Hello my fellow djo fans!! I was meant to be going to see Joe at rock en Seine in Paris in August but due to an issue at work I can no longer go so, I have 2 x tickets for the festival for Thursday August 27th when Joe is performing! They were 109€ each and have early entry. Lorde is the main headliner that day also!! Let me know if anyone interested, I also have an air BnB booked that I can maybe transfer if needed (not sure if that’s a thing but yeah).
Thankfully I still get to see him at All Points East but hopefully this gives someone else chance to see him!!
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Summary: Joe becomes mildly obsessed with your British accent - and then, subsequently, everything else about you too.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, british!reader, established relationship, so much fluff (let me know if I missed anything)
W/C: 3.5k
A/N: fully self-indulgent as a british girly - we’re manifesting!! a lot of this is based on my real life (my brother’s american fiancée has clocked all of this about us), so hopefully it feels authentic haha. lmk if you want a part 2, i’d love to do something more plot-heavy with this!
“You’re not even saying the same words I'm saying.”
You don’t look up from the kettle. “I am.”
“You’re not,” Joe insists, leaning back against the counter with that particular expression that always means he’s about to be incredibly annoying on purpose. “You just said gibberish.”
You sigh through your nose, because you already know where this is going. “I didn’t.”
“You did.” He points at you like he’s caught something important. “It was like- I can't even attempt to mimic it without sounding like a caveman!"
You turn, narrowing your eyes at him. “I'm saying what you're saying, Joe.”
“No you are not.”
“It is the same set of sounds.”
“It is unequivocally not.”
You stare at him for a second longer, then turn back to your tea with a small shake of your head. “You’re making things up.”
“I’m not,” he says immediately. “I swear, you just said it like-” he stops again, frowning, trying to get it right “-Babe just say it again."
You go still.
Slowly, you glance over your shoulder.
He’s smiling now, fully committed to being insufferable about it. “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please?”
You turn properly this time, spoon still in your hand. “Joe.”
“That’s not bottle of water.”
“That’s because I’m not saying it.”
“Baby.”
You point the teaspoon at him. “Don’t baby me.”
His grin only gets worse. “Say it.”
You stare at him.
He stares back.
Then, very deliberately, you say, “Bo'oh'lo'wo'ah.”
Joe freezes.
Not dramatically. Not in some huge, theatrical way.
Just… stops. Like something in his brain lagged a second behind the rest of him.
Then he bursts into laughter.
Not a normal laugh. A proper one. Head down, hand over his face, shoulders gone completely.
Your eyes narrow. “What.”
“…nothing.”
That’s obviously a lie.
“Joe.”
He drags a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to hide the smile lingering there. “You just said that in the most…” He gestures at you vaguely, like the rest of the sentence might assemble itself if he gives it another second. “You way.”
You stare at him.
“That means absolutely nothing.”
“It does to me.”
“That’s concerning.”
He laughs under his breath, still looking at you like he’s just noticed something he’s not entirely sure what to do with yet.
“Say it again.”
You blink. “Say what again?”
“The thing you just said.”
“Bo'oh'lo'wo'ah?”
He folds over himself laughing. “Yeah!”
You squint at him. “Why?”
He shrugs, not even pretending now. “I don’t know. I liked it.”
You laugh and turn back to the kettle before he can see the smile properly.
“You’re weird.”
“Probably,” he says easily. “You love me though.”
After that, he notices everything.
Not in an invasive way. Not like he’s collecting data on you. It’s just that Joe, once he starts paying attention to something, pays attention properly. It’s one of those things about him people probably mistake for ease. He seems loose, relaxed, all soft shoulders and dry little comments, like nothing gets under his skin enough to matter. But you’ve learnt by then that he listens hard. He stores things away. He clocks the shift in your face before you say you’re tired, the difference between your real laugh and the one you use when you’re being polite, the exact kind of quiet that means you’re annoyed rather than upset.
So the accent thing becomes another version of that.
He notices that when you’re sleepy, your voice goes softer around the edges. That when you’re irritated, the little bit of northern twang you picked up from family gets sharper and more obvious, like it’s been waiting all day for an excuse. That shut up becomes shoo op when he’s really winding you up, and that fucking flattens into fooking in a way that seems to affect him far more than it should.
Which, obviously, means he starts doing it on purpose.
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please?”
You glance over from the hob, already suspicious. He’s half-laughing before you’ve even answered, which tells you everything you need to know.
“Joe.”
“...”
You stare at him for another second, then finally mutter, “Wanker.”
Joe folds in half laughing, yet again.
You hit him with the tea towel. “You’re a knob.”
That only makes it worse.
“Don’t-” he manages, still laughing. “Don’t call me that when you sound like that.”
“Sound like what?”
“Like…” He straightens up, trying and failing to compose himself. “I don’t know. Like you.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”
He smiles. “No, it isn’t.”
And that’s the thing. Most of the time, when Joe’s teasing you, there’s a grin under it. A little sparkle in his eye. You can tell exactly where the joke is, exactly how much he means it.
This isn’t like that.
Or not entirely.
He is teasing. Obviously. He’s also, very plainly, a little gone over the way you speak.
Which would be mortifying if it weren’t so weirdly sweet.
The tea situation gets out of hand almost immediately.
At first, Joe thinks tea is just one of those things you happen to like in a slightly more committed way than most people. Fine. Normal. Lots of people are into tea. Whatever.
Then he sees the cupboard.
The full cupboard.
He opens it, goes still for a second, then another, then looks back at you holding one of the boxes like he’s found evidence of something.
“How many of these do you have?”
You take it off him and put it back where it belongs. “A normal amount.”
“You have one for bedtime.”
“Yes.”
“One for stress.”
“Yes.”
"One for preg- babe are you pregnant?!"
You stifle a laugh. "Nah, that one just tastes really good."
He continues rummaging. “One that says autumn morning.”
“Yes.”
“It’s June.”
You shrug. “And?”
He stares at you like he’s trying to work out if you’re serious.
You are.
Very.
Tea, as he quickly learns, is not just a drink. Tea is for bad days, headaches, rain, celebration, homesickness, boredom, company, leaving, arriving, and any emotional state that doesn’t yet have its own language. Tea is what you make while you’re deciding what to say. Tea is what you hand someone when the thing they need is not actually tea, but you can’t fix the rest of it.
Joe learns this in stages. Then all at once.
He also learns, to your absolute horror, that American people don't have kettles.
The first time he tries to microwave water in front of you, you nearly drop the mug in your hand.
“What are you doing?”
He looks over, confused. “Making tea?”
“No, you are not.”
He laughs because he thinks you’re joking. You are not joking. He can tell the exact second he realises this, because his face shifts from amused to cautiously fascinated, like he’s just stumbled into a cultural landmine.
“It’s just hot water,” he says.
You put a hand to your chest. “That is vile.”
“It works.”
“Not here, it doesn’t.”
By the end of the day he has learned how to use your kettle, mostly because he thinks your reaction is funny enough to be worth preserving, but partly because by then he already knows he’s going to be in your kitchen often enough that he should probably stop behaving like a complete animal in it.
The language difference becomes one of his favourite games.
According to Joe, it’s one of the great joys of his life. According to you, he needs to get a hobby that doesn’t involve taking the piss out of you in your own kitchen.
You say cheers or ta without thinking about it, whether somebody held the door open for you or you're thanking a waiter at a restaurant, so automatically that it barely even registers to you until the first time Joe says cheers to a barista in Brooklyn with his full Massachusetts accent and you nearly choke on your drink.
“What was that?”
He looks at you, all innocence. “What?”
“You can’t just say cheers like that.”
“Why not? You do.”
“Yeah, because I’m British.”
He nods thoughtfully. “And I’m supportive.”
You laugh despite yourself, which means he wins, which means it gets worse.
Soon he’s saying chuffed all wrong, and knackered with this confidence that would almost be convincing if he weren’t so obviously from somewhere that has never produced a single naturally occurring mate in its life. He uses mate whenever he wants to annoy you.
“Thanks, mate.”
“Don’t call me mate.”
“Why not, mate?”
“Because I’m your girlfriend, you tosser.”
His whole face lights up every time you say that.
Not because he likes being insulted. At least, hopefully not. Because it sounds like you. Because your voice changes when you’re a little bit irritated and he likes that far too much to be normal about it.
Sometimes he pushes it just to hear it.
“Why are they called Jammie Dodgers?”
“Because that’s what they’re called.”
“But what are they dodging?”
You close your eyes. “Joe.”
“I’m asking a question.”
“A stupid question.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You’re a fooking idiot.”
He goes completely still for half a second.
Smiling.
You point at him immediately. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m adorable.”
He laughs softly. “You are adorable.”
“Shoo op.”
That destroys him.
Absolutely ruins him.
The biscuit thing is somehow worse.
At first, he’s suspicious.
“Digestives?” he says, looking at the packet like it’s personally offended him. “That sounds medicinal.”
“It’s a biscuit.”
“That is not a biscuit name.”
“Well, it is.”
“Sounds like something you get from a pharmacist.”
You open the packet and take one out yourself. “More for me, then.”
That, naturally, gets him. He takes one out of sheer refusal to be excluded from anything you care about, then another because it’s good, then three more because apparently the name matters a lot less when there’s chocolate involved.
By the end of the week, he’s fully converted and deeply, embarrassingly opinionated. Chocolate Hobnobs become his hill to die on. Jammie Dodgers are, according to him, “mostly jam and lies.” He says this with the straight face of a man delivering serious analysis, which only makes you laugh harder.
“Hobnobs have integrity,” he tells you one evening, entirely sincere.
You turn and stare at him from the hob. “That is the most insane sentence you’ve ever said.”
“It’s true.”
“Not better than Jammie Dodgers.”
“Jammie Dodgers are chaos.”
You laugh so hard you have to put the spoon down.
The ridiculous part is that he says it like he’s discovered something profound. Like you’ve let him in on some small domestic secret and he’s determined to do it justice.
Which, to be fair, is basically exactly what’s happened.
The tea thing throws him more than the tea thing ever did.
Because in Joe’s mind, tea has only just started meaning drink. Then one evening he texts asking what you’re doing for dinner and you reply:
might just make tea and stay in
He stares at it for a full minute before calling you.
You answer, already smiling. “Hello?”
“Baby, you need to eat dinner.”
You pause. “What do you mean?”
“You can't just have tea.”
“No, darling, not tea, tea.”
“Is that food or drink?”
That makes you laugh immediately. “Food.”
“Why is it called tea if it’s dinner?”
“Because it is.”
“That explained nothing.”
“I’m not explaining class and regional language differences over the phone.”
“Please do.”
“No.”
“Baby.”
“No.”
“This country makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“You already have tea.”
“And yet.”
When he visits next, he really does try. He gets it right for almost a whole day before you ask, “What do you want for tea?” and he just stands there in the middle of your kitchen looking betrayed.
“Again?”
You laugh into the fridge door. “You knew what I meant.”
“I thought we were making progress.”
“You’ll survive.”
He points at you. “You people are impossible.”
You come back over with a smile, hook your arms loosely around his neck, and kiss the corner of his mouth.
“Ta.”
He melts instantly.
“Don’t say that after confusing me.”
“Cheers, then.”
He groans and kisses you properly.
Joe loves that you call your mum Mum.
Not in a weird way. Just in the same quietly fascinated way he seems to collect small pieces of you without making a performance of it. The first time he properly notices, you’re in the kitchen on the phone, tucked against the counter in one of his sweatshirts while the kettle boils. He’s only half listening until you say, yeah, Mum, I know, in that specific voice people only use with their mothers, and when you hang up, he’s looking at you like he’s been waiting to ask something.
“What?”
“Say it again.”
“Say what again?”
“Mum.”
You stare at him. “It’s just Mum.”
“I know,” he says, shrugging. “I like it.”
You laugh, but it settles somewhere warm all the same.
Same with Nanny. The first time you mention your nanny, he goes very still and says, carefully, “Wait... you had a nanny?”
You stare at him for one beat.
Then another.
Then realise what he means and start laughing so hard you have to sit down.
“No,” you manage eventually. “No- my gran. My nan. Nanny.”
Joe’s face runs through understanding, embarrassment, and then amusement.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “That makes way more sense.”
You’re still laughing when he mutters, “I genuinely thought you’d just casually had a British nanny. Like Mary Poppins.”
He’s not sold on everything.
This is important.
For all that he gets weirdly into your snacks and your language and the way you say bath and grass, there are certain parts of British life that he simply cannot get behind.
Toby Carvery, for example.
You take him once because you think it’ll be funny, and it is, just not for the reason you expected. Joe stands there with his tray taking in the meat station, the lighting, the deeply specific beige atmosphere of the place, and looks at you like you’ve brought him somewhere experimental.
“This is real?”
“Yes.”
“People choose this?”
“Yes.”
“On purpose?”
You’re already laughing by the time he gets to the roast potatoes.
He doesn’t hate it. To his credit, he really doesn’t.
But he never trusts it.
Greggs, though.
Greggs changes him.
The first sausage roll stops him dead in the street. You turn back and he’s staring at it, then at you, then back at it like he’s having some kind of private religious experience.
“Why is this so good?”
You grin. “Because I told you it would be.”
He takes another bite, slower this time. “This was like, what, a pound?”
“A quid, yeah, something like that.”
He looks horrified. “That’s insane.”
For the rest of the trip, he wants one every time he sees a Greggs. He fully crosses a road for one on day three, then tries to deny he’s obsessed while still chewing.
“You crossed a road for it.”
“Worth it.”
And then there’s the seaside.
That, more than anything, is what gets him.
You drag him into a chippy because that’s what you do, because you’ve got the sea in front of you and wind coming in hard off the water and it would feel vaguely criminal not to. He goes with cod and chips because by now he trusts you, which is smart of him. You carry the paper-wrapped food outside and sit on a bench while seagulls circle overhead like opportunistic little bastards.
Joe takes a bite and goes completely quiet.
You side-eye him. “Well?”
He chews. Swallows. Looks at you.
“Oh, this is dangerous.”
You laugh. “Dangerous?”
“I’m gonna think about this all the time now.”
Then you drench your chips in vinegar.
He watches in horror.
“What are you doing?”
“Improving them.”
“That seems like too much vinegar.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There absolutely is.”
You hold the bottle out. “Do you trust me?”
He eyes it. Then you. Then the chips.
“Not fully.”
Still, he tries it. And because life is occasionally kind, his face does exactly what you hoped it would - confusion, then understanding, then delight.
You grin so hard it hurts.
“See?”
He points a chip at you. “Don’t get smug.”
“Too late.”
Later he’ll talk about that chippy like he discovered religion there.
When you get homesick, Joe notices before you say anything.
That’s the part that really gets you.
Because you’re not making a thing of it. You’re not sighing around the flat about missing the UK every five minutes. It’s smaller than that. Quieter. You take longer over your tea. You linger over messages from your mum. You say home in a way that means people instead of geography.
Joe clocks it anyway.
Of course he does.
He doesn’t sit you down and ask if you’re sad. He doesn’t push. He just… starts doing things. Puts the kettle on before you ask. Comes home with chocolate Hobnobs he paid way too much money for from some British shop online. Puts some old panel show on - Would I Lie To You or 8 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown - in the background one night because he once heard you laughing at clips of it in bed.
You only really catch on when he hands you a mug exactly how you like it and says, with absurd casualness, “Your mum texted me back, by the way.”
You blink up at him. “My mum what?”
He winces, like maybe he should’ve eased into that better. “I texted her.”
You stare.
“You texted my mum?”
“I needed help.”
“With what?”
He gestures vaguely to the kitchen. The tea. The biscuits. The whole scene.
“British things.”
You laugh before you can stop it.
A real one. Warm and surprised and a little bit wrecked around the edges.
Joe’s face softens the second he hears it.
“You didn’t tell me you were homesick.”
You look down at the mug in your hands. “I didn’t think I was being obvious.”
“You weren’t,” he says quietly. “I just know you.”
That lands somewhere deep.
And really, that’s the whole thing. Not the accent. Not the tea. Not the sausage rolls or the seaside vinegar or the fact that he still, somehow, uses chuffed like a man who wasn’t raised three thousand miles away. It’s that he pays attention. That when he says Mum in a terrible fake accent just to make you laugh, or reaches automatically for the kettle when you’ve had a bad day, or buys chocolate digestives without asking if you want them.
It doesn’t feel like a gimmick.
It feels like love.
Slow and observant and a little bit stupid sometimes.
Very him.
By the time Joe gets corrected by an actual British cashier, it’s mostly your fault.
You’re in a little shop near your parents', picking up milk and biscuits and something for your auntie, when Joe - far too confident for his own good - hands over the basket and says, “Cheers, mate.”
You go still.
The cashier goes still.
Joe smiles like he’s nailed it.
The cashier blinks once. Then twice. “Right.”
You make it outside before you lose it completely, laughing so hard you can barely breathe.
Joe looks offended. “What?”
“You cannot say it like that.”
“I did say it like that.”
“That was the problem.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, trying and failing not to smile. “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“I’m blending in.”
You look at him, all impossible Americanness somehow intact despite his best efforts, and laugh again.
“Gorgeous, no you are not.”
He laughs too then, finally giving up on defending himself, and drapes an arm over your shoulders as you keep walking. After a second he glances down at you.
“You know I only do it because you like me being stupid.”
You snort. “That is not true.”
“It is.”
“I like it when you’re sweet.”
“Same thing.”
You roll your eyes, but lean into him anyway.
And when he kisses the side of your head right there in the middle of the pavement, casual as anything, you let him.
Because honestly?
For a man who says digestives like they personally betrayed him and still hasn’t emotionally recovered from the phrase what do you want for tea-
summary: tillmans. all they do is ruin lives. five years ago, roy tillman ruined yours and left you to pick up the broken pieces of your family. one night, your anger gets the best of you and you venture out to get revenge. only problem is, gator tillman catches you. you never expected to see underneath the steel facade of the sheriff’s first born son. but you do. you never expected that he would recognize your rage as years of grief. but he does. you save each other in the only way you know how. sweat soaked sheets, apologies whispered against skin, gripping to each other till it bruises. salvation isn't real and yet, it's starting to feel like it could be. but you could never love a tillman. all they do is ruin lives.
tags: 18+ mdni, enemies with benefits to lovers, ANGST, hurt/comfort, kinda toxic relationship dynamics (because it’s gator duh), slowburn (emotionally), swearing non-stop, mentions of childhood trauma and graphic depictions of abuse, grief, heavy plot driven smut, biblical allusions and blasphemy?, takes place in a universe where the main events of fargo s5 don't happen
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
note: SORRY FOR THE DELAY!! I've just like not had any motivation?? But I re-read funny story the other day and now i am back!!
part 6- part 8
dividers by @/uzmacchiato
liked by sabrinacarpenter, djotime and 623k others
yourusername welcome to Waning Bay :)
view 243k comments
ynvincent this is exactly the aesthetic i'm so excited 😭
finnwolfhardofficial please don't tell me i've just had to see joe foot pics
yourusername could be worse, he could be rawdogging it in the crocs
finnwolfhardofficial don't put that image of his nasty ass feet in my head
djotime wtf dude
odessaazion read me a bed time story pls xoxo ❤︎ liked by author
yourusername anything for you
djotime I want to be paid for my feet being on the internet
yourusername theres a website called feetfinder for that, keep your kinks off my insta
djotime 👎🏼 ❤︎ liked by author
yourusername posted to their story
“Cut,” the director yells.
You shift out from underneath Joe, your heart beating far too fast. You’ve filmed scenes like this before, countless times, with different actors. Christ, you’ve even had romantic scenes with Joe before on Stranger Things. Nothing at this level, but still… this felt different. Almost real.
“You good?” he asks, a little too quickly.
“Yeah. You?” You both start to redress, the usual easy rhythm between you suddenly awkward. Joe fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, missing one, then undoing it again.
“Uh, yeah. That was… intense.” He lets out a short laugh that doesn’t quite land.
“Our characters have a lot of chemistry. I guess we did it justice…”
“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, definitely. Chemistry.”
The director calls over, “That was sensational. I doubt we’ll have to refilm any of that. Amazing, you two are, wow.”
You laugh awkwardly and glance at Joe, catching the faint blush spreading across his cheeks. He looks away almost immediately, focusing very hard on tying his shoes. You’re both professionals, so why were you feeling like this?
You head back to your trailer to decompress. Was Sadie right? Did Joe have feelings for you? Was that why he’d looked almost… flustered? Surely not, you tell yourself. Grabbing your phone, you start to call Sadie, but a knock interrupts you.
“It’s me,” Joe calls through the door, voice slightly muffled.
“Come in.”
He opens it slowly, hovering in the doorway like he’s not sure if he should step inside. “Just wanted to double check you were okay. You kinda headed off set pretty fast.”
“Oh, no, I’m all good! Just… early call time today. Kinda getting to me.” You smile. It’s not technically a lie, but it’s not the truth either.
“Right. Yeah. Early call.” He nods, then shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. “You’re finished for the day now though, right?”
“Yep. Gonna head out in a sec.”
“You wanna grab some food? I know we have the video call scheduled for later, so I thought we could get something first. Saw this place downtown and I think you’d love it —"
You cut him off. “Sorry, I’m just so tired, Joe. Can we rain check?”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” He nods quickly, a little too quickly. “Yeah, totally. Another time. No pressure.” He glances at you, then away again. “You want me to tell the guys to reschedule the call?”
“No, no. I just need to take a nap and I’ll be good.” You give him an unconvincing smile.
His eyes study you. He knows you too well, knows you’re lying. He opens his mouth like he might say something else, then thinks better of it. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”
Your heart aches. “Yeah, sure.” You nod.
He lingers for a second, like he wants to say more, then gives a small nod and heads back out of your trailer. The door closes softly behind him.
You slump onto the couch.
You have feelings for Joe. Stupid, romantic, want to kiss his stupid face not on a film set feelings and you don’t know what to do with them.
yourusername posted to their story
joe pov:
“Miss me already?” Sadie answers the phone with a laugh.
“Something like that,” you reply, pacing your bedroom.
“Oh no. What’s up?”
“I haven’t even said anything!”
“You didn’t have to.”
You groan into the phone. Sadie chuckles.
“I think…” You take a deep breath. “Ithinkihavefeelingsforjoe,” you blurt out.
“Come again? Slower this time, maybe?”
“I think I have feelings for Joe,” you mumble.
“One more time?”
“I HAVE FEELINGS FOR JOE, okay?!” you shout.
“I’m glad you finally realised what the rest of us did years ago.” You can hear her smirk through the phone.
“Can you gloat another time and help me here?” you whine, flopping onto your bed.
“When did you have this revelation?”
“Today, after…” You clear your throat. “Filming the sex scene.”
Sadie starts cackling. “Of course! Of course you have the epiphany that you’re in love with Joe when you’re in that position. Ridiculous!”
“Hey! I didn’t say anything about love.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Just stop laughing and tell me what to do.”
“Tell him?”
“What? No!” you exclaim.
“He likes you too, dummy.”
“I don’t know that,” you argue.
“Yeah, but I do. Gaten does. We all do. Stop being a baby and tell him, then you can get freaky in the kitchen for real.” She laughs.
“Sadie!” you scold.
“I’m just saying.”
“Any other advice?”
“Be brave. Tell him.”
“Ugh… maybe.”
“Do it. Soon.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too.”
You hang up, shoving your face into the pillow and letting out a groan of frustration.
Joe Keery x reader where they’re strangers. They randomly start dreaming about each other and brush it off (the reader finds it odd that she dreamt about Joe Keery bc she had only watched like one of his projects) then boom they suddenly meet by like bumping into each other on a random day in New York (you can change how they met however you like)
YOU’RE MY DREAM GIRL
joe keery x reader
desc - you're literally his dream girl.. maybe in more ways than one
val speaks - i am obsessed w this idea omg ! thanku sm for requesting it i hope i did it justice
you don’t usually remember your dreams.
most mornings they disappear before you even sit up. just vague shapes and the feeling that something happened while you were asleep. nothing clear enough to think about.
this one stays.
you’re standing somewhere that feels familiar but also not. maybe a grocery store. maybe a convenience shop. the lights are that weird bright kind that make everything look slightly too clean. you’re holding a basket but you can’t remember picking anything up.
someone laughs behind you.
you turn around and it’s him.
not in a dramatic way. not like a movie moment where music swells and everything slows down. he’s just… standing there like he’s supposed to be there. like you both accidentally ended up in the same aisle.
you recognise him after a second.
joe keery.
you’ve seen stranger things before, obviously. most people have. but you wouldn’t call yourself a fan or anything. you don’t follow him online. you don’t watch interviews. if someone asked you what he’d been in besides that show you probably couldn’t answer.
still, it’s definitely him.
his hair’s a little messy, like he just ran his hands through it too many times. he’s holding a bag of chips and reading the back of it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
then he looks up and notices you staring.
“what?” he says, half smiling.
you immediately look away.
“nothing” you mumble, suddenly aware you’re standing in the middle of the aisle like an idiot.
when you glance back he’s still looking at you. not in a weird way. more like he’s trying to remember something.
“do i know you?” he asks.
you shake your head.
“no.”
he squints slightly, like he’s not convinced, but then he shrugs and tosses the chips into his basket.
“huh.”
and that’s it.
the dream kind of… dissolves after that.
no big ending. no weird plot twist. just the feeling of walking past him and hearing the automatic doors slide open.
you wake up staring at your ceiling.
it’s still dark outside and your room is quiet except for the low hum of your fan.
for a second you just lie there, trying to piece together what you just dreamed about.
“that was weird” you mutter to yourself.
it’s not the strangest dream you’ve ever had. people dream about celebrities all the time. your brain probably just pulled his face from somewhere random.
maybe you scrolled past something about him earlier. maybe someone mentioned stranger things.
your brain does dumb stuff like that.
still, the dream felt… oddly normal.
like you had just run into someone you vaguely knew at the store.
you grab your phone from the nightstand and check the time.
3:17 am.
after a minute you roll over and close your eyes again.
by morning you’ve mostly forgotten about it.
-
across the city, someone else wakes up too.
joe sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes.
his apartment is quiet except for the distant sound of traffic outside the window. he glances at the clock on the wall.
3:17 am.
“weird” he murmurs.
he had a dream.
he doesn’t usually remember them either, but this one stuck around just enough to be annoying.
there was a grocery store.
or maybe a convenience store.
he was reading the back of a bag of chips when he noticed someone staring at him.
you.
he can remember your face clearly. which is strange, because usually dream faces are kind of blurry. like extras in the background of a movie.
but yours wasn’t.
he frowns slightly, trying to place you.
an old friend? someone from high school? a fan he met once?
nothing clicks.
“do i know you?” he mutters, repeating the line he said in the dream.
the memory fades before he can think about it too hard.
joe shrugs it off and falls back onto the pillow.
people have weird dreams all the time.
it doesn’t mean anything.
still, when he falls asleep again, your face lingers in the back of his mind longer than it should.
-
the next time it happens you don’t even realise you’re dreaming at first.
you’re lying on a couch. that’s the first thing you notice. your cheek is pressed into a pillow and there’s a soft blanket half thrown over you. the room is dim except for the light from a tv somewhere in front of you, the kind that flickers against the walls.
there’s an arm around your waist.
you don’t question it immediately. it just feels normal. comfortable in the way things only feel when you’ve been somewhere long enough that you stop noticing the details.
then you hear his voice.
“you’re gonna fall asleep again.”
you shift slightly and look up.
it’s him.
joe keery.
he’s leaning back into the couch, one arm around you, the other holding the remote loosely. his thumb taps the buttons like he’s trying to find something worth watching.
for some reason this doesn’t feel weird.
in the dream it makes sense. like this is just what happens on a random night when you’re both too tired to do anything else.
“i’m not asleep” you mumble.
he glances down at you, clearly not believing that.
“you were out like five seconds ago.”
“i was resting my eyes.”
he laughs quietly at that, the kind of laugh that happens automatically. like he’s heard that excuse before.
you shift a little closer into him without thinking. his arm tightens slightly around you like it’s second nature.
the tv keeps playing something neither of you are really paying attention to.
there’s nothing dramatic happening. just the quiet background noise of the show and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
it feels weirdly real.
you notice small things. the warmth of the blanket. the way his fingers absently tap against your arm. the faint smell of laundry detergent on his hoodie.
after a minute he looks down at you again.
“you’re staring” he says.
“no i’m not.”
“yeah you are.”
you don’t answer that. you just look away toward the tv, pretending you care about whatever’s on the screen.
he nudges you slightly with his shoulder.
“if you fall asleep again i’m not carrying you to bed.”
“you’ve literally never carried me anywhere” you say.
he pauses.
“that’s not true.”
you turn your head toward him.
“when?”
he thinks for a second like he’s trying to remember.
“okay, maybe i’m remembering wrong.”
you roll your eyes a little and settle back against him.
it’s quiet again after that.
comfortable quiet.
and that’s the part that makes it strange later. because nothing about it feels like a dream while you’re there. it feels like something that’s been happening for a long time already.
like this is just another normal night.
you wake up staring at your ceiling again.
for a few seconds you don’t move.
then you sit up slowly.
“okay,” you say out loud to your empty room. “what the fuck.”
your heart’s beating a little faster than it should be and you rub your face with both hands like that’ll reset your brain.
it was so vivid.
not just seeing him. feeling things. the couch. the blanket. his arm around you.
you drop back onto the pillow and stare at the ceiling again.
“why him” you mutter.
it would make more sense if it was someone you actually liked or followed or something. but you barely think about joe keery. he’s just some actor from a show you watched a while ago.
eventually you get up and go about your day.
by the afternoon the weirdness has faded a little, but it’s still sitting in the back of your head.
so later you call your friend.
you don’t even bring it up seriously. you’re half laughing already when you start explaining it.
“i keep having dreams about joe keery,” you say.
there’s a pause on the other end of the phone.
then she bursts out laughing.
“the guy from stranger things?”
“yes.”
“are you secretly obsessed with him or something?”
“no,” you say immediately. “that’s the weird part. i literally never think about him.”
she’s still laughing.
“what happened in the dream?”
you hesitate for a second.
“we were… dating i think.”
that just makes her laugh harder.
“oh my god.”
“it wasn’t like that,” you protest. “we were literally just sitting on a couch.”
“sure.”
“i’m serious.”
you end up laughing too because the whole thing does sound ridiculous when you say it out loud.
“your brain just picked a random celebrity,” she says once she calms down. “it happens. i once dreamed i was married to the guy from the hunger games.”
“which one?”
“exactly.”
you shake your head even though she can’t see you.
“yeah, okay. fair.”
by the time the call ends you’ve mostly convinced yourself it’s nothing.
just a weird dream.
your brain doing random brain things.
-
joe is sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee he forgot to drink.
he’s been staring at the same spot on the counter for a few minutes.
because he had the dream again.
this time it wasn’t a grocery store.
it was a couch.
you were curled up next to him like it was completely normal. like you’d done it a hundred times before.
he can still remember the warmth of you curled up in front of him.
which is… strange.
dreams don’t usually feel like that.
he runs a hand through his hair and exhales slowly.
“where the hell have i seen you” he mutters.
your face is stuck in his head again. clear enough that it’s annoying.
so he starts trying to figure it out.
maybe you’re an actor he saw in something recently. maybe his brain just recycled a face from a movie.
he grabs his phone and starts scrolling through the last few things he watched.
cast lists.
photos.
names he vaguely recognises.
nothing.
no one looks like you.
after a while he drops the phone onto the table and leans back in the chair.
“okay,” he says to the empty kitchen. “so you’re not real.”
that’s the only explanation that makes sense.
his brain just made you up.
a completely random face.
still, when he closes his eyes for a second, he can picture you perfectly. the way you looked up at him from the couch like the two of you had known each other forever.
joe frowns slightly.
because fake or not, it didn’t feel like a dream either
-
a few weeks pass before it starts feeling normal.
not normal exactly, but expected.
the dreams keep happening. not every night, but often enough that you stop waking up in a panic about it. sometimes you’re in random places together. a kitchen, a street corner, sitting on the floor of some apartment that your brain apparently invented. other times it’s small things. watching tv. walking somewhere. talking about nothing important.
they always feel the same though.
like you’ve stepped into the middle of a life that already exists somewhere else.
you stop telling your friend about them after the third or fourth time because she just laughs and asks if dream-joe is a good boyfriend.
eventually you start treating it like one of those weird brain glitches that just happens sometimes. something you’ll probably forget about in a month.
and most days you don’t think about it at all.
until one afternoon.
it’s one of those rare warm days where the air actually feels nice instead of sticky or cold. you had nothing better to do, so you ended up wandering around central park with a coffee in your hand and your headphones in.
you’re not really paying attention to where you’re going. just walking.
then you turn a corner on the path and walk straight into someone.
your shoulder bumps theirs hard enough that your coffee almost spills.
“shit-sorry” you say automatically, already looking down to check if you got coffee on anything.
“no, it’s-”
you look up.
and immediately freeze.
it’s him.
for a second your brain refuses to process what you’re seeing. like it’s lagging behind reality.
joe keery is standing directly in front of you.
not dream-joe. actual joe keery. same messy hair, same slightly confused expression he always seems to have in interviews you’ve seen clips of.
you don’t say anything.
you just stare.
because suddenly all those dreams you convinced yourself meant nothing are rushing back into your head at once.
the couch. the grocery store. all the little conversations.
this should be one of those moments where you maybe recognise a celebrity and then move on with your day.
but your brain is short-circuiting instead.
and the weirdest part is that he’s staring at you too.
not like someone who just got recognised by a stranger.
more like someone who just saw something impossible.
his eyebrows pull together slightly and he leans back half an inch like he needs a better look at you.
you open your mouth, about to say something, honestly you don’t even know what, but he speaks first.
“you’re my dream girl.”
the words come out fast, like he didn’t think about them before saying them.
you blink.
“…what?”
there’s a pause.
his face changes instantly when he realises what that sounded like.
“no- wait, that’s not-” he rubs the back of his neck, already laughing a little at himself. “that sounded insane.”
you’re still just standing there, half frozen, half trying not to laugh.
“i didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly. “i mean- i did, but not in a weird way.”
that just makes it worse.
you let out a short laugh before you can stop yourself.
“okay,” you say, still trying to process what’s happening.
he exhales and gestures vaguely between the two of you.
“i’ve been having these dreams,” he says. “and you’re in them. like… a lot.”
you stare at him.
he’s watching you carefully now, like he’s waiting for you to confirm that he’s completely lost his mind.
for a second you consider just pretending you have no idea what he’s talking about.
that would probably be the normal response.
instead you hear yourself say, “me too.”
he blinks.
“what?”
“the dreams,” you say, gesturing awkwardly. “i’ve been having them too.”
there’s a long pause.
people walk past you on the path like nothing weird is happening at all.
joe looks at you for another few seconds, like he’s checking for any sign that you’re joking.
then he laughs quietly, shaking his head.
“okay” he says.
you nod slowly.
“okay.”
another pause.
“so,” he says after a moment, “what the fuck is happening.”
you laugh again, mostly because there’s no other reaction that makes sense.
“i was hoping you knew.”
he shakes his head.
“nope.”
you both just stand there for a second, two strangers in the middle of central park who apparently know each other from somewhere that doesn’t exist.
and somehow that’s the least weird part of the situation.
you end up sitting on one of the benches a little off the main path.
neither of you really suggests it out loud. the conversation just kind of drifts that way because standing there in the middle of the walkway while people keep passing feels strange.
joe sits down first, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, still looking at you like he’s trying to line up the version of you in his head with the one sitting next to him.
“okay,” he says after a second. “so this is gonna sound insane.”
“i think we’re past that already” you say.
he lets out a quiet laugh at that.
“fair.”
for a minute you both just start comparing things.
the grocery store dream.
when you mention it he immediately nods. “the chips,” he says. “i was reading the back of them.”
you stare at him.
“yeah.”
he runs a hand through his hair, looking both relieved and more confused somehow.
“okay that’s… good. i mean not good, but at least i didn’t invent that part.”
then the couch.
you describe the tv flickering in the dark room and the blanket and how he kept saying you were about to fall asleep.
he leans back against the bench slowly.
“you said you were resting your eyes,” he says.
you look at him.
“yeah.”
for a second neither of you says anything.
people keep walking past on the path. someone’s dog barks somewhere nearby. everything around you feels normal except for the conversation you’re having.
“this is so weird” you say eventually.
“yeah” he agrees.
you go through a few more small details. little things that shouldn’t line up as well as they do. places, random conversations, things one of you said that the other remembers.
none of it makes any sense.
joe laughs under his breath at one point and shakes his head.
“i literally thought my brain made you up. i even checked cast lists from movies i watched recently,” he adds. “i was convinced i’d seen your face somewhere and my brain just recycled it.”
“that’s actually kind of insulting.”
“hey,” he says, holding up a hand slightly. “in my defense it was the only explanation i had.”
you smile a little.
after a while the conversation slows down. not because you’re done talking, but because you’ve both kind of reached the same conclusion.
there isn’t an explanation.
at least not one either of you knows.
joe checks his phone then and exhales slightly.
“i actually have to go in a minute,” he says. “i’m supposed to meet someone.”
“yeah, that’s fine,” you say. “this was already… a lot.”
you both stand up from the bench.
for a second it’s awkward again. like neither of you really knows how to end this interaction because it’s not exactly a normal situation.
joe scratches the back of his neck.
“well,” he says. “see you tonight.”
your brain freezes for a split second.
“what?”
your voice comes out sharper than you meant it to.
he notices immediately and laughs.
“no no- i didn’t mean-” he gestures vaguely between the two of you. “i mean in the dreams. you know. if this whole thing keeps happening.”
you exhale and laugh too, mostly out of relief.
“right.”
“that came out really weird.”
“a little bit, yeah.”
you both stand there smiling awkwardly for another second.
then he turns like he’s about to walk away.
he makes it about three steps before stopping.
“wait,” he says, turning back toward you.
you look up.
“is it weird if i ask for your number?”
he shrugs slightly, like he’s aware how strange the whole situation already is.
“i just feel like it’d be even weirder if we both walked away and… never talked again.”
you think about that for maybe half a second.
“yeah,” you say. “that would be pretty weird.”
so you exchange phones.
he types his number into your phone, glances at the screen to make sure he didn’t mess it up, then looks back up at you as you type your number into his.
“okay,” he says.
“okay.”
this time when he walks away he actually leaves.
you watch him disappear down the path for a second before turning and heading in the opposite direction, your brain still trying to process everything that just happened.
-
later that night your phone buzzes.
unknown number.
you open the message.
joe: Hi. Just confirming you’re a real person and i didn’t imagine the entire afternoon.
you stare at it for a second, then smile.
you: pretty sure i’m real.
three dots appear almost immediately.
joe: Good. That would’ve been awkward.
over the next few days the texts keep coming.
at first it’s mostly about the dreams.
whether either of you had one the night before. what happened in it. if anything new showed up.
sometimes the dreams match. sometimes they’re slightly different versions of the same thing.
but the conversation slowly starts drifting into normal territory too.
what you do for work.
the dumb shows you both watch when you’re bored.
random things about your days.
it’s strange at first, texting someone you technically just met but somehow also feel like you’ve known for weeks.
but the more you talk, the less weird it feels.
and eventually the dreams aren’t the only reason you’re looking forward to seeing his name pop up on your phone.
-
slowly the conversations stop being about dreams at all.
he sends you pictures of random things he sees during the day. a dog that looked like it had human eyebrows. a coffee he swears was the worst thing he’s ever tasted. once he sends you a blurry picture of a movie poster and asks if you’ve seen it because he’s considering watching it out of boredom.
you send him things too. screenshots of stupid conversations, songs you think he’d like, pictures of the sky when it looks weirdly orange in the evening.
after a while you actually start meeting up sometimes.
the first time is casual. just coffee, because it feels like the easiest option. neither of you says anything about the dreams at first. you talk about normal stuff instead and realise pretty quickly that conversation with him is… easy.
easier than you expected.
he’s quieter in person than you imagined he’d be, but in a relaxed way. like he’s just comfortable letting things be quiet sometimes.
you end up sitting there for almost two hours without noticing.
after that you hang out again.
and again.
sometimes it’s just grabbing food somewhere. sometimes you end up walking around the city for no real reason. once you both end up sitting on the floor of his living room because he insists a movie is so bad it’s good and you need to see it.
it’s not really a big dramatic friendship moment. it just happens naturally.
you start realising little things too.
the two of you think about things in really similar ways. you both have the same habit of noticing small, random details in places. you both laugh at things that probably aren’t that funny to anyone else.
he teases you about certain things. you tease him back.
it feels… familiar.
sometimes a little too familiar.
every once in a while one of you brings up the dreams again, but they’ve become less frequent. you both notice that.
neither of you really questions it though.
until one night when you’re lying in bed and it hits you.
you like him.
not just in a he’s fun to hang out with way.
in the way where you catch yourself smiling when his name pops up on your phone. in the way where you start noticing the small things about him you didn’t think about before. the way he pushes his hair back when he’s concentrating on something. the way he laughs when he forgets what he was about to say halfway through a sentence.
you stare at the ceiling for a long time after that realization.
“oh,” you mutter quietly to yourself.
because suddenly a lot of things make sense.
and then something else hits you.
you haven’t had one of the dreams in days.
you frown slightly, trying to remember the last time it happened.
a week maybe. maybe longer.
it’s strange. for a while they were happening all the time.
now nothing.
at first you assume it’s just random.
but the longer you think about it, the more it feels like the dreams just… stopped.
like something finished.
like whatever weird thing connected the two of you had done its job already.
and now the rest is up to you.
you shake your head a little at the thought because it sounds ridiculous when you say it in your own head.
still, you can’t help thinking about it.
-
around the same time, joe is sitting on his couch staring at his phone.
your last message is still open on the screen.
you’d sent him a picture of a weird looking sandwich from some café and said is this gonna kill me?
he’s been smiling at it for longer than necessary.
after a second he leans back into the couch and exhales slowly.
because he realised something a little while ago too.
he likes you.
in the kind of way that makes him notice when a few hours pass without hearing from you.
in the kind of way where he catches himself thinking about what you’d say about something before he even texts you about it.
he figured it out maybe a week ago.
and around that same time, something else happened.
the dreams stopped.
completely.
the first couple nights he thought it was just a break.
but after a while it became obvious.
they were gone.
joe had thought about mentioning it to you once or twice, but every time the conversation drifted somewhere else before he did.
and now he’s not sure if he should bring it up at all.
because the timing feels strange.
almost like the dreams disappeared right when they weren’t necessary anymore.
he shakes his head slightly at the thought, smiling to himself.
“that’d be convenient,” he mutters.
his phone buzzes again.
another message from you.
and just like that the thought disappears, replaced by the small, familiar feeling he gets every time your name lights up the screen.
neither of you has said anything about liking the other yet.
but somehow it already feels like you’re both standing in the same place, just waiting for someone to take the next step.
-
a few more weeks pass before anything actually changes.
things between you and joe already feel like they’ve settled into a rhythm by then. texting every day. seeing each other a few times a week. sometimes you plan it, sometimes one of you just ends up near the other and it turns into hanging out without either of you meaning for it to.
most people looking in from the outside would probably assume you were already dating.
but neither of you has actually said it.
so technically you’re still just… friends.
one evening you’re walking with him after grabbing dinner somewhere small and crowded. the kind of place where the tables are too close together and the music is a little too loud but the food is good enough that no one cares.
you’re halfway down the sidewalk when he suddenly slows down.
you notice and glance over.
“what?”
he looks like he’s thinking too hard about something. his hands are shoved into his jacket pockets and he’s staring straight ahead instead of at you.
“can i ask you something” he says.
you raise an eyebrow slightly.
“you just did.”
he lets out a short breath of a laugh, but he still looks nervous in a way you haven’t really seen before.
“okay, yeah.”
you keep walking slowly beside him, waiting.
after a few seconds he glances at you.
“do you want to go on a date with me.”
you stop walking for a second.
not because you’re surprised exactly, if anything you’ve both been circling around this moment for a while, but hearing him actually say it makes something warm settle in your chest.
“i thought we’d been doing that already” you say.
he groans quietly.
“that’s the problem. i can’t tell if we’re just hanging out or if i’ve accidentally been dating you for the past month.”
you smile.
“so this is you officially asking.”
“this is me officially asking.”
you watch him for a second. he looks hopeful, but also slightly braced like you might laugh at him.
you don’t.
“yeah,” you say. “i’d like that.”
the relief on his face is immediate and a little funny.
“okay,” he says, nodding once like he just solved something complicated.
you bump your shoulder into his as you start walking again.
“that wasn’t so hard.”
“you have no idea how long i’ve been trying to figure out when to ask.”
“seriously?”
“seriously.”
you laugh.
-
dating him doesn’t feel like starting something new.
it feels more like something just… settled into place.
the first real date is simple. dinner somewhere quieter this time, then a long walk after because neither of you is ready to end the night yet.
at one point you’re both standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change when he reaches for your hand without really thinking.
your fingers lace together automatically.
you both pause for half a second when you realise it happened.
then you just keep standing there like it’s normal.
and somehow it is.
there’s still that strange familiarity sometimes. like certain moments feel oddly recognisable, even when you know they’ve never actually happened before.
but it’s different now.
because this version is real.
you start learning things about him that the dreams never showed you.
the way he gets really invested in random documentaries and then spends twenty minutes explaining facts you never asked for.
the way he absentmindedly taps rhythms on the table when music is playing somewhere nearby.
the way he always forgets where he left his phone and then accuses you of hiding it even though it’s usually right next to him.
he learns things about you too.
how you automatically steal food off his plate even when you ordered your own. how you stop mid-sentence sometimes because you get distracted by something completely unrelated.
the more time you spend together, the more you both start noticing small things.
little ways the two of you just… fit.
one night you’re at his apartment and he comes back into the living room from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee.
he pauses when he sees you.
you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch flipping through the streaming options, and without asking you’ve already put on a show he mentioned liking weeks ago.
“what?” you ask when you notice him standing there.
he walks over slowly and hands you the mug.
“nothing.”
“looked like something.”
he sits down beside you.
“i mentioned this show once.”
you shrug.
“yeah.”
“like three weeks ago.”
“and?”
he shakes his head a little, smiling.
“nothing. just… impressive memory.”
you take a sip of the coffee and make a face.
“did you forget the sugar again?”
he looks down at his own mug.
“…maybe.”
you reach over automatically, taking his cup and grabbing a sugar packet off the table dropping it in before he even moves.
he watches you stir it once and hand it back.
it’s such a small thing that you don’t even think about it.
but joe does.
because moments like that keep happening.
you remember things he says without him repeating them. you suggest movies he was already thinking about watching. you pick the exact takeout place he was craving without him mentioning it first.
and he starts doing the same for you without really realising it.
like the way he started keeping the exact snacks you like in his kitchen after you mentioned them once. you only noticed because one day you opened the cupboard and they were just… there.
or the way he’ll send you songs randomly with a message like this reminded me of something you’d like and somehow he’s almost always right.
once, when you show up at his apartment after a long day, he opens the door holding one of his sweaters.
“felt like you'd want this” he says, handing it to you casually.
you blink at him.
“how did you even know i was cold?”
he shrugs.
“lucky guess.”
another time you’re both out walking and you stop mid-sentence because you’re distracted watching a dog across the street doing something ridiculous.
you turn back around and joe is already holding his phone up.
“knew you’d want a picture” he says.
none of it is dramatic.
just small things.
but they keep happening.
and the more joe notices them, the more a quiet thought keeps forming in the back of his mind.
how did i get this lucky.
one evening you’re both sitting on the floor of his living room again, leaning against the couch while a movie plays that neither of you is really paying attention to.
you make a sarcastic comment about one of the lines in the movie and he laughs so suddenly he almost spills his drink.
“what?” you ask.
“nothing.” he shakes his head. “i just like this.”
“sitting on the floor?”
“no,” he says. “this. you.”
you pretend to consider it.
“yeah, guess you’re okay.”
he bumps his shoulder into yours.
“brutal.”
-
the longer you’re together, the more obvious it becomes to him that this feels different from anything he’s had before.
the ease of it. the way conversations don’t feel like work. the way being around you feels calm instead of complicated.
like the two of you somehow landed exactly where you were supposed to.
one night you’re both stretched out on his couch after a long day.
it’s late enough that the city outside the windows has quieted down a little. the lights from the buildings across the street glow faintly through the curtains.
you’re leaning against him, half curled into his side with a blanket pulled over both of you.
at some point during the show you’re watching your head slowly drops against his chest.
joe glances down.
“you falling asleep on me?”
you mumble something that definitely sounds like no.
he smiles.
a few minutes later your breathing evens out.
you’re completely asleep.
he shifts slightly so you’re more comfortable, letting your head rest properly against him.
for a while he just sits there quietly.
one hand resting lightly on your arm, the other absentmindedly tracing small patterns on the blanket.
he watches you for a moment.
then he thinks about the last few months.
and he realises something that makes him shake his head quietly to himself.
because somewhere along the way, without him noticing exactly when, everything started fitting together.
like somehow the universe had already lined the two of you up before either of you understood what was happening.
he looks down at you again, sleeping peacefully against him.
after a moment he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
“my dream girl” he murmurs quietly.
this time the words feel different.
not confused. not surprised.
just… certain.
like he finally understands why those dreams existed at all.
you shift slightly in your sleep, a faint smile appearing on your face as you settle a little closer against him.
joe smiles to himself and leans back into the couch, letting the quiet settle around both of you while you drift further into sleep.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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synopsis: you and Joe are back to normal...for now.
warnings: none?
note: enjoooooy
part 5 - part 7
dividers by @/uzmacchiato
liked by djotime, sadiesink_ and 589k others
yourusername set lifeeee
view 156k comments
ynfan i'm so excited for this film!!!
djotime Jumpscare at the end
yourusername wtf???
djotime You need a trigger warning for that forehead
yourusername you need a trigger warning for your face
djotime For being so sexy? God you're so right
yourusername im gonna block u
mayahawke woah, hottest 5 head i've ever seen ❤︎ liked by author
yourusername thanks xoxo
gatenmatarazzo wtf is joe doing
yourusername dancing?? i think?? i dont know it was traumatising i've blanked it from my memory
gatenmatarazzo thats fair ❤︎ liked by author
djotime WTF
sabrinacarpenter sexy ❤︎ liked by author
liked by yourusername, thedjocorp and 478k others
djotime Behind the scenes
charlie.r.heaton jealous of y/n spending so much time with you
djotime I'll see you soon my love
yourusername @/charlie.r.heaton jealous?? i'm going insane
djotime @/yourusername Rude.
user72846 OH THEY ARE FEEDING US CONTENT
yourusername stop taking pictures of me i'll send a cease and desist
djotime You literally took the picture of me??
yourusername i'm allowed to
djotime ???
finnwolfhardofficial @/djotime i've found it's easier to just agree with her
yourusername @/finnwolfhardofficial so smart
synopsis: you and Joe finally talk about why he's being ignoring you...kind of.
warnings: none?
note: tried something new...
part 4 - part 6
dividers by @/uzmacchiato
yourusername posted to their story
Joe pov:
The pounding in your head worsens at the sound of a sharp knock on your trailer door. You groan softly, dragging yourself up from the couch, the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders from your hungover nap.
When you open the door, it’s Joe. He’s standing there with two cups of coffee, holding one out to you.
“A peace offering” he says quietly. “And… I figured you could probably use it. After last night.”
You take the cup. “Thanks” you mumble, stepping aside to let him in.
You sit together on the couch, shoulders angled just slightly away from each other. There’s a tension between you that’s never really existed before, not like this.
“I’m sorry about last night—”
“I’ve been a dick, I’m sorry—”
You both stop, speaking over each other. A nervous laugh slips from you.
“I’m sorry for drunk texting you” you say, staring into your coffee. “I was angry. People drift apart, I get that. I just… I didn’t think that would be us.”
Joe’s expression falls. He wants to stop you, to tell you that’s not what this is, but you keep going.
“I don’t know what I did that made you want to distance yourself, but I want us to at least be civil. This film has the potential to be really good, and I’m genuinely excited about it. I don’t want to do it a disservice by not giving the characters the chemistry I know we can give them.”
You finally look up at him. He looks stunned.
“God” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”
He exhales, frustrated with himself.
“I saw you went out with someone” he says. “And I got… pissed.”
You frown.
“You didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone, or going on a date, and I don’t know, it just annoyed me that you didn’t tell me.”
“Joe, that’s not—”
“And I know you don’t owe me that” he rushes on. “This is all on me. It was stupid. And then it’d been a week of avoiding you and suddenly explaining felt even more stupid, and then I realised I was—”
You stand abruptly. “Sorry, hang on, this is because I went on what you thought was a date, which is wasn't, and I didn’t tell you?”
He freezes.
Because that isn’t the whole truth. The truth is that it wasn’t him. But you’re giving him an out, and he takes it.
“Um… yeah,” he says, standing too, careful now. Unsure whether you’re furious or about to forgive him.
“You’re an idiot” you snap.
“Yeah” he agrees quietly.
A beat.
“Can we just go back to being friends?” you ask.
The tension visibly drains from him. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
You step forward and hug him, your arms wrapping around his waist as the blanket slips to the floor. His arms come around you automatically, like muscle memory.
The emotions you’ve been holding back finally win, a few tears spill over. He pulls back slightly to look at you.
“Hey,” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just hungover and emotional and tired...” you ramble, “and I missed my best friend and I thought you hated me and—”
He pulls you back into him, tighter this time. Grounding. His hand rubs slow circles into your back.
“I’m sorry” he murmurs into the top of your head.
Another knock interrupts the moment. You pull away, quickly wiping your eyes as you open the door to a PA.
“They need you both on set,” she says with a smile, then notices your face. “Maybe… makeup first?”
You laugh weakly. “Yeah. We’re on our way.”
You and Joe walk out together, side by side.
You’re relieved to have your friend back.
Joe is furious with himself for not telling you the truth.
djotime posted to their close friends story
Joe pov:
A/N: Sooo i tried something different and added a bit of actual writing.... lemme know what you think xoxo
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
synopsis: joe's been ignoring you and you don't know why, but you're determined to find out
warnings: mentions of alcohol and being drunk, angst i guess?
note: was not expecting the reaction these have been getting!! so glad you're enjoying them! i now have a taglist so comment if you'd like to be added xoxo
part 3 - part 5
dividers by @uzmacchiato
Gatens pov:
liked by joekeeryupdates, djolover and 6.6k others
deuxmoi Joe Keery spotted out in LA tonight, having dinner with "friends" 📸 @/backgrid_usa
view 1,465 comments
joekeeryarchive he looks SO good
djupdates who is that???
user62793 I thought he was with y/n??
ynupdates No they're just friends
keeryjoeuk clearly she wants to be more
ynupdates sorry didnt realise you knew her personally, jesus
user0248 love him sm
ynpriv
♫ Djo - Lonesome Is A State of Mind
liked by gatenmatarazzo, sabrinacarpenter and others
ynpriv i'm lonely but at least i have wine <3
view 15 comments
sabrinacarpenter and where was my invite?
ynpriv come over rn!! not like i had any other plans...
sabrinacarpenter are we sad drinking?
ynpriv i'd say more angry drinking
sabrinacarpenter i can get behind that ❤︎ liked by author
sadiesink_ put the wine away and text me back
ynpriv no mom
gatenmatarazzo i thought you were our mom?
ynpriv somtmes things you thihnk are true are not so truue
sadiesink_ are you always this philosophical when you're drunk?
ynpriv who is phil and why is he softical?
gatenmatarazzo jesus christ
lola.tung what a friday night
ynpriv you jel?
lola.tung of you? always bby ❤︎ liked by author
ynpriv posted to their story
liked by finnwolfhardofficial, sadiesink_ and others
ynpriv never let me drink again - p.s this burrito saved my life fr
view 6 comments
sadiesink_ HA
ynpriv i hate you
gatenmatarazzo HA HA
ynpriv i hate you x2
sabrinacarpenter that was the sexiest burrito i've ever had
val speaks - thankyou for this request!! im so happy for maya in the pics ive seen she looks so beautiful. hope u love!!
the apartment is louder than it should be for a friday morning.
drawers open and close, hangers scrape against the rail, and somewhere behind you joe is muttering to himself because he definitely put his shoes right there five minutes ago.
you stand in front of the mirror, trying and failing to fasten the tiny clasp of your necklace while balancing on one foot so you don’t wrinkle your dress. the room smells faintly like his cologne mixed with your perfume, the air warm from the rush of getting ready.
“have you seen my-” joe appears in the doorway, hair still slightly damp from the shower, suit trousers on but his shirt only half-buttoned. he stops mid sentence.
you glance at him through the mirror. “your what?”
he doesn’t answer immediately. he just leans against the doorframe, eyes soft, like he’s forgotten whatever he was about to say.
“wow” he says finally, quiet and genuine.
you laugh nervously. “what?”
“you look…” he shakes his head a little, like words aren’t cooperating. “you look beautiful. unfairly beautiful.”
heat creeps up your neck. “you say that every time i wear a dress.”
“yeah, and every time you wear a dress i’m right” he replies easily.
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as he walks over, gently taking the necklace from your hands.
“hold still” he murmurs.
his fingers brush the back of your neck as he fastens it, careful and slow, and you feel him pause for a second longer than necessary. when you turn around, he’s already looking at you again, that soft expression still there.
“seriously” he says, quieter now. “maya’s wedding might get upstaged.”
“joe,” you groan, nudging his arm. “it’s her day.”
“i know, i know,” he laughs, finally finishing buttoning his shirt. “i’m just saying. statistically speaking, people will look at you.”
you watch him adjust his jacket, effortlessly handsome in that slightly messy way he never seems to try for. his tie hangs loose around his neck.
“you’re doing that wrong,” you say, stepping closer.
“i was going for abstract,” he argues.
“chaos.”
you fix his tie, smoothing the fabric down his chest. he watches you the entire time, smiling like this right here is already his favorite part of the day.
“i’m glad you’re coming,” he says suddenly.
you glance up. “of course i am.”
“no, i mean… everyone’s excited you’ll be there.” he shrugs, a little shy now. “they ask about you all the time. i think half of them like you more than me.”
you laugh. “that’s because you tell them every little thing about me.”
“in my defense,” he grins, “i'm proud.”
before you can respond, his phone buzzes loudly on the dresser.
he checks it. “car’s five minutes away.”
immediately the apartment turns chaotic again, you grabbing your clutch, him searching for his watch (which is somehow already on his wrist), both of you talking over each other while doing last-minute checks.
“do i have everything?” you ask.
joe looks you up and down dramatically. “yep. you look hot”
you bump his shoulder as he laughs, grabbing your coat.
a honk echoes faintly from outside.
you both freeze for a second, sharing the same excited look, the kind that comes before something big, something happy.
“ready?” he asks, holding out his hand.
you slip your fingers into his.
“ready.”
he squeezes gently before opening the door, and as you step out together, he leans closer and murmurs, just for you-
“seriously, though. i’m the luckiest guy at that wedding today.”
you try to act unaffected, but your smile gives you away as you head downstairs to meet the car waiting to take you to the rest of the chaos, and the people who a feel a like family.
-
the venue hums with quiet excitement, soft music floating through the air as guests begin to settle in. sunlight pours through the windows, catching on glasses and flowers and making everything feel warm and almost unreal.
joe’s hand rests loosely in yours as you walk inside together, both of you slowing slightly just to take everything in.
“okay,” you murmur, looking around. “this is gorgeous.”
“right?” joe says. “maya does nothing halfway.”
you barely make it five steps before familiar voices call out.
“there they are!”
you laugh immediately as natalia waves you over from across the room, already smiling like she’s been waiting to see you all morning. finn and gaten are mid-argument about something completely random, while sadie pulls you straight into a hug the second you reach them.
“you look so pretty,” she says, stepping back to look at you properly.
“so do you,” you reply, grinning. “i feel underdressed next to all of you.”
“impossible,” caleb says, shaking his head. “joe hasn’t stopped talking about your outfit since yesterday.”
joe groans. “that’s not true.”
“it is,” charlie adds casually. “he literally could describe the color palette.”
everyone laughs while joe hides his face for a second, and you bump his shoulder affectionately.
it feels easy, familiar. conversations overlap, jokes pick up where they left off the last time you were all together, and you forget completely that you were ever nervous about coming.
after a few minutes, one of the wedding coordinators approaches with a soft smile. “maya’s just finishing getting ready- she said you could come say hi before everyone gets seated.”
you and joe exchange a quick look before following down the quieter hallway toward the bridal suite.
the noise fades behind you, replaced by soft laughter coming from inside the room. when the door opens and you see maya, you immediately stop walking.
“oh my god,” you breathe, hands coming up instinctively. “you look so beautiful.”
she laughs, already emotional, carefully lifting part of her dress as she steps forward to hug you. “hi, angel.”
you hug her gently, careful not to wrinkle anything. “today’s gonna be great. like- actually perfect. you look so happy.”
joe hugs her next, teasing her about how weird it is seeing her dressed this fancy before noon, which earns him a dramatic shove from her and laughter from the rest of the room.
when she looks back at you, her expression softens.
“thanks for always coming around with this one,” she says, nodding toward joe. “we kinda adopted you, you know.”
you smile. “i’m very okay with that.”
after a few more excited hugs and last-minute encouragements, you leave her to finish getting ready and head back toward the ceremony space.
outside, rows of chairs stretch toward a flower-covered arch, petals scattered along the aisle. guests begin finding their seats, conversations lowering into a gentle murmur.
you spot the rest of the group already settling in.
“saved your seats,” gaten calls, patting the chair beside him.
you slide into place between joe and sadie, smoothing your dress as everyone quiets down. joe’s knee presses lightly against yours, familiar and grounding.
“i’m already emotional,” natalia whispers from the row ahead.
“it hasn’t even started,” finn whispers back.
“exactly.”
soft music begins, signalling everyone to turn toward the aisle. the atmosphere shifts instantly, quieter, heavier in the best way.
when maya appears at the end of the aisle, a collective breath moves through the crowd.
she looks radiant, smiling through obvious nerves, and you feel your chest tighten watching her walk forward. joe’s hand finds yours automatically, fingers threading together.
the ceremony is beautiful, heartfelt vows that make everyone laugh one moment and wipe their eyes the next. caleb quietly hands sadie a tissue halfway through, and even charlie looks suspiciously emotional.
you glance sideways at joe and catch him blinking rapidly.
you lean closer. “you’re crying.”
“i’m not,” he whispers, voice already thick. “allergies.”
you smile, squeezing his hand as the couple finishes their vows.
when they finally kiss, cheers and applause fill the air, echoing through the space as petals are tossed and laughter breaks out all around you.
joe turns toward you instinctively, smiling wide, eyes still a little glassy.
“that was really perfect.”
you nod, watching maya and her partner walk back down the aisle together, glowing with happiness.
“yeah,” you say softly. “it really was.”
his thumb traces slow circles over your hand as the crowd begins to stand, like he’s holding onto the moment and maybe holding onto you a little tighter too.
-
the reception is loud in the best way.
music spills across the room, people talking over each other, glasses clinking somewhere every few seconds. the formal energy from the ceremony disappears almost immediately. jackets come off, heels get kicked under tables, and everyone relaxes like they’ve been waiting all day for this part.
joe hands you a drink as you reach the bar.
“apparently these sneak up on you,” he says.
you take a sip and make a face. “yeah, that’s dangerous.”
he laughs. “told you.”
you don’t stay in one place long. people keep drifting over, familiar faces, easy conversations. you already know everyone well enough that it doesn’t feel like small talk anymore, just picking up wherever the last hangout left off.
finn is halfway through telling a story that gaten keeps interrupting to “fix the facts,” while sadie leans against the counter laughing so hard she has to put her drink down before she drops it.
“to maya,” caleb says suddenly, raising his glass.
everyone follows, a messy little cluster of cheers before taking a drink.
the night settles into something loose after that. music gets louder, the dance floor fills slowly, and conversations blur together in that comfortable, slightly tipsy way where everything feels funnier than usual.
someone drags joe onto the dance floor, you’re pretty sure it’s gaten, and within seconds he’s stuck in the middle of a circle while everyone claps along to the music.
he looks over at you like he’s been personally betrayed.
you just grin, filming a few seconds on your phone.
“no, don’t encourage this!” he calls.
too late.
by the time he makes it back to you, he’s laughing, slightly out of breath, hair already falling out of place.
“you let that happen,” he says, pointing accusingly.
“you looked like you were having fun.”
“…i was,” he admits.
he grabs your hand and pulls you back toward the dance floor before you can argue. it’s crowded now, not proper dancing, just people moving however they want, bumping shoulders and laughing when someone steps on someone else’s foot.
natalia spins sadie around dramatically, finn and caleb attempt some coordinated move that immediately falls apart, and charlie just shakes his head like he’s watching chaos unfold.
you and joe mostly just sway along to the music, occasionally laughing when someone crashes into you.
“this is way better than sitting at a table pretending to be classy,” you say.
“i was never pretending,” joe replies. “i gave up on classy years ago.”
another round of drinks appears at some point. you’re not entirely sure who ordered them. conversations jump between random topics, old stories, travel plans, teasing joe about things he definitely regrets telling everyone.
at one point you all end up outside for air, the noise of the party muffled behind closed doors. string lights glow overhead, and someone’s laughing so hard they have to sit down on the steps.
“remember when joe tried cooking for us and almost set off the smoke alarm?” sadie says.
“that’s exaggerated” joe says immediately.
“it absolutely is not” natalia replies.
you laugh quietly beside him. “i’ve seen him cook. he's great at it, most of the time”
he nudges you with his shoulder. “unbelievable. i thought you liked me.”
“i do,” you say. “just not always near a stove.”
after a while the music shifts inside and people start drifting back in.
joe looks at you. “one more?”
you nod, letting him lead you back onto the dance floor.
this time it’s quieter. couples swaying, conversations softer at the edges of the room. his hands rest lightly at your waist, familiar and easy, and you don’t really think about it when you lean closer.
for a minute neither of you says anything. just music, movement, the sound of people laughing somewhere behind you.
“today was good,” he says after a while.
“yeah,” you agree. “it really was.”
he smiles a little, tired but happy, like the long day finally caught up with him in a good way.
around you the party keeps going, friends dancing badly, someone cheering too loudly near the bar, maya laughing across the room surrounded by people.
-
by the time you and joe leave, the party is still going strong behind you, music muffled through the doors, laughter spilling out every time someone walks in or out.
the night air hits your face and immediately feels good after hours inside.
joe laughs at nothing, loosening his tie as you start down the street together. the city feels quieter out here, lights glowing in windows, the distant sound of traffic somewhere far off.
“you did impressive damage on the dance floor tonight,” he says. “i saw at least three people almost fall because of you.”
“that was not my fault,” you argue. “they lacked coordination.”
he bumps his shoulder into yours lightly. “sure.”
you walk slower than usual, neither of you really trying to get home quickly. there’s that slightly floaty feeling from being tipsy. everything a little funnier, a little softer around the edges.
at one point joe stops mid-sentence because he gets distracted by a dog across the street.
“look at him,” he says seriously, pointing. “dog has better posture than me.”
you laugh so hard you have to grab his arm to steady yourself.
the walk turns into bits of conversation that don’t fully connect. half stories, jokes that barely make sense, comfortable silence in between.
by the time you reach your apartment building, both of you are quieter, the energy settling into tired contentment.
joe holds the door open dramatically. “after you.”
“thank you, kind sir.”
“don’t call me that,” he says, grimacing at you.
you’re both still smiling as you step inside, the hallway calm compared to the noise of the night. you fumble slightly with your keys, missing the lock twice before joe gently takes them from you.
“here,” he says, amused. “team effort.”
the door clicks open, and as you step into the apartment, the quiet wraps around you.
you drop your shoes by the door, sighing. “i’m never wearing heels again.”
joe leans back against the wall, watching you for a second longer than usual. there’s a softness to his expression now, not joking, not distracted.
“you know,” he says slowly, “you looked really beautiful today.”
you glance over, smiling a little. “you already told me that.”
“yeah, but…” he shrugs, searching for words. “i don’t know. seeing you there- at the wedding and everything- it just kinda hit me.”
you tilt your head. “hit you how?”
he hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking aware of what he’s about to say.
“i just… could picture you doing that,” he says. “like- your own wedding. and honestly you’d look even better.”
you laugh softly. “wow, bold claim.”
he smiles, then adds without really thinking, “yeah and, it would be… you know. ours.”
the words hang there for a second.
his expression changes almost immediately, eyes widening slightly like he just heard himself.
“…that sounded way smoother in my head,” he mutters, looking down. “i didn’t mean to just- spill that like that.”
you feel warmth spread through your chest instead of awkwardness.
you step closer, nudging his arm gently until he looks back at you.
“i mean,” you say casually, though you can’t hide your smile, “i hope it’d be that fun too.”
he blinks. “yeah?”
“yeah,” you shrug lightly. “good music, everyone slightly tipsy, you crying during the vows…”
“i would not cry,” he protests automatically.
you raise an eyebrow.
“…okay maybe a little,” he admits.
you both laugh, the tension dissolving into something softer, quieter. he reaches for your hand without thinking, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your fingers.
for a moment neither of you says anything.
just standing there, shoes by the door, still dressed up from a long day that somehow feels bigger now than it did a few minutes ago.
joe smiles, a little shy but happy.
“good” he says quietly.
and somehow the apartment feels warmer than when you left it that morning.
𖥔 bethanie 𖥔 @djowantsyourvideo - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
