deep, steve’s hands warm at your waist, your fingers hooked into the collar of his jacket.

it never goes further than that. not because you don’t want it to—because you both do—but because there’s something about the way this feels that makes you want to keep it careful. 

like if you rush it, it might shatter.

so you kiss. you smile. you laugh softly into each other’s mouths.

you learn the little things.

like how steve always hums without realizing it when he’s happy. how he pulls back just enough to look at you, like he’s checking that this is real. how he rests his forehead against yours afterward, breathing slow, grounding himself.

and how he always, always opens the van door first, peeking out like a lookout before holding his hand out for you.

“ladies first,” he says every time.

you roll your eyes. you take his hand anyway.

by the time he suggests ice cream, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“come on,” steve says one afternoon, keys already in hand. “please tell me you’re not gonna say no to ice cream.”

you tilt your head. “depends.”

he gasps. dramatic. offended. “on what?”

“on if you’re buying.”

he grins. “i was already planning on it.”

———

the drive to the ice cream parlor is easy. comfortable. the windows are down, music low, the sun starting to dip just enough to turn everything gold. 

steve taps the steering wheel in time with the song, glancing at you every so often like he still can’t believe you’re sitting there.

“what?” you ask when you catch him.

he shrugs. “nothing. just… you’re really pretty.”

heat crawls up your neck. “you’re really bad at being subtle.”

he laughs. “yeah. i know.”

the parlor is busy when you get there—families, kids from school, the bell over the door chiming nonstop. it’s loud and sticky and bright in a way that feels distinctly hawkins.

steve orders first, leaning over the counter like he’s known the guy scooping the ice cream his whole life. you watch him talk with his hands, animated, charming without trying.

“what’re you getting?” he asks.

“oh strawberry for sure,” you say without hesitation.

“of course you are,” he replies, like that tells him everything he’s ever needed to know about you.

you both end up outside, sitting on the low brick wall, ice cream sweating in your hands. steve’s knee presses against yours, casual and warm.

“this might be my favorite thing we’ve done,” he says between bites.

you smile. “the van’s gonna be offended.”

“the van knows what it did,” he says seriously, then grins when you laugh.

you’re mid-spoonful when you feel it—that shift in the air. that sense of being watched.

you look up first.

and freeze.

“oh my god,” dustin says, standing a few feet away, eyes wide, mouth half-open. “what.”

lucas stands beside him, brows furrowed, glancing between you and steve like he’s trying to solve a math problem he didn’t study for.

steve nearly drops his cone.

“hey,” he says, way too casual. “uh. guys.”

dustin’s eyes flick to the way steve’s arm is clearly resting behind you on the wall. to the way you’re leaning into him without even realizing it.

“hold on,” dustin says, holding up a finger. “no. wait. no.”

lucas squints. “are you two…?”

there’s a beat.

steve looks at you, a silent question in his eyes.

he smiles, soft and unguarded, and turns back to them. “yeah.”

dustin stares. “you? and you?”

“yep.”

“since when?”

steve shrugs. “uhh..” his voice going up an octave, “a few weeks ago,” he saws awkwardly, 

“i thought you weren’t her type,” dustin blurts out.

you snort before you can stop yourself.

steve looks personally wounded. “wow. okay. rude.”

lucas scratches his head. “i just—wait. is that why you’ve both been disappearing all the time?”

“probably,” you say.

lucas’s eyes widen. “oh.”

“oh,” dustin echoes, realization hitting him full force. “OH.”

he looks between you again, then breaks into a grin. “wow. i did NOT see that coming.”

steve tilts his head, slightly offended, “henderson you know? i taught you everything you know,” he glares playfully, 

dustin shakes his head. he pauses, then smiles softer. “you guys look… happy.”

steve’s expression shifts, something warm and earnest settling in. “yeah. we are.”

lucas nods. “cool. cool, cool. makes sense.”

“it does?” you ask.

“yeah,” he says. “now that i think about it. like… a lot of sense.”

dustin sighs dramatically. “great. another couple.”

steve laughs. “relax. we’re still cool.”

“better be,” dustin says, then grins. “so. can i get a bite of that?”

you hold your spoon out without thinking. steve watches the whole thing, smiling like his heart might actually burst.

later, when you’re walking back to the car, steve’s hand slips into yours. natural. easy.

“you okay?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say. “are you?”

he nods. “yeah. kinda feels nice not hiding.”

you squeeze his hand. “yeah.”

and for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel like you’re sneaking.

you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.