Derek Hale X Female Reader

Person A: This 100 year old back pain is ruining my life.

Person B: Right...How old are you again?

Person A: In my late 30s. Why do you ask?

Eddie’s zoned out as he prattles off care instructions and wraps up the man’s (very strong) bicep, careful to tug it tight enough as to not hurt him. 

He’s distracted. Has been for the better part of the past hour. 

Steve’s been the ideal client. Perfect, he might even say. 

Hardly nervous at all as he climbed into the chair and made himself comfortable. No flinching at the needle, and he’s been as easy-going as anything. 

His eyes were heavy lidded and fluttery as the needle pressed into his skin, a soft smile gracing his face as he watched his spitfire little girl flip through Eddie’s books for a design she liked. 

“You find anything you like, baby?” He asked.

Eddie took a pause to peek up at the little redhead across the room. Her hair in two little braids, eyebrows furrowed, and tongue poked out in concentration.

“No, I wanted a dinosaur but these are all flowers and stuff,” She pouted.

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. 

“Tell you what kiddo,” He stole a glance at Steve, blissed out in the chair. “Since your dad has been such a good sport and you’ve been so good, I’ll draw you up a dinosaur when we’re finished okay?”

Max’s eyes lit up and she giggled behind her hands and nodded.

Now that Steve’s tattoo is done, a pumpkin on the inside of his bicep, he sits up and calls her over.

“Come see, pumpkin.”

And Eddie hadn’t asked, but now, as he watches her bounce across the room and gasp at her dad’s tattoo he feels his face split into a smile.

“Daddy it's me!”

Steve laughs and it's so so lovely. He drops a kiss to the top of her head before he stands. 

“It is you, bug.”

Eddie peels off his gloves and puts his hands on his hips.

“Alright miss lady. Let’s draw you a dinosaur. What kind are you thinking? Stegosaurus, pterodactyl?”

She jumps up with her arms bent to her body and roars. 

“I’m a T-Rex!”

Eddie laughs and gets settled at his table. 

“Alright firecracker, let’s draw you a T-Rex.”

*****

After he’s sketched the outline, a little cartoon dinosaur, he runs it through on his temporary tattoo sheet and sets to “prepping” his station.

He sprays down the chair and tugs on more gloves.

He sits on his stool and pats the chair. 

“Come on up Red.”

She squeals and runs over and Steve hoists her up onto the chair.

In the meantime, Eddie rolls over to his mini-fridge in the corner and grabs the cold rag he’s had in the freezer.

He can hear Steve whisper as he tucks a loose hair behind her ear. 

“You excited, huh? My brave girl.” 

And Eddie’s heart melts. 

He rolls back over and puts on his serious face. 

“Okay Max. You’re gonna feel a sting but you’re a tough girl, aren’t ya?”

She furrows her brows and nods. She rolls up her own sleeve. 

“I’m strong!”

He can’t help but smile. 

“You sure are. Look at those muscles!”

He peels off the plastic covering the ink. 

“Where do you want to put it?” He asks.

She pats her upper arm.

“Here. Just like daddy!”

Eddie grins again and Steve is biting back a smile from his spot behind the chair. Eddie sends him a wink and watches the flush bloom across his cheeks.

“You ready, Red?”

Her focus face is back and she nods resolutely.

Eddie lines up the sheet and sticks it to her arm. She turns her head back towards Steve.

“Daddy? Will you hold my hand?”

As if Eddie’s heart wasn’t already a puddle on the floor.

“Here we go, sweetheart,” Eddie says as he presses the cold rag to her skin.

He hisses through his teeth and grimaces like he’s in pain. He holds back a laugh as she puffs out her cheeks and visibly squeezes her dad’s hand.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Steve tells her. 

She lets out a sharp little breath as Eddie shifts and presses the rag back against her skin. 

She looks up towards him and giggles. 

“It’s not that bad. I’m tough like daddy.”

He flops the rag back down on his tray and goes to peel the paper away from her skin.

“Yes you are!” He says as he smiles down at her cute little dinosaur, “Do you like it?”

She looks down at it and squeals. 

“Look daddy! Look!”

Steve hoists her up onto his hip and swings her around, giggles filling the space and Eddie’s heart. 

“I love it, pumpkin! You’re the coolest little girl in the whole world!”

He puts her down and she runs around the chair to where Eddie is peeling off his second set of gloves and bumps right up next to him. He furrows his eyebrows and goes to ask what’s wrong when he’s interrupted.

“Look dad! Just like Eddie!”

And now that he looks at it he sees it. Max’s dinosaur is in the same place as her dad’s tattoo. But it’s in the same place as Eddie’s dragon too.

🥺🥺

Billy's cremated. So that his body can't be examined, can't be looked at. So that no one can question how he looks, or why he's got these black veins on his body.

Ashes of him, in a small jar. A whole life, in something quite... well, ordinary.

Max is older now. When Billy had first died, she had conflicting feelings. Thought about those nights where she'd wished for his death. It's been years now. She's older than he was then. The thought is a painful one. Everything is over in Hawkins, but so many had lost their lives. So many would never get to grow old. Just like Billy.

She's free now. Life, well it just moved on. But she never forgot about the ashes. Her mom didn't want them, and Neil hadn't been seen since. She had no idea where Billy's mom was, either. So they ended up with her when she moved out.

Sat up on a mantle, Max couldn't help but look at them everyday. They didn't feel right here. Billy wouldn't want to be some mantelpiece for the rest of his life.

So one day she picks up the vase, and goes out to her car. She's back in California now. She made the trip he always planned too. She made it here.

She'll make sure he does too.

She drives, with him in the passenger seat. Plays music he would've listened to. She hates that she likes it too. That hell, these are his old tapes she's playing on the radio.

She stops the car and gets out, taking him with her. She goes to the water, and carefully pops off the top. She shakes them out, right into the ocean.

He's free now. He's where he'd want to be. He's made it to Cali.

She can almost see him smiling beside her.

She pops the top back on, and now it's just a vase. Just an ordinary vase. The sea has him now, and the sea is anything but ordinary.

He's home.

Eddie and Steve kept catching the other's eye every time Dio, their grey and white cat, kept flopping down with a world-weary sigh that, this time, wasn't due to Eddie being annoying showing affection. The poor thing had formed a habit of seeking out the cool floor vents or worming his way into fridge when it was open, but that behavior never seemed too out of character, considering how his fluffy butt would shoot outside and completely starfish-jump into a fresh mound of snow if given the opportunity. And he was always given a lot.

On a leash, of course.

The first time that had happened, Steve and Eddie doubled over in laughter, hands slapping at arms until the "Did you see that?!" of the moment turned into "Can you see him?!" and they both frantically started digging for him. The snow-chilled but panic-warmed reunion yielded a very unamused Dio held tight against Steve's chest (with a hyperbolic "He's frozen solid!") as Eddie's forehead pressed between Dio's snow-dusted ears with a vow of "Never again" spilled from his chapped lips.

But that was January of last year, and it was now July of this year, and — look. The decision was that the cat needed his fur trimmed past just the regularly-scheduled maintenance of the very necessary Butt Trim. It was the peak of summer, and Dio was obviously uncomfortable in his long fur that was thicker than Eddie's skull, the latter of which was unfortunately to blame for the current situation:

Little Dio, Baby D, Dionysus, Rice-a-Ronnie fighting for his hairy little life on the top of the dryer, wiggling like an eel half out of Eddie's hold, claws raking through fur clippings and skidding against its absolutely gripless surface. The clippers buzzed menacingly from the floor after falling off the dryer.

Eddie tried his best to talk the cat down, cooing little things like "You're gonna look so handsome, Steve's gonna be so impressed. You're gonna be such a cool cat," but Dio the Diabolical didn't want any part of that.

Butt trim? No problem. Starting there probably would have been the better idea, but Eddie — alone, forsaken, and abandoned, thanks to Steve getting called in to work on his off day — had started working at the other end and soon found that the job couldn't be carried out with just one set of hands, committed though they were.

After a well-fought struggle, Eddie finally let Dio go with permission to "be free and angry — for now," and turned the clippers off, but he was not prepared for the sight that fully registered when he found Dio sitting on a stool next to the counter.

After an appropriate gasp, Eddie muttered, "Ohhh my god. Diogenes, what have I done?" from behind his hand, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry.

Dio ignored him, fully in ice-out mode as he groomed his face. He didn't even flinch as Eddie snapped a picture on his phone, but didn't take too kindly to the tone of Eddie's "Why are you so tiny?!" so he hopped down and found another spot in a different room.

Eddie texted the following to Steve:

I made a mistake he won't let me clip anymore. Will I be arrested.

Not even ten seconds later, Eddie received a video call from Robin Buckley, who was absolutely howling in laughter, featuring a horrified Steve in the background, unable to tear his eyes away from his phone.

The rest of the fur trim may or may not have happenedb until a few days later because the sight was just so ridiculously fascinating (and Robin had insisted on experiencing its full glory in person). His fuzzy boots and a fluffy tuft at the end of his tail remained, though.

I'm just gonna go cry in the corner now...

Steve carries Eddie’s body through the gate, blood soaking his clothes where silent tears fail to wash it away. It feels like Eddie’s blood is going to seep into is body and stay there under his skin like a tattoo. A reminder for all eternity that happy endings were only ever an invention by people who didn’t know anything about life.

“He’s losing so much blood,” Robin keeps wheezing behind him, breathless with the weight of it all, and Steve wants to say something, wants to comfort her that it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t hurt him, he won’t need the blood anymore. But the words get stuck in his throat as more tears fall.

Eddie’s hand is cold in his, and it will forever haunt him. Still, he’s not ready to let go when they reach the remnants of the trailer, when his knees give out and he collapses onto the soiled mattress. But whatever stains they were, they’re history now underneath all that blood.

History is the thing with the bloodstained beds and lost, abandoned homes, is it not? History is the part where everything gets ripped from you and you’re meant to keep standing. Keep fighting.

History, right now, looks a lot like a future unwritten, with Eddie’s hand in his, cold and unfeeling.

Steve still doesn’t say a word.

The world has larger problems than his failed attempts at grief. Ripped apart at its seams, wilting and rotting and overcome with death and decay, Hawkins needs Steve Harrington to once again show a strength he shouldn’t have to possess.

He helps. Donates clothes, offers his home, his kitchen, his bedrooms to everyone in need. Donates his time, his smile, his thoughts to the people who have the fortune and the privilege to think nothing of him.

Funerals are a daily occasion — with or without the bodies — and so Steve doesn’t even think about it when Dustin approaches him about Eddie.

“He shouldn’t be put on public display like that,” Dustin says and Steve marvels, for a second, that he still has his voice. “He deserves more than a freakshow, and they’re so busy, but they said they could… They could come and—and prepare him. The body. Bring him over. Have a proper service for him, those who knew, those who cared about. Could we do it at your place? Please?”

His eyes sting as he nods and pulls Dustin into a hug that leaves his shirt wet. It’s fine. All his clothes have the memory of tear stains on them, and tear stains are better than blood; a kinder version of history.

It’s a week after… a week since… It’s been a week, when they finally have the funeral for Eddie. Steve doesn’t mean to be there, he shouldn’t be, he can’t be, not when he still scrubs at his skin where Eddie’s blood used to be and he wants to get it out of there because he knows it’s inside him, he knows it’s in there; he knows because he’s hurting all over. Everything, everything hurts. And he can’t wash it away, the memory, the stains, the part where past and future became history and present became nothing but pain. He can’t—

He can’t.

Eddie refused to run and it’s all Steve wants to do anymore. It’s not fair. It’s not.

He shuts himself away from the world in his room and tries to scratch it away, the memory of the blood. He wants to scream and to shout and to talk and to apologise, but he can’t, because there are no words.

And then Dustin is talking, and Steve stops tearing at his skin to listen. He can’t hear the words but he can hear the pain, he can hear the way Dustin is stronger than him, always has been, and he opens the door. Slips down the stairs slowly until he sees it. The open coffin with Eddie’s body, his hair glowing in the light of the afternoon sun.

“He was the coolest, kindest, bravest guy I know,” Dustin says, but Steve doesn’t want to hear it, so he stops listening as he reaches the foot of the stairs and keeps walking, closer to Eddie, always closer, always so, so close.

And he misses the touch, misses those dark brown eyes that were so kind, and he wants to see them again. They’re closed. They shouldn’t be closed; the world has to see. Has to see the kindness in those eyes, the beauty, the wonderful things they’d think of.

Silence falls around him but Steve doesn’t care, doesn’t really notice; not when those eyes are closed, not when he reaches out to open them as a way to right all the wrongs in the world now.

But then his eyes fall to Eddie’s bare throat, and everything is wrong once more, no chance to right it, because—

“Where’s his pick? He needs-Eddie needs his plectrum to play. He can’t play without his pick, he can’t— The bats will get him, please, you have to… He needs his pick.”

And Steve falls apart as he finds his words again, words that rip into his very soul, tearing at the fabric of the world itself and turning it upside down. There are hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him away from the coffin, but he clings to it even as his knees start to give out while sobs wreck through his body.

“It’s okay, boy,” someone tells him, and Steve falls back into Hoppers chest, strong arms holding him up instead of pulling him away from Eddie. “It’s okay.”

He’s shaking his head, vision blurry now, and maybe there’s a bit of irony in the way that Steve and Eddie will both have had their last visions of each other be blurred with tears.

“It’s not, it’s not okay,” he insists, trying to shake off the hands holding him up. He wants to fall apart; wants to break; wants to be gone. Don’t hold me together, let me shatter. “You— You all wanted me to talk. You wanted me to!”

He’s gasping for breath again, hiccuping through the tears and the words and the weakness.

“I’m talking. Eddie, I love you. I wanna love you, and now I’m gonna, forever, but I don’t want the sad kind of forever. I want… Please, please he needs his pick, he can’t play without it.”

And then he’s on the floor, sobbing, and the words are gone again. Robin, Dustin and Hopper go down with him, but even they can’t put him together now.

“Steve,” Dustin says, voice hoarse with the weight of his own tears. “It’s here, see? I’ve got his pick, it’s safe. Do you wanna give it to him? Make sure he has it forever?”

He does. But he can’t bring himself to let go. Wayne comes up and places a scratched up piece of plastic on Eddie’s chest.

“He used to leave ‘em all ‘round the trailer. I always keep ‘em with me the days. Found this one under the couch before we… He’ll have it now, see? He can play again, our boy can play again.”

Steve falls apart until he doesn’t remember what piece of himself goes where. But it’s fine. Eddie will play again.

@thefreakandthehair technically you didn’t do this, but you sure didn’t discourage me from writing this (inspired by the My Girl funeral scene)

could I request modern!steve surprising reader at college? maybe she has been super homesick and it’s all fluffy?

Steve frowned at the maps on his phone, ‘cause the estimated time told him the journey would take three hours, but he was certain he could do it in less. Two and a half, maybe, if he didn’t stop. He grinned as the group chat pinged with notifications, Robin asking you if you were still planning on staying in tonight.

He breathed a sigh of relief when you replied with a ‘yeah, too tired to leave the dorm.’ How was he supposed to surprise you if you weren’t there to open the door for him? So the rest of your friends sent messages back, saying how they missed you as much as you missed them, how they hoped exams weren’t stressing you too much and would you be home soon?

Steve knew your exams were taking a toll on you, he could hear it in your voice when you called each night, cheek pressed to the pillow and voice soft with sleep and longing. When it got particularly bad, he could hear you get a little watery, words splintering in the middle when you told him you really just wished he was there to give you a hug.

So Steve was gonna do just that. Drive two and a half (three) hours to your college to wrap you up in his arms in the hug he so desperately wanted to give you. Robin was the one who convinced him to surprise you, who told him the sneaking around and white lies would be worth it.

‘Cause Steve had already had to reject your call by the time he reached the outskirts of Hawkins and it pained him. You knew he was off, why wouldn’t he take your call? His phone pinged through with a message from you.

‘Missing you ♥️’

Steve stepped on the accelerator a little harder.

He did in fact make it sooner than his sat nav told him, a smug feeling of pride mixing with anticipation and nerves in his stomach. It wasn’t like he rarely got to see you, no, you came home all the time, the train ride back to Hawkins even faster than the drive but exams had you holed up in either your dorm room or the library most weekends this month. Steve parked his car in the lot, felt his stomach flip when he saw your bedroom window from the sidewalk, cracked open for some autumn air, curtains tangling in the breeze. If he squinted enough, he could just make out the photo frame on the sill, the one he knew held a photo of you and him last vacation, you on his lap in front of a campfire at the cabin at Sugar Creek, taken by Jonathan.

He counted the doors to yours, each footstep echoing almost too loudly in the narrow corridor, blurred with the sounds of too many different spotify playlists, chatter and someone yelling about a grade they got. Steve sucked in a breath before he knocked on your door, your name along with your two roommates written in red pen on the whiteboard pinned to the wood. He hoped they’d gotten Nancy’s Instagram message, that they knew the plan and would let you open the door.

Sure enough, you were the one behind it when it swung open, the movement making the hair falling over his eyes lift and he grinned at the sight of you, rucksack over one shoulder, a bunch of peonies in one hand.

“Surprise,” Steve managed, the last syllable knocked out of him in a soft oomph, as you launched yourself at him, pink petals crushed between you both, your arms around his neck and he laughed as he held you to him, your toes barely on the ground at the exuberance of it all.

You were crying, he could feel them on his neck, where you’d buried your face and sniffed. “Happy tears, I hope,” Steve murmured, letting his bag and the flowers drop to the hallway carpet so he could hug you a little better.

You nodded, making a small sound, a watery pleased noise that made Steve laugh even more.

“You’re such a dick,” you choked out on a sob, pulling back to smile at him to show you didn’t mean it. You usually weren’t one for surprises, and your boyfriend knew this, but god, you’d never been so grateful to open the door to the person you least expected. “You didn’t answer my call. Thought you were sick of my whining.”

“Missed you too, babe,” Steve quipped but pushed a thumb to your cheek, pouting at the tear he caught there, your flushed cheeks and wet lashes. “Nah, me? Sick of you? Unheard of. Illegal, actually, to even think of such a thing.”

You sniffed again, lip wobbling and Steve couldn’t stop his grin. “Christ, woman, c’mere.”He pulled you back to him, hand cupping the back of your head so you could cling to his shirt and pretend that you were definitely not crying.

“I missed you,” you told him, words pressed to the skin of his throat, along with a kiss, tear soaked and soft. “A stupid amount.”

You got a proper kiss in response, sticky with fondness, a little salt from you but it was still Steve. It still tasted like home.

…

jealousy, jealousy

Summary: You're usually someone who preaches love but there's something about a new recruit that makes your blood boil.

Jealousy isn’t part of your vocabulary, it never has. So when you started dating Bucky you assumed it wouldn’t be a problem. Of course you noticed the widened eyes and hushed words people- men and women alike, Buck’s got game left and right- whenever the two of you would walk into restaurants. When you started pointing it out to him, he would always say: “It’s not cause they like my looks sweets, they’re afraid of me.”

Maybe at first that was the case but definitely not now, the public’s perception of Bucky turned positive. From terrifying Winter Soldier close all your doors to I’ll set my house on fire just to get a look at Daddy Sarge.

And there wasn’t anyone who loved teasing him about it more than you. Some nights, whenever he’s been especially annoying you would search his tag on twitter and read what people post about him. His cheeks would burst red and he would bring the comforter up to his face.

“Could you please stop with that!” He groaned but a smile tugged at his lips. “You know it gives me a weird feeling!”

“I would love to see the Eiffel Tower, they say Paris is beautiful this time of year. @BuckyBarnes @SamWilson.” You giggled as you brought your phone closer to your boyfriend.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Do I even want to know what that means?”

“It’s-well- kind of when you-“ You pursed your lips and made a triangle shape with your hands. Maybe a visual aid would help?

Bucky grabbed both of your hands and brought them to his lips. “Can you please put me out of my misery?”

But today was very different, it had been for a few weeks now. There was something about the new brunette agent that rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe it was that she was currently rubbing Bucky’s bicep. 

Jealousy does not exist in my world. My happiness comes from within me. There is no jealousy in true love. 

You repeated this over and over in your head, raising the speed on the treadmill and focusing on the windows in front of you. You were not going to focus on the fact that there was a hot pink nail polish wearing agent openly flirting with your boyfriend. Definitely not focusing on that. 

Your heartbeat started to rush as you kept on running, seeing red. No mantra was enough, you wanted problems. You were going to go up to her and pin her down on the floor until she was patting on the mat, taking her last brea-

“You okay?” Natasha asked, placing her hand on your lower back to stabilize your body as she lowered the speed on the treadmill. “It looks like you’re trying to challenge the speed of light over here.”

You took a deep breath to calm your anger and looked at the redhead with a smile. “I’m trying to get rid of all my- you can call it extra energy.”

Natasha threw her head back with a laugh. “Bucky training the new recruits?”

“This hasn’t happened before, I’m usually very chill about everything. But there’s something about this one.” You said, forcing your eyes onto Natasha’s instead of behind you. Where they were now about to start sparring. 

Natasha’s eyes traveled from yours to behind you. “If that’s the problem then I strongly suggest you don’t look now.”

You turned your head just enough to see the young recruit asking for your boyfriends hand to stand up, putting her other hand on his shoulder as she came up. You heard her giggle as she draped her arm over his shoulder and started complimenting his new shorter haircut. But the thing that threw you over the edge was how she placed her palm against the back of his neck. 

“Excuse me.” You said to Natasha, ripping open the pocket on the left side of her tactical suit and taking out one of the small knives you knew she hid. “I just need to borrow this for a second.”

Before Natasha could even get a word out you planted both of your feet on the gym floor and sent the knife flying in between Bucky and the new agent’s face and landed on the wall behind them. Bucky leaned back a little as he felt the air rushing when the knife passed him, turning to face you with a stupid smug smile. The recruit on the other hand, fell to the floor and clutched her chest. 

Nat tried and failed to swallow her laugh.

You brushed past Bucky and the agent, who was still on the floor. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You should really work on your aim. Someone could have gotten hurt.” She shot you an annoyed look as you un-stabbed the wall. 

You turned on your heel and debated your answer. 

Actions speak louder than words. You thought. 

Without breaking eye contact with the woman, you sent the knife flying right to the spot next to her head. With no effort the blade stuck to the foam flooring. 

“I have perfect aim.” You smiled walking past Bucky who was biting the inside of his cheek to suppress his smile.

“Are we still on for dinner Sweets?” Bucky asked, the sides of his lips curving upwards. 

“7:30, don’t be late.” You said without turning to him. 

---------

Author's Note: Kinda short but I hope you guys liked it! As always my requests are always open!! Be sure to comment, like and reblog if you like!!💖💖🦾

I’ve had an idea - a gender reveal party for Steve and the single mom series (I was alive in the 80’s so I know they weren’t a thing back then, just baby showers) but the idea just came to me - Robin or Nancy would know the sex if the baby (thinking boy) and they would arrange the party. Totally understand if you think it’s a silly idea! (Congrats on almost 5000 followers btw!)

Thank you!

I really love this idea. Let’s just ignore the fact that gender reveal parties weren’t a thing yet and say they were for the sake of this cuteness! Funny you say a boy because…baby #3 as I’ve written in another fic, the one daydream they had (so I’m gonna write it like that) is going to turn out to be baby 3 AND 4. It’s twins!

Robin is definitely the head of this party, she would have an absolute BLAST planning it. Especially when she knows it’s twins (because they haven’t found out yet).

Imagine this is Steve when he finds out cause he’s SURE she’s fucking with them lol

Part of the Dad Steve x SingleTeenMom!Reader ‘verse

Dad Steve x SingleTeenMom!Reader Series masterlist

“Daddy, auntie Robin won’t tell me if the baby a boy or a girl!”

Abbie ran up to Steve, looking frustrated, her hands on her little hips. It made him chuckle cause damnit if she wasn’t a spitting image of him when he was frustrated.

He held Arabella on his hip while she was busy eating the snack that you’d given her earlier. So far today, she’d been wanting to cling to daddy, much to your relief. Your back was hurting enough between carrying a baby both inside you and on your hip.

“Abbie, that’s the point of the party,” he smiled, “We’re finding out if the baby is a boy or a girl. That’s why auntie Robin planned this party.”

“How we gonna find out?” she asked, confused.

“Well,” he said, shifting Arabella to his other hip, “You see the pretty cake over there?”

He pointed to the table where a bakery designed cake sat with other finger foods and refreshments. Robin had really outdone herself and had been so excited to plan this party. It wasn’t something Steve was familiar with, but Robin claimed gender reveal parties were the newest “thing”.

“Yes,” she nodded, “We’ll get to eat it, right?”

“Of course honey,” he smiled, “But that cake is important. Mommy will cut it open and the color of the inside will reveal the surprise of if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“So if it’s pink it means I’m right in thinking it’s a baby sister?” she asked.

“Mhm. Blue for a boy like mommy thinks.”

She scrunched up her nose.

“I don’t want a baby brother. Boys are icky.”

“Hey,” he mock pouted, “I’m a boy. You don’t like daddy?”

She sighed dramatically.

“That’s different daddy. You the only boy that’s not icky.”

“Let’s hope she still has the same attitude in about ten years,” Steve muttered as you passed by, catching the tail end of the conversation.

You snorted, giving him a look.

“If she’s as boy crazy as her mommy then you stand no chance of that, Steve,” you smirked.

He groaned, already dreading it.

“Stay four forever for me, sweetheart, okay?”

“Sure daddy!” she smiled, “So when do we eat cake?”

•

Robin was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, she was so excited.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep this secret? I’m dying already, cut the cake!”

Everyone had finally arrived and they all chuckled and smiled, agreeing to her sentiment. They were all eager to find out just as much as you and Steve were.

“Okay, okay,” you chuckled, grabbing the knife off the table.

Steve was at one side of you, baby free for a change. She was happily snuggling Joyce—no shock there. Abbie was on the other side of you, watching the cake intently like it would give her clues before you even cut it.

“Go for it, babe,” Steve said.

You made the first cut, pulling the knife out to see if you could spot any colored crumbs. All you spotted was the white icing that coated the outside and most likely the inside too. You made a second cut on the opposite side then slid the blade under the slice, pulling it out.

You blinked at it, not sure what you were seeing.

You heard one of your friends gasp.

“Holy shit.”

That had come from Joyce.

“I don’t get it, mommy,” Abbie said, looking up at you.

“Oh my god,” Steve huffed a disbelieving laugh.

It was a simple two layer cake, but instead of being solid pink or solid blue, the top layer was pink and the bottom was blue.

“It’s twins!” Robin squealed.

You had no memory of depositing the slice of cake onto a plate and setting down the knife because the next thing you knew, you were flinging yourself into his arms.

Steve had wanted another girl, you had been hoping for a boy. Turns out, you were getting both.

“Twins,” you mumbled, dazed, “Can you believe that?”

The hoots and hollers were drowned out when a beaming Steve leaned down to kiss you.

“I can’t wait,” he smiled.

You heard a huff of annoyance from behind you—coming from your eldest daughter.

“Now can we eat the cake?”

just hold me (e.m.)

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: Eddie comforts you after your best friend moves out of town *fluffy fluff*

word count: 1.2k

a/n: one of my best friends lives over 4,000 miles away from me and she facetimed me today crying because she misses me. so now i’m sad and i miss her like crazy and i wrote this super fast before bed because i desperately need a hug.

——————

“you’ll call me every week?”

“every Thursday at five o’clock.” your best friend promises, hugging you tightly as both of you try your hardest to push back tears.

“i can’t believe you’re leaving me.” you whisper, pulling away to hold her face in your hands. trying to show her you understand why she’s going. “but i’m so, so proud of you. i know you’re going to do great things.”

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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.