Attention

Wishing all fic writers a very Please Stop Using The Tiny Font I am Blind

okay this makes me think of sunshine teasing cuddling with ari & he just wants to nap with her after a long day 😩

Pairing: Beefy Biker Ari x Reader

"I thought you didn't want to cuddle," you tease, smiling up at him.

Ari's face morphs into a menacing glower and your pleased smile gets bigger the longer he glares at you.

He wants to tell you that you're the first person to lay with him like this in years but the words get tangled in a ball of emotion that lodges in his throat. So he settles for his usual scowl.

"I'm just saying. You don't like it so-" you stretch out the word, lifting your head up. "I can sleep on the couch-"

Ari places his large hand on your back, gently pushing you down. "I don't like it." Don't leave me sunshine.

"Uh-huh."

"I do hate it and I don't cuddle," he intones, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you. Ari glances down at your bodies and after a brief moment, decides to drape his long leg over yours. Confident that you can't escape him, he pushes your head back on his chest.

"So we're not cuddling." He inhales sharply at your muffled giggle. "Now stop squirming."

"Okay if you say so Bear." You place a chaste kiss on his chest right above the tattoo across his heart. Ari wonders if you can sense the way his pulse is erratically beating, a comforting ache that he refuses to acknowledge swells in his chest.

Resting your head in his warm skin, you trace patterns over his tattoos while you talk about the changes at the animal shelter. He pretends not to listen as he hangs on to your every word.

After you fall asleep, he presses a kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering on you. He chuckles to himself, running his knuckle down your soft cheek. "God help me when you realize I'll do anything you want."

Steve Rogers finally gets drunk.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x f!reader Themes: Funny? and CUTE. STEVE BEING CUTE WHILE DRUNK. Summary: Steve got wrecked by Thor's Asgardian Liquor and now he's stumbling under your balcony, reciting Shakepeare's Romeo and Juliet to you. A/N: I stumbled over a prompt that I have long lost now and this was the fruit.

It was a perfectly quiet night, and you were unwinding on your balcony, half lost in thought, when the unmistakable sound of someone quoting Romeo and Juliet—or at least attempting to—echoed from below.

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn... so—hic—bright!”

Rolling your eyes, you assumed it was some drunk wandering the street. But then, in a voice far louder than necessary, the mystery romantic slurred, “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night... like a rich jewel in... uh... someone’s ear!”

You sighed, trying to ignore it. But then there was a strange thunk against your temple—a small pebble had just bounced off your head.

“Ow!” you hissed, standing and scanning the area, annoyed—until you spotted Steve Rogers, lurching slightly, down below on the sidewalk.

You watched in amazement as he squinted up at you, attempting to focus and swaying on his feet like a flag in a strong breeze. He seemed to be mentally assembling the pieces of a big plan, his face all determination and zero sense. Another pebble tumbled out of his hand as he wobbled, barely avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” he shouted, looking about as stable as a newborn giraffe on roller skates.

You blinked. “Steve... are you okay?”

Steve flung one arm into the air, as if delivering a grand declaration, nearly toppling backward. “It is the east, and Juliet is the... uhm... Juliet is... Juliet!” He thrust a hand forward, fingers spread wide, as if that added extra meaning. “And you—you—are...”

He paused, visibly struggling, his other hand braced against a streetlamp for support.

“A total mess?” you offered, eyebrows raised.

“A goddess!” he slurred, blinking up at you with the most sincere, lovelorn look you’d ever seen. “A bright angel!” he continued, pulling himself up, trying—and failing—to straighten his posture.

For a moment, he seemed to try and get a grip, but his feet betrayed him, and he ended up doing an awkward spin, arms windmilling, before stabilizing himself.

“Steve, how much have you had to drink?” you asked, starting to laugh despite yourself.

“Only... one cup,” he replied, attempting to measure out what he must’ve thought was a “tiny” amount with his fingers. But the gap between his thumb and forefinger was about the size of a baseball. “Well... one Asgardian... goblet.” He grinned up at you, eyes bright. “A small one!”

You tried to bite back a laugh as Steve clasped his hands over his heart, gazing up at you with tragic romance. “Deny thy father and refuse thy—thy name!” He paused, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “Wait... did I—did I skip a part?”

“Just a few lines,” you teased. “You also hit me with a rock.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, frowning. He bent down, swayed, and then picked up a handful of pebbles. “Doth my lady forgive me?”

“Steve, don’t you dare throw those at me.”

He looked down at the pebbles in his hand, confused. Then, with an exaggerated wink, he tossed them aside like he’d just disposed of a dangerous weapon. “Not a pebble in sight!” He shot you a triumphant, lopsided smile.

“And why art thou—no, wait—why are you out here, Juliet?”

“I live here, Steve,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re the one making a scene.”

But Steve only clasped his heart, looking utterly enchanted. “Oh, fair maiden... would you come down and—uh, wait... no. Would you let down your hair?” He stopped, perplexed. “No, wait, that’s... that’s Rapunzel.” He scratched his head, lost. “Same thing, right?”

With a sigh, you leaned over the balcony railing, looking down at him with a smirk. “Steve, you should probably get home before you accidentally wander into traffic or—”

But he suddenly looked up at you with the most determined expression you’d ever seen, his eyes glassy but oddly focused.

“Doth thou love me?” he cried, one hand raised in a fist of drunken valor. “Say it true, or I shall be...” he paused, struggling, “...a total disaster!”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. “Steve Rogers, get your tipsy Shakespearean self home!”

He beamed up at you, his goofy grin full of pure, unfiltered adoration. “Parting is such sweet... uh...” he faltered. “...sorrow?”

Steve, swaying dramatically, looked up at you with a sudden, steely determination that only a man in his state could manage. “If thou shall not come down… then I… I shall climb up!” He pointed to the fire escape, his face alight with misguided heroism.

“Steve, please don’t—”

But it was too late. He grabbed the bottom rung with a graceless, lurching motion, grinning up at you with sheer triumph. “I’m coming, my fair maiden!”

With all the poise of a baby deer, he hoisted himself up, grunting as he fumbled his way onto the next step. Each rung seemed to be a new, Herculean task as he struggled to stay upright, clutching the railings like his life depended on it. His foot slipped once, making him lurch sideways, but he shot you a reassuring thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the danger.

“Steve! You’re gonna hurt yourself! Seriously, get down!” you called, half horrified, half laughing.

“Fear not, my lady!” he slurred, clinging to the railing and taking a very, very slow step up. “I am... coming for you!”

As he ascended, he attempted another line from the play, fumbling it badly. “Uh… But soft! What... yonder... light and window... um... something?” He shot you a sheepish grin. “Hold on... almost... got it.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wobbling and mumbling fragments of Shakespeare, he reached your level on the fire escape. He extended a hand dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process, and declared, “I have arrived!”

You laughed, hands on your hips as he wobbled in front of you. “Steve, that was a lot more ‘Romeo in need of a medic’ than ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ You’re absolutely out of it.”

He blinked, swaying as he tried to focus on you. “I came for thee,” he said proudly, managing to stand up straight—though his grip on the railing suggested it was doing most of the work.

Steve, still gripping the railing for dear life, looked at you with a mischievous glint in his glassy eyes.

“Fair Juliet… couldst thou… come a bit closer?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers invitingly, his face lit with pure, drunken delight. “I have something… uh… very important to tell thee.”

You arched a skeptical brow. “Steve, I’m pretty sure you can say it from there.”

He squinted, trying to look tragic but only succeeding in looking adorably pouty. “Nay… ‘tis… a secret of the heart,” he slurred, placing a hand over his chest with a lopsided grin. “I must whisper it… so only thou can hear it.”

Rolling your eyes but grinning despite yourself, you leaned a little closer, watching as his gaze flicked from your face to your lips. 

“Alright, Romeo, what’s this ‘secret of the heart?’” you asked, half-expecting him to spout more mangled Shakespeare.

But instead, as soon as you were close enough, Steve leaned forward, his hand sliding around the back of your neck, and he pressed his lips to yours in a soft, surprisingly gentle kiss from across the railing.

Caught off guard, you froze, feeling the warmth of his mouth against yours. Then, with a laugh bubbling up, you pulled back slightly, blinking in shock as he gave you a pleased, slightly dazed smile.

“There it is,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “My secret… is that thou art… perfect.” His gaze softened, and he gave a dopey smile. “And... very kissable.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Alright, Romeo. That was smooth—but I think it’s time to get you inside before you ‘heroically’ declare your love to the whole neighborhood.”

He grinned, still clutching the railing, looking like he’d just conquered the world. “Only for thee,” he slurred, leaning into your touch as you helped him down, his expression dreamy. “Only... ever for thee.”

Just as you were helping Steve down from the fire escape, a voice floated up from the street below.

“Steve! Where the hell are you?” It was Bucky, sounding frustrated and more than a little exasperated. You could see him pacing the sidewalk, looking around like he was on some kind of ridiculous rescue mission.

Steve’s eyes widened, and he pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked at you. 

“Shhh!” he whispered, grinning like a kid playing hide-and-seek. His attempt at silence was immediately betrayed by a giggle that escaped his mouth, and he put both hands over his lips, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Steve, I know you’re around here somewhere! Get down here before you fall off something,” Bucky called out, still searching.

Steve, in a fit of tipsy brilliance, looked at you with a conspiratorial smirk and pointed toward your open window beside the balcony. Without a word, he started squeezing himself through, contorting like he thought he could make himself invisible in the process.

“Steve, what are you doing?” you whispered, half-laughing, as he awkwardly wedged his shoulders into the window, one leg hanging out, struggling like he was trying to sneak into a bank vault. He gestured wildly for you to help, but his clumsy movement only made him even more noticeable.

He leaned forward, eyes wide, and whispered, “Shhh! The enemy approaches!” He stifled another giggle, clearly thinking this was the funniest thing in the world.

Just then, Bucky looked up, and Steve flailed dramatically, accidentally bumping his head against the window frame with a muted “ow,” then snorted, laughing harder. He pressed his finger over his mouth again, hushing you through breathy laughter.

“What the…” Bucky stared, his gaze following Steve’s ridiculous pose as he tried to disappear through your window, half-in and half-out, his other leg kicking as he tried to haul himself through.

“Hey!” Bucky called, hands on his hips. “Rogers, get down here. Right now.”

Steve froze, peeking over the window frame like a deer caught in headlights, then gave you a pleading look, as if you were his partner in crime.

“Shh! The man downstairs… he cannot know I’m here,” Steve slurred dramatically, squinting as if Bucky were some kind of Shakespearean villain.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

“Steve, you’re on the fire escape, not a secret lair. Get down before you fall off and end up in the hospital.”

Steve waved a dismissive hand, a drowsy, lopsided grin on his face. “I’m in safe hands, Bucky! I have my fair maiden to protect me,” he announced proudly, glancing at you with such conviction that you had to stifle your laughter again.

Bucky groaned, his exasperation palpable as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you’ve got one minute to say goodbye to your ‘fair maiden,’ then you’re coming with me,” he called, crossing his arms.

Steve turned back to you with a goofy grin, still wedged halfway through the window. 

“Didst thou hear that?” he whispered in a loud stage voice, pointing at Bucky. “The villain gives us but one more minute. But it shall be a glorious minute!”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him gently. “Alright, Romeo. Time to head home.”

With one last dramatic sigh, he extracted himself from your window, blew you a clumsy, theatrical kiss, and began his wobbly descent down the fire escape. As Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder, trying to steer him down the street, Steve spun around, clutching Bucky’s arm like he was clinging to the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.

“Unhand me, Mercutio!” Steve cried, throwing his other arm up with all the grandeur of a Shakespearean actor. “Thou art but a hindrance to my love! Dost thou not know I’m with Juliet?”

Bucky froze, staring at Steve in complete disbelief. “What did you just call me?” His expression was halfway between horrified and annoyed, eyebrows knitted in utter confusion.

Steve pulled himself up, looking deeply wounded, his hand over his heart. 

“Mercutio!” he slurred dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at Bucky. “You are the friend that doth betray me! I shall not be parted from my love!”

Bucky blinked, visibly trying to process this. “Mercutio? Steve, what the—” He looked up at you, helplessly gesturing at Steve. “I’m Mercutio now?”

Steve waved a dismissive hand. “Alas, yes, for you wouldst steal me away from my Juliet,” he said, glaring with the most intense puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“Steve, I’m not Mercutio,” Bucky groaned, looking over at you as if hoping you could talk some sense into him. “You are absolutely out of your mind.”

But Steve seemed lost in his own world. He placed a hand over his heart, gazing longingly up at you again. 

“Juliet,” he called to you, his voice full of melodrama. “Mercutio hath come to tear us asunder.”

Bucky’s face scrunched up in pure irritation. “Steve, I’m trying to get you home before you fall flat on your face. You’re gonna thank me in the morning.”

Steve shook his head, looking at Bucky like he was the ultimate betrayer. “Mercutio… thou art a traitor,” he declared, voice wobbling with fake tragedy.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I swear, if you call me Mercutio one more time—”

“Mercutio!” Steve interrupted, leaning against him dramatically. “Wouldst thou poison my love? Dost thou come between us to ruin the most beautiful thing?”

Bucky let out a defeated sigh, looking over at you with an expression that screamed, Help me. “Your ‘Mercutio’ is about to drag you home, Rogers.”

But Steve just shook his head again, mumbling about “betrayal” and “unhand me, knave,” as Bucky steered him away, calling one last time over his shoulder to you, “Fear not, Juliet! I shall return! Mercutio’s treachery shall not prevail!” You stifled a laugh as Bucky, looking thoroughly done with it all, muttered to himself, “Mercutio… unbelievable.” He gave you one final, apologetic look as Steve continued to mumble protests about “Mercutio’s interference,” until they finally disappeared down the street, Bucky still muttering, “I’m not Mercutio.” Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u

He just wants his dad // Eddie & Wayne

Summary: as the title says - Eddie just wants his dad. Comfort.💗

It's barely noon when Wayne, a heavy sleeper, is woken up. He only got back from his shift a few hours ago and he had immediately toed off his boots and collapsed into the pull out bed which Eddie had prepared for him before he had left for school that morning. The Munson men had a quiet way of loving each other, understated to all but those who understood.

There's a heavy pressure on Wayne's chest. Sound creeps into his awareness and he registers quiet sniffles, suppressed and muffled by lips pressed tightly together. Wayne shifts and the weight on his chest freezes, the sounds of crying stops and Wayne can only hear his own breathing in the room.

The crying isn't his and only one other person has a key to the trailer, which means...

Wayne's hand lifts and moves into Eddie's hair of its own accord; so strong is his instinct to protect his nephew. Nicotine stained fingers delve into dark, soft curls. Eddie jolts at the first touch, unable to see his uncle move with the way his face is pressed into the blue shirt underneath red and white plaid, but Wayne persists. Gentler at first, to soothe Eddie's scare, but then at the pace he prefers; smooth, steady, constant.

Through his threshold consciousness does he feel Eddie nuzzle his face across, and Wayne moves his hand so he can tilt Eddie's head up. Eddie follows the upward tug and Wayne cracks his eyes open, groggy blues taking in tear soaked cheeks and molten pools of chocolate.

"S'matter, kid?"

Eddie's bottom lip and chin tremble. He shakes his head, exhales roughly, looks down and plucks at Wayne's shirt. "Too much, man. I just - " more tears drip sore down Eddie's face and Wayne brushes them away easily, his body moving by itself. He's not thinking about how to comfort Eddie, it's just happening. It's always been easy to love Eddie. Anger burns hot in Wayne but he channels it into soothing his nephew, taking care of him the way he always has. "School got too much and I didn't even get to see you this morning before I took off and, fuck, I just - " Eddie shook his head as a sob ripped out of his throat. "Got in the van and before I knew it, was here. Saw you, d - " Eddie cuts himself off with a firm headshake, not letting himself say what he was going to.

Wayne watches Eddie try to make himself smaller and touches the back of Eddie's head, pushing down lightly. Eddie gets the hint and rests his head back on Wayne's chest, his ear over his uncle's beating heart. "Finish the sentence, kid," Wayne's voice is gruffer than usual in his sleepiness but his encouragement is warmly intended.

Eddie takes a deep breath, steeling himself to say something he usually doesn't allow him to unless it's in moments like this; when Eddie needs familial love. "Saw you lying here, dad, and I just - " Edie sighs, swipes a hand over his face, "I just wanted a hug. Didn't mean to wake you but it got to me, man."

Wayne hears everything Eddie says but what he listens to is, someone was really mean to me today and I missed you this morning so I came home for a hug.

And it warms him from the inside out.

Wayne smiles and begins to sit up on the bed, making Eddie move. Once Wayne is all the way sat up on the bed, Eddie is moving from the floor and sitting beside him, totally leaning into Wayne. Wayne opens his arms and Eddie falls into the fleshy cage offered to him, more tears soaking his uncle's shirt as he shakes and cries. Wayne sits there, quietly stewing in anger towards whomever or whatever caused his strong nephew to shatter like this, unable to hold himself together in such an intense way that he has come home in the middle of the day for a hug, but shows only love and care towards Eddie. The anger is channelled into love, because that's who Wayne wants to be for Eddie.

The one who always, always steps in and steps up.

"M'sorry, I - "

Wayne cuts Eddie off, "this wasn't you, son. You need a hug, you need anything, you come find me, just like you did today. You know that."

Eddie does know that, he does, and that's why he feels no shame or embarrassment when he squeezes his arms even tighter around Wayne and nuzzles himself home. His tears slow, slow, but Eddie remains where he is and Wayne lets him. He's tired, he wants to go back to sleep, but Eddie isn't done and Wayne's not working tonight, so his body's needs can wait. Anything for Eddie.

Anything.

Everything else fades away until it's just a broken-hearted son and his gentle natured but angry dad and a whole lotta' love. It's what the Munsons always get right.

Love.

eddie & wayne @hellfirebabe @eddiemunsonshoney @potatos-library @bakerstreethound @gemstone-roses @sweetpeapod @authorlovers @jslittlebirdie @heydreamchild @comfortcharactercraze @mywinterivy @corrodedcoffeen @ourstaturestouchtheskies @m00nlight101

Imagine comparing Bucky to a cat. And it absolutely offends him. How dare you compare his metal and muscle to something small and fluffy. How dare you.

But you do dare.

And so does Steve, Sam and Tony. 

Every single time. 

He can’t help that he has many kitty like qualities. Disliking loud noises. Falling asleep mid day under a patch of sunlight. Slinking away from crowds. Soft, shiny, well kept, hair. Clean. Picky with meeting new people. Stretches. Grumpy. Liked his alone time. 

Still.

He was a trained assassin, how dare any of you. 

“Look, hes doing it again” Sam can’t even hold back his snort, watching Bucky cock his head curiously while cleaning his gun, eyes laser focused on the intricate little spaces, “If he had a tail, it’d be swishing back and forth right now” 

“I’ll show you a tail” Bucky shoots back a glare, having heard Sam’s poor attempt at a whisper, a deep growl emitting from his chest, which only makes everyone else laugh harder. 

“Is that a purr I hear” Tony sasses, and for a moment, Bucky considers pouncing over the sofa. 

“I think that’s his version of a hiss” you giggle, his eyes narrowing at you in response. 

“Not you too, doll” Bucky grumbles, ignoring the way your teasing makes him blush. His bottom lip juts out into a pout he has no control of and you can’t help reaching over to gently scratch his scalp. 

“Awww, c’mere” You massage his head, cooing when he lets out a satisfied hum, his eyes closing at the feeling of your nimble fingers. 

“Now that’s a purr” Sam mused, reaching over to pet Bucky’s head, only to have his hand swatted away. “See?!” He’s picky like one too” 

“M’not picky, just don’t want your feathery hands on me” Bucky mumbled, eyes still closed, nuzzling more into your touch. 

“Oh, but y/n’s hands are fine?” 

Bucky responded with another content rumble, setting down the gun he was cleaning and stretching his long legs out, laying his head onto your lap, letting you continue your gentle scratches. 

“Such a punk” Steve shook his head, giving Bucky’s hair a ruffle as he walked by only to have Sam and Tony scoff when his hand wasn’t wacked away. 

“C’mon!” 

“He’s worse than we thought” 

Bucky snickered to himself, closing his eyes and curling further into your lap. 

Maybe being so cat like, wasn’t so bad. 

Hi Emmy! Did you remember the trend that went viral on tik tok two years ago (I think) where when a person want to kiss their best friend put the song “eletric love”? Okay so imagine this with bestfriend!Steve 🥹

You felt absolutely sick as you set up your phone, the camera already recording, the shiny back of it partially hidden by a cheese plant you’d barely managed to keep alive.

The last thing that had flashed across the screen before you’d pressed the red button was a text from Robin, the notification making your stomach tumble as you read the words: ‘you better not chicken out. I ✨PROMISE✨ you, it’ll work.’

Her use of emojis didn’t make you feel better, but you gave one last look to the camera before settling back onto your sofa, legs folded underneath you, fingers picking at your nails in your lap. Steve came in only a few seconds later, popcorn bowl placed on the table before he flopped down next to you, too close like always. His knee knocked yours before his thigh was squished against your own, shoulder to shoulder, the aftershave you’d bought him two Christmas’ ago lingering on his sweater, along the line of his neck.

Your heart was screaming at you, a thudthudthud that rattled your bones and you wondered if Steve could hear it, if he could feel it vibrate through your body and into his. There wasn’t any music playing, just the trailer of the movie he’d set up to play on Netflix, the same two minutes repeating over and over until he’d returned with the snacks.

But Robin and Nancy had shown you the tiktok almost a week ago, a blur of couples kissing, friends leaning into more, lips meeting, eyes widening, all shot to the soundtrack of BØRNS hit single, Electric Love. The song played in your head like your own private concert, the bass a beat that matched your heart.

‘And every night my mind is running around her. Thunder's getting louder and louder and louder.’

You were going to throw up, you were sure of it. You looked at Steve, his strong profile you knew so well, the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the smattering of freckles that had reappeared over his cheeks now that summer was back. He’d not long had a haircut, the curls at the nape of his neck no longer, the top still a misbehaving mess but you could see more of his throat, the strong column of it, the moles that were scattered below his ear.

“You’re staring,” he said.

You startled, eyes wide and you swallowed hard before you answered. You wanted to glance at the camera, you wanted to up and run. But instead you shook your head and tried to smile, a little bashful but warm all the same, ‘cause Steve wasn’t really teasing you. He did look curious though, like he could sense the tension, the kind that was always there but this time, tenfold.

“You’re acting weird. More so than usual. Are you ok—”

‘Baby, you’re like lightning in a bottle…’

You heard the swell of the song in your head as you pushed your lips to Steve’s, eyes closing on instinct, his bottom lip caught between yours and he tasted like candy and popcorn, cherry sour and caramel butter. You were a little clumsy with it, hands pushed to the soft of the sofa cushions as you leaned over to him, head tilted to the side and up so you could meet your mouth to his. It lasted a second or two, three at most, before you were pulling away, already feeling the overwhelming sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, because oh my god, you’d just kissed your best friend, and surely you’d fucked everything up—

But then Steve was chasing you, only after a moment's pause, his eyes wide and lips still parted. You watched him lick over his bottom one, like he was finding the taste of you before he was leaning back in, a hand catching the nape of your neck to keep you there this time.

It was sweeter than the first, noses pressed to each other's cheeks, lips moving together liked you’d done it all the time, for all the six years you’d known each other. Steve’s thumb pushed at your jaw, titled your head the way he wanted you so he could kiss you a little deeper, cheeks pink and hearts crashing against each other's chests.

The tiktok went viral, after you’d admitted to it and shown Steve. He’d only grinned and shrugged, muttering something about how you both looked good and the internet should see it. The comments mainly consisted of keyboard smashes and forlorn girls asking “when is it my turn.” And there were several who demanded an update, asking questions about what had happened next and “please tell you guys are dating now?”

So Steve made his own account, asked you for help to stitch your video with his, a montage of sorts that showed you and him from when you were teens, hair too long and messy, tongues popsicle stained and skateboards under your feet, to now, just last week, you on Steve’s back, snapped by Eddie at the lake.

He was shirtless, his top on your frame, stolen to hide your bikini but his hands were wrapped possessively around your thighs as he held you to him, your arms clinging to his neck in a similar way. The sun was in your faces, causing you both to squint, your lips were pressed together, smiles biting through and well, that video went viral too.

…

Can I request a fluffy Joseph Quinn x fem. reader long oneshot where it’s Joseph’s Birthday and reader surprises Joseph with a present and inside the wrapped present is a sonagram picture and a baby onesie that has a special message on it?

( I know exactly what I want the onesie to say, so I will send you a picture of what I want it to say.) ☺️❤️

ofc! sorry I got back to you so late

here's the onesie

happy birthday - j.q. x fem!reader

You looked down at your stomach and beamed. Anxiety filled your body but you knew deep down that Joseph would be elated. 

You grinned as you heard footsteps, casting a few last minute glances at the table.

“Happy Birthday, Joey!” you exclaimed, as Joseph stepped down the stairs groggily.

“Aw, thank you, love,” he croaked, he gave you a lopsided grin as he wrapped his arms around you. “Wow, you did not have to do all this. It’s five am, baby, why were you up so early?”

“Shut up and eat,” you laughed, guiding him to the table.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding. He sat down and began eating. “I should just fake sick. Stay home all day with you.”

“No, Joe, you have to go today. I still have some things to set up!” you exclaimed, rubbing his shoulder. You looked down once more before sitting down next to Joe.

+++

It was late. About nine pm. You heard the garage open. You quickly put out the couple boxes of gifts, putting the most important one in the certain. You were practically shaking with nerves.

“Hellooo!” exclaimed Joseph, walking into the living room nonchalantly. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’re shaking. What’s going on? Are you cold?” he asked, rubbing your arms.

“No, no, I’m fine!” you insisted. “Are you ready to open presents?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, beaming. He sat down.

One by one, you handed him the presents.

“One left, okay?” you said, handing him the present.

“Okay,” he said, smiling eagerly. He gently pulled the wrapping paper off the gift to reveal a box. He grabbed the pocket knife that you had brought over and cut open the box and pulled out the small cloth that was inside. His face scrunched up and he unfolded it. He read it and dropped it almost a second later. His eyes were impossibly wide and his jaw was hanging open.

Your eyes filled with tears – happy tears – and you nodded. He jumped up, beaming widely. 

“Oh my god,” he whispered, his throat and eyes stinging from the tears. “Oh my god, Y/N! We’re going to– we’re parents!”

“Yeah!” you exclaimed, crying happily into his arms. He picked you up and spun you around.

“We’re parents!” he repeated, some tears falling down his cheeks as he beamed widely.

I love you Joe Keery. Thank you.