birthday baby
jkcu + joe himself x reader
|| desc- what they do for you on your birthday !!!!
val speaks- it’s my bday! so this is very self indulgent☺️ if it’s coincidentally your birthday too have the best day! n if it’s not just pretend xo
sigh feeling 19 and misaligned rn!
word count: 8.5k
joe keery
you wake up slowly, the kind of soft, unhurried waking that only happens when there’s nowhere to be and nothing pressing waiting for you. the air feels different here, lighter somehow, warm even in the early morning and for a second you forget where you are.
joe had flown you to italy for the week. he was here to shoot a movie once and the minute he landed he knew he wanted to come back here with you so why not bring you for your birthday?
then you feel it, an arm draped over your waist, familiar and steady, pulling you just a little closer whenever you shift.
and then his lips.
they’re warm and barely there at first, brushing against your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth like he’s testing if you’re awake. when you stir, he smiles against your skin and presses a few more deliberate kisses across your face, uncoordinated and soft, like he can’t decide where to land.
you let out a quiet laugh, still half asleep, turning your head so your nose bumps into his. “joe…”
“good morning” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, but there’s this quiet excitement under it.
you open your eyes properly then, and he’s already looking at you, hair a mess, eyes soft, that small, crooked smile that always feels like it’s just for you.
“happy birthday, baby” he says, like it’s something he’s been holding in all morning.
your chest tightens a little at the way he says it. you lean in, kissing him once, twice, slow and warm. “thank you.”
“i love you” he adds, almost immediately, like it’s just part of the sentence.
“i love you too.”
for a moment neither of you moves. it’s just quiet, the soft light coming through the shutters, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns on your hip while you stay tucked into him. then, suddenly, he pulls back.
“wait- don’t move” he says, already halfway out of bed.
you blink at him, amused. “what are you doing?”
“just- stay there” he insists, grabbing something from his bag, then something else, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.
you push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him with a small smile. “you’re being weird.”
“i’m being prepared” he shoots back, though he’s clearly a little flustered. then he turns back to you, holding a small bundle of things, and for a second he just stands there, like he’s trying to figure out how to start.
it’s.. kind of endearing.
“okay,” he exhales, sitting back down on the bed. “so. presents.”
“joe-” you start, already shaking your head, but he cuts you off.
“nope. let me do this. please.”
you hold up your hands in surrender, smiling. “okay, okay.”
he hands you the smallest box first.
it’s simple, but wrapped neatly, like he actually took the time to do it himself instead of just handing it to you in a bag. you peel it open carefully, glancing up at him once. he’s watching you way too closely, like your reaction matters more than anything.
inside is a ring.
you pause for a second, then pick it up. it’s delicate, a soft pinky ring with his initial on it, small but clear.
“joe…” your voice comes out quieter than you expected.
“wait,” he says quickly, already pulling something from his own hand. “i got one too.”
you look up, and he’s holding his hand out, on his pinky is a matching ring, but with your initial instead.
“i just-” he lets out a small breath, suddenly a little shy. “you always do that thing, you know? with the pinky promises. like it’s… serious to you. so i thought-” he shrugs, a little helplessly. “we could have one that’s, like… permanent. like a forever pinky promise or whatever.”
for a second, you don’t say anything.
your throat feels tight, your eyes stinging just slightly as you look between the ring in your hand and the one on his finger.
“that’s… really-” you stop, laughing softly because you can’t quite get the words out. “that’s really sweet.”
“yeah?” he asks, watching you carefully.
you nod, slipping it onto your pinky. it fits perfectly.
“yeah,” you say again, softer. “it’s perfect.”
the smile that spreads across his face is immediate, wide and relieved and so genuine it makes your chest ache a little.
“okay, good,” he says, like he’s been holding his breath. “good.”
he leans in, kissing you again. slow this time, a little deeper, his hand coming up to cradle your face.
“happy birthday” he murmurs against your lips.
you laugh softly. “you already said that.”
“i’ll say it again.”
he hands you the next few things after that. small painting kits, the kind you’ve pointed out before but never actually bought. you raise an eyebrow at him.
“really?”
“what?” he shrugs. “you like them.”
“i’m terrible at them.”
“that’s not the point,” he says immediately. “you like doing them. and for the record, everything you make is… objectively great.”
you snort. “objectively?”
“yeah,” he nods seriously. “award-worthy, even.”
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.
there are a couple of shirts too, ones you’d mentioned offhand weeks ago, and a small bouquet of flowers he must have picked up the day before.
“and,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “there’s more stuff. back home.”
you stare at him. “joe.”
“what?” he grins. “i didn’t bring everything with me.”
“this is already too much.”
“no, it’s not” he says easily. “it’s your birthday.”
you shake your head, but there’s no real protest behind it. “this is perfect.”
his expression softens at that, something quieter settling in. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
-
the day unfolds slowly, like it’s stretching itself out just for you.
you get dressed without any rush, his attention constantly drifting back to you, pausing mid-conversation just to look at you, like he keeps getting distracted.
“what?” you ask at one point, catching him staring.
“nothing,” he says, but he’s smiling. “you just- look really good.”
“i just put on a t-shirt.”
“yeah,” he nods. “and you look really good in it.”
it doesn’t stop there.
breakfast is long and easy, the kind where you talk about everything and nothing. half-finished stories, random thoughts, little jokes that don’t make sense to anyone else. he keeps reaching across the table, touching your hand, your wrist, like he needs to stay connected.
after, you walk through the town, no real plan in mind. the streets are warm, the buildings glowing softly in the sunlight, and every now and then he lifts his camera.
“stop moving” he says, already focusing.
“i’m literally just walking.”
“yeah, and you look- hold on-” click. “there. perfect.”
you laugh, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”
“i’m right” he corrects, lowering the camera just long enough to grin at you.
shopping is chaos, but in the best way. every time you pause for even a second, he notices.
“you like that?” he asks casually.
“it’s cute,” you admit, already stepping away. “but i don’t need-”
“we’re getting it.”
“joe-”
“it’s my special girl’s special day,” he says, already handing it to the cashier. “give me a break.”
you groan, but you’re laughing, and he looks entirely too pleased with himself.
by the time you head back to the airbnb to drop everything off, your hands are full and your heart somehow even fuller.
-
dinner is different.
quieter, softer, a little more dressed up. you catch him looking at you again when you step out, and this time he doesn’t even try to hide it.
“what?” you ask, smoothing your outfit self-consciously.
he just shakes his head, stepping closer. “you’re… yeah. you’re unreal.”
the restaurant is beautiful, the kind of place that feels almost too pretty to be real, and the night outside is warm, the air buzzing softly with distant conversation and music.
after, you walk again, past monuments lit up against the dark, quiet streets that feel like they belong to just the two of you.
he takes more photos. of you laughing, of you not looking, of you just existing.
“you’re gonna run out of film” you tease.
“worth it” he says without hesitation.
-
by the time you’re back in bed, everything feels soft again.
you’re tucked into him like you were that morning, his arms around you, his face buried briefly in your shoulder before he pulls back slightly.
he’s quiet for a second.
“hey” he says, a little hesitant.
“yeah?”
“was today… okay?”
you blink at him. “okay?”
“yeah. like- i don’t know. i just, i wanted it to be good.”
you prop yourself up slightly, looking at him properly. “joe.”
he watches you, a little unsure.
“today was perfect,” you say, gently but firmly. “like- actually perfect.”
his shoulders drop just a little, relief washing over his face as a smile spreads slowly.
“yeah?”
“yeah,” you nod. “one of my favourite birthdays.”
he lets out a soft laugh, leaning in to kiss you, slow, lingering, like he’s savoring it.
“good,” he murmurs. then, softer, “i really hoped so.”
he reaches up, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin.
“we’ve got more stuff planned this week, though” he adds, a hint of excitement creeping back in.
you groan, rolling your eyes. “of course we do.”
he grins. “what? i’m not done.”
“you’re impossible.”
“and you love me.”
you huff out a small laugh, settling back into him. “unfortunately.”
he laughs quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“happy birthday" he whispers again.
this time, you just smile, closing your eyes as you sink into him, warm and steady and entirely yours.
steve harrington
you wake up to chaos.
“mom! mom- wake up!”
“shh- no, don’t jump yet-”
“can we jump now?”
and then, too late.
two small bodies launch onto the bed at the same time, one landing somewhere near your legs, the other climbing straight onto your stomach with absolutely no hesitation. you let out a surprised laugh, eyes still half closed as you instinctively reach out to steady them.
“okay, okay-i’m up, i’m up” you mumble, already smiling.
“happy birthday!!” they both shout at once, voices overlapping, way too loud for this early but impossible to be annoyed at.
you finally open your eyes properly and there they are, your son practically bouncing in place, your daughter already trying to shove something into your hands.
and behind them, steve.
he’s standing in the doorway for a second, tray in hand, just watching. there’s this soft, almost disbelieving look on his face, like this, right here, is everything he’s ever wanted and he still hasn’t quite gotten used to it.
then he walks over, setting the tray carefully on the bed.
“easy, easy” he says, laughing under his breath as he sits beside you. “let her breathe first.”
“but it’s her birthday!” your daughter insists.
“i’m aware,” he says, glancing at you, eyes softening immediately. “i’ve been aware.”
you smile at him, reaching out to touch his arm briefly. “good morning.”
“happy birthday” he says, quieter now, leaning in to kiss you properly.
it’s quick because the kids are right there, but it still lingers just enough to mean something.
then the moment is gone again because your son is already grabbing a card.
“open this one first!”
breakfast ends up being less about eating and more about everything else. the four of you piled into the bed, plates half-forgotten as the kids hand you their cards. messy handwriting, too many stickers, drawings that don’t quite make sense but mean everything anyway.
you laugh, you thank them, you kiss their heads.
steve watches the whole thing like he’s memorising it.
there are little presents too. perfumes, moisturisers, things they clearly picked out with way too much enthusiasm. you make a show of loving every single one, and they beam at you like they’ve just nailed it.
at some point, your daughter curls up against your side, your son sprawls across the end of the bed, and steve shifts closer behind you, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist.
it’s warm. easy. full.
and for a second, everything just settles.
-
getting ready takes longer than it should, mostly because the kids keep coming back in to “check on you,” which really just means interrupting.
by the time you’re finally dressed, steve’s already in the room, leaning against the doorframe like he’s been waiting.
his eyes flick over you once, and then again, slower this time.
“what?” you ask, a little amused.
he pushes himself off the wall, walking over until he’s right behind you. his hands settle on your hips, then slide around your waist as he pulls you back against him.
“nothing,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “you just look… really good.”
you huff a small laugh. “it’s just a dress.”
“yeah,” he says easily. “and you look really good in it.”
he says it like it’s obvious. like it always is.
“happy birthday” he adds again, softer this time, his chin resting briefly on your shoulder.
“you’ve said that like five times already.”
“i’m gonna keep saying it.”
you turn your head slightly, just enough to kiss him. “thank you.”
“love you” he says immediately.
“love you too.”
-
dropping the kids off is… a process.
there’s hugs, last-minute reminders, your daughter insisting on one more kiss, your son pretending he doesn’t care but still hovering close.
your parents wave you off eventually, laughing, promising everything will be fine. and then it’s just the two of you.
the car feels quieter. different.
steve glances over at you as he starts driving, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to rest on your knee.
“okay,” he says. “weekend officially starts now.”
you smile. “yeah? what’s first?”
he grins. “second breakfast.”
you raise an eyebrow. “we literally just ate.”
“doesn’t matter.”
it’s ice cream, of course it is. you don’t even question it when he pulls up, just laugh as you unbuckle your seatbelt.
“you’re ridiculous.”
“you love it” he shoots back.
and he’s right.
there’s something about it, something that still feels a little like the beginning. like late nights and cheap uniforms and him leaning over the counter trying to make you laugh.
he watches you take the first bite, like he’s waiting for your reaction.
“good?” he asks.
“obviously.”
“yeah,” he nods, satisfied. “thought so.”
-
shopping is a lot, not in a bad way, just in a very steve way. you pause for half a second in front of something and he’s already clocked it.
“you like that?”
“it’s nice, but i don’t need-”
“we’re getting it.”
“steve-”
“it’s your birthday,” he says, like that explains everything. “don’t argue with me today.”
you roll your eyes, but there’s no real resistance behind it.
he just wants to take care of you, and you let him.
-
by the time you get back home, your arms are full, your cheeks ache from smiling, and steve still somehow looks like he’s not done.
“okay,” he says, setting everything down. “now- actual presents.”
“steve…”
“nope,” he cuts you off, already reaching for a bag. “sit.”
you laugh, but you do it.
the first thing is a stack of books.
you blink at him. “you remembered all of these?”
“you talked about them,” he shrugs. “i listen.”
“sometimes” you tease.
“all the tim,” he corrects.
next you pull out the bra and just stare at him. he’s already grinning.
“really?” you ask, trying not to laugh.
“what?” he shrugs, completely unapologetic. “it’s my favourite color.”
“of course it is.”
“and it’ll look good on you” he adds, like it’s obvious.
you shake your head, but you’re smiling.
then comes the necklace.
you don’t realise what it is at first, just that it’s delicate, simple. but when you turn it over your breath catches.
one side, in slightly uneven engraving, clearly his handwriting, 'i love you'. the other, two tiny thumbprints, pressed into the metal, shaped into a heart.
for a second, everything goes quiet.
“steve…” your voice is barely there.
“yeah” he says softly, watching you.
your eyes sting before you can stop it.
“hey-” he’s already moving closer. “hey, c’mere.”
you don’t even think about it. you lean into him, and he wraps his arms around you, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, wherever he can reach.
“you okay?” he murmurs.
you nod against him, laughing a little through it. “yeah. it’s just- this is… a lot.”
“good a lot?” he asks.
you pull back just enough to look at him. “perfect a lot.”
his grin comes back instantly, wide and a little proud.
“okay,” he says. “good.”
then-
“there’s one more.”
a camera.
you stare at it, then at him. “steve-”
“you’ve been talking about it forever,” he says. “and you’re always taking pictures anyway, so- figured you should have a good one.”
you don’t even try to argue this time.
you just climb into his lap, hands on his face as you kiss him properly, slow and full and a little overwhelming.
“thank you,” you murmur against his lips. “for everything.”
he laughs softly, arms tightening around you. “yeah, yeah- i’m great, i know.”
“shut up” you mumble, kissing him again.
“you love me.”
“unfortunately.”
he grins into the kiss.
-
his card is last.
you open it slower this time, already a little emotional.
inside, his handwriting again, messy, a little uneven, but so him.
happy birthday. thank you for making my life complete, for giving me everything i ever wanted, for making me the happiest, luckiest guy in the world. i love you.
you blink a few times, but it doesn’t really help.
“you’re trying to make me cry today, aren’t you?” you say, voice soft.
“maybe” he admits.
you look up at him. “it’s working.”
he smiles, softer now. “good.”
-
dinner ends up being exactly what you’d expect.
you order in, of course you do, but steve disappears for a bit while you’re waiting, and when you step outside-
the backyard is lit up.
soft string lights draped overhead, a blanket spread out, pillows thrown around like he didn’t overthink it too much but still cared enough to make it feel right.
you look back at him. “steve…”
he shrugs, suddenly a little shy again. “figured it’d be nice.”
“it’s more than nice.”
he watches you sit down, then joins you, pulling you into his side almost immediately.
you eat there, under the lights, under the quiet sky, your legs tangled together, his arm warm around your shoulders.
at some point, you stop talking.
you just sit there.
together.
“you happy?” he asks after a while, voice low.
you lean into him a little more. “yeah.”
he presses a kiss to your hair. “good.”
“this is perfect” you add.
he smiles against you, not saying anything for a second.
then, quietly, “you deserve it.”
gator tillman
you wake to the quiet first, not the kind that feels empty, but the kind that hums like something’s already started without you. the other side of the bed is cold, sheets tugged loose, and for a second you just lie there, blinking at the ceiling, listening.
then you hear it, muffled cursing from downstairs. cabinets opening, something clattering, a low “shit-” under his breath.
it makes you smile before you even sit up.
you pull on one of his shirts, sleeves swallowing your hands, and pad your way down the stairs, still half-dreaming. the house smells faintly sweet, like fruit and something toasted just a little too long.
he doesn’t hear you at first. he’s at the counter, back to you, shoulders tense like he’s squaring up to a fight instead of… whatever’s in front of him. there’s a bowl on the table. a knife abandoned halfway through something. a carton of yoghurt left open.
“gator?”
he startles. actually startles. shoulders jump, head snapping toward you like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. for a second there’s that familiar guarded look but it melts quick when he sees you.
a small, crooked smile replaces it.
“hey” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself.
his eyes flick to the table and he points at the bowl, a little sheepish, a little annoyed at himself. “kinda fucked up, but i tried, babygirl.” he huffs a quiet breath. “happy birthday.”
the bowl is messy. yoghurt piled uneven, fruit cut in chunks that are definitely too big, a drizzle of honey that’s pooled more than spread. it’s not pretty.
it’s perfect.
you grin so wide it almost hurts and cross the room before he can say anything else, wrapping your arms around him. he stiffens for half a heartbeat but then he folds into it, arms coming around you, firm and grounding.
he smells like soap and sleep and a little bit like toast.
“thank you” you mumble into his shirt.
he shrugs like it’s nothing, but his hand lingers at the back of your head just a second longer than usual before he pulls away. “yea, well.”
you sit together at the table, knees brushing. you eat your yoghurt, and he picks at his toast like it personally offended him. his free hand finds your thigh without thinking, resting there, thumb tracing absent little patterns.
you start rambling about the dream you had, something strange and disjointed about horses and a road that didn’t end, and he listens. really listens. doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t tease. just nods sometimes, eyes on you, like every word matters.
it still surprises you, sometimes.
“took the day off,” he says after a while, like it’s an afterthought. his thumb presses a little firmer against your leg. “so. it’s all… ‘bout you today.”
you glance at him, catching the way he avoids your eyes, like he’s bracing for you to think it’s stupid.
it warms something deep in your chest.
when you first met him, this version of gator didn’t exist. back then, he wouldn’t have slowed down for anyone, wouldn’t have even considered it. everything was sharp edges and forward motion, no space for softness, no room for anything that didn’t fit the path laid out for him.
now he’s here, making uneven yoghurt bowls and taking days off work.
you reach over, squeezing his hand. “sounds perfect.”
he grunts, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
-
the walk is quiet in that easy way, boots crunching over dirt, the air crisp and clean. he keeps close, not hovering, just there. steady. the kind of presence you can lean into without thinking.
you head out toward the back fields, where the neighbor’s horses graze. he knows you like them. you’d mentioned it once, offhand, and he’d remembered.
of course he had.
you stop by the fence, watching them for a while. one of them wanders closer, curious, and you reach out, letting it sniff your hand before brushing your fingers along its nose.
“you’re gonna try takin’ one home one day” he says, arms folded over the fence.
“don’t tempt me.”
he snorts.
by the time you turn back, your legs are already starting to feel it. you make it halfway before slowing, breath hitching just a little.
he notices immediately.
“c’mere.”
you don’t even argue. you step closer and he crouches slightly, hands hooking under your thighs as you climb onto his back. he stands easy, like you weigh nothing, adjusting his grip.
“comfortable?” he asks.
“very.”
he hums, starting forward again, pace steady. you rest your chin against his shoulder, watching the world pass in slow, gentle motion.
it doesn’t last.
because he gets bored.
you feel it before he says anything, the shift in him, the way his posture changes, like he’s winding up.
“hold on” he mutters.
“gator-”
too late.
he breaks into a run.
you yelp, then laugh, arms tightening around his shoulders as he takes off across the field like an idiot, boots pounding, breath coming sharp but controlled.
“what are you doing?” you’re laughing so hard it’s hard to get the words out.
“provin’ to ya,” he shoots back, voice rough with amusement, “that i’m still strong as shit.”
you roll your eyes against his shoulder, laughing again. “you’re ridiculous-”
“yeah?” he grins, even if you can’t see it. “you love it.”
you do.
by the time he slows, both of you are breathless, laughing, the kind of lightness that sticks with you long after it’s over.
-
the truck ride is quieter, sun warming the windows, the hum of the engine steady beneath you. he hands you one of the sandwiches he made, messy, uneven, and glances over like he’s bracing for judgment.
you take a bite, it’s actually good.
you raise an eyebrow at him. “look at you.”
he scoffs, looking back at the road. “don’t make a thing outta it.”
he drives you out farther than usual, to a hillside that overlooks open land stretching out in soft waves. he parks, hops out, and moves around to the back without a word.
by the time you join him, he’s already spread a blanket out in the truck bed, smoothing it down with rough hands.
you climb up, settling beside him, legs tucked under, shoulders brushing. you eat, talk in bits and pieces, fall into quiet without it feeling awkward.
after a while, he shifts, mutters something under his breath, and hops down.
you watch him go around to the front, rummaging for a second before he comes back holding a small bundle of flowers, your favourites, and a little bag.
he doesn’t make a big deal of it. just holds them out, a little stiff. “yeah. uh.”
you take them carefully, something soft catching in your throat.
“gator…”
he shrugs, already looking away. “ain’t- don’t.. yeah.”
you don’t let him brush it off. you lean forward, wrap your arms around him again, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“thank you.”
he huffs, but his hand comes up to the back of your neck, holding you there just for a second. “yeah.”
he’s trying not to smile.
he fails, a little.
-
back home, you set the flowers in a vase, watching them settle into place like they belong there. like he does.
the shower turns into a shared thing without discussion. steam fills the space, water running warm over both of you. you use the new soaps, lathering them into your skin, into his.
he makes a face almost immediately.
“i smell like… flowers,” he mutters, clearly offended. “girly n’ shit.”
you laugh, rinsing your hands. “you’ll survive.”
he grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t move away when you press closer, doesn’t pull back when you rest your forehead briefly against his shoulder.
if anything, he leans in just a little.
by evening, you’re curled up on the sofa, the day settling into something slow and quiet. your feet are in his lap, his big hands wrapped around them, thumbs pressing into the arches with surprising care.
you laugh, trying to pull away. “what are you doing?”
“hold still” he mutters, though there’s a smirk tugging at his mouth.
he keeps going, working out the tension like it’s just another thing he’s decided to do for you, no hesitation. you shake your head, still smiling.
“you’re weird.”
he scoffs softly, but when his eyes lift to yours, the smirk fades into something softer. something real.
“happy birthda,” he says again, quieter this time.
you soften right back. “thank you, gator. i had the best day.”
he nods once, like that’s all he needed to hear. like it settles something in him.
then, because he is who he is, he leans down and presses a quick, almost absent kiss to your foot.
you stare at him. “you did not-”
he snorts, grabbing your ankle before you can pull away, and then he’s leaning forward again, hand sliding up to your jaw, pulling you into a proper kiss this time.
warm. steady. certain.
he's not soft with anyone else but with you, he doesn’t hold back.
keys mckey
the morning starts slow and warm, the kind of soft, golden quiet that feels like it was made just for the two of you. sunlight spills through the curtains in thin, sleepy streaks, catching on the edges of the room and settling gently across the bed. you’re half awake when you feel him shift beside you, the familiar weight of him pressing closer, an arm slipping around your waist like it belongs there, like it always has.
keys isn’t exactly graceful in the mornings. he’s all soft edges and quiet murmurs, hair a mess, but the way he looks at you, sleepy, fond, like you’re the first good thing he's ever seen, makes your chest ache in the best way.
“happy birthday” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder.
you hum, smiling into the pillow, turning just enough to meet him. “you remembered.”
he huffs softly, like that’s ridiculous, like there was never a world where he wouldn’t. “of course i did.”
what follows is slow and unhurried. soft kisses that linger, the kind that don’t rush anywhere. his hand traces lazy patterns along your arm, your side, your back, like he’s memorising you all over again. you stay tangled together for longer than you mean to, wrapped in blankets and warmth and him, until the day starts pressing in around the edges.
eventually, though, he shifts again, this time with purpose.
“okay” he says, a little more awake now, though there’s a hint of nervous energy under it. “i have something.”
you squint at him, propping yourself up on one elbow. “something?”
he nods quickly, already pushing himself up, running a hand through his hair in that distracted way he does when he’s thinking too many things at once. “yeah. uh- don’t get up yet, i mean, well, actually, get up, but- just- come with me.”
you laugh softly, sitting up. “you’re being weird.”
“i’m always weird,” he mutters, but there’s a small smile tugging at his mouth, something a little shy, a little excited. “just- trust me?”
you do. you always do.
now you’re standing just outside his office, still a little drowsy, still wrapped in that soft, lingering feeling from the morning. he hesitates at the door like he’s second guessing himself, fingers hovering over the handle before he finally pushes it open.
“okay,” he says, stepping aside for you. “go sit.”
you blink. “your chair?”
he nods, suddenly very intent on not looking directly at you. “yeah. just- sit there.”
you raise an eyebrow, but you do it anyway, crossing the room and settling into his chair.
he moves quickly after that, slipping behind you, hands hovering awkwardly near your shoulders like he wants to steady you but isn’t sure if he should. the computer screen flickers to life as he wakes it up, fingers tapping nervously against the desk.
“so,” he starts, then stops, then tries again. “i’ve been working on something. for a while.”
you glance back at him, he looks nervous. more nervous than you’ve ever seen him about something like this, it makes your chest tighten a little.
“keys,” you say softly, “what is it?”
he exhales, then finally meets your eyes. there’s something bright there, something hopeful. “just look.”
he clicks, and the screen changes.
at first, it looks like a simple game environment. unfinished, clearly still in development, but alive in that particular way his work always is. soft lighting, a small, cozy space carved into a larger world. your eyes scan over it, taking in the details, the way everything feels intentional, personal.
and then you notice.
“…is that-”
“yeah,” he says quickly, almost tripping over the word. “it’s- it’s yours. i mean, not yours, but- it’s for you.”
you lean closer, heart starting to beat a little faster.
it’s a corner of the game, your corner. small, tucked away, but detailed in ways that make it feel like home. there are little references everywhere, things you’ve mentioned offhand, things you love, things he’s remembered. and then you see them.
two characters.
one of them is unmistakably him, slightly exaggerated, a little softer, animated in that endearing, slightly awkward way that feels so keys. and the other-
“…that’s me” you whisper.
he nods, watching you carefully. “yeah. i- uh. i tried to get it right.”
it’s not perfect, it’s not meant to be, but it’s you. softly stylised, animated with these small, thoughtful details that make your chest ache. the way the character moves, the tiny expressions, the way it interacts with his, it’s all so carefully done.
he clicks again, and the characters move, little looping animations. the two of you walking together. sitting side by side. your character leaning into his.
it’s simple.
it’s everything.
“i made it so it’s just… there,” he says quietly. “like- no quests, no objectives. just us. a place you can go to.”
you don’t realise you’re tearing up until your vision blurs.
“keys” you breathe.
he shifts, suddenly unsure again. “i mean, it’s not finished or anything, i just, i wanted to show you, and i thought- i don’t know, it’s probably dumb-”
you cut him off by turning in the chair and pulling him down into a kiss.
it’s not delicate. it’s not hesitant. it’s full and warm and immediate, your hands coming up to frame his face as he makes a surprised sound against your lips before melting into it.
when you pull back, he looks a little dazed.
“i love it,” you say, voice soft but certain. “i love it so much.”
something in his expression shifts, relief, pride, something softer underneath it. he smiles, small at first, then wider, like he can’t quite help it.
“yeah?” he asks.
you nod, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “yeah.”
he leans into your touch without thinking, eyes soft. “…good.”
there’s a beat of quiet between you, warm and full.
and then, “i’m not done” he adds.
you laugh softly, shaking your head. “of course you’re not.”
that makes him grin, a little more confident now. “okay, but- this part, this part is different.”
he turns back to the computer, opening a browser. your curiosity spikes immediately.
“what did you do?”
“just wait.”
a website loads. it’s simple at first glance, but you can already tell it’s been built from the ground up, by him, for you.
“it’s a quiz,” he says, almost sheepish. “a custom one.”
you look at him, then back at the screen. “a quiz?”
“yeah, but not like a normal one,” he adds quickly. “just click around.”
you do.
the first question pops up. something silly, something only the two of you would understand. you laugh immediately, covering your mouth as you read it aloud.
“oh my god, you did not.”
he shrugs, trying and failing to hide his smile. “answer it.”
you click an option and instead of a generic response, it opens into something else. a photo. a memory. a little caption in his words.
you freeze.
“…keys.”
“keep going” he says softly.
you do.
each question unfolds into something more. inside jokes, moments you’d almost forgotten, things he clearly hasn’t. photos of the two of you, little notes tucked into the corners, fragments of your shared history stitched together in this strange, beautiful, interactive way.
it’s playful. it’s thoughtful. it’s so deeply, unmistakably him.
by the time you reach the end, your chest feels full to the point of bursting.
the final screen loads slowly.
happy birthday.
there’s a pause.
i love you.
you stare at it for a long moment, your vision blurring again.
“keys…”
he’s watching you carefully, that same nervous hope from earlier creeping back in. “i know it’s kind of overkill, i just- i wanted to make something you could, you know, keep.”
you stand suddenly, turning to him, and he barely has time to react before you’re wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into another kiss, softer this time, but just as full.
when you pull back, you rest your forehead against his.
“can you send me the link?” you ask quietly.
he blinks. “the link?”
“to the website,” you say, smiling. “i want to go back to it. whenever i want.”
for a second, he just stares at you.
and then he lights up.
it’s not subtle. it’s not contained. it’s this open, unguarded expression. pride and love and something almost disbelieving, like he can’t quite believe how much this means to you.
“yeah,” he says quickly. “yeah, of course i can.”
he looks at you like you’ve just given him something, instead of the other way around. like he got it right.
you reach up, brushing your fingers through his hair, smiling softly.
“best birthday ever” you murmur.
and the way he looks at you then, warm, a little awed, completely in love.
it’s something you wish you could capture, keep, return to whenever you wanted.
but maybe you don’t need to.
maybe you already have it.
travis meacham
he showed up earlier than you expected.
you hadn’t even finished making coffee yet when there was a knock. quick, uneven, like he forgot halfway through how knocking was supposed to work. you already knew it was him. nobody else knocked like that.
when you opened the door, travis was mid-sentence.
“-i swear it just came out of nowhere, like full wingspan, massive thing, i don’t even know what kind of bird it was but it looked pissed, like properly offended that i was on the road at the same time as it-”
he stepped inside as he talked, shrugging off his jacket, eyes everywhere but on you. he was animated, hands moving, voice a little too fast, like his thoughts were tripping over each other trying to get out first.
“-and i thought, okay, this is it, this is how it ends, taken out by some mutant pigeon-”
and then he looked at you.
really looked.
it stopped him mid-thought. like someone had cut the wire.
you were smiling, soft, sleepy, a little amused, and for a second he just… stared. then he huffed under his breath, shook his head like he was trying to reset himself, and stepped forward, pulling you into him.
“happy birthday, sweets.”
his voice dropped when he said it, quieter, warmer. his arms wrapped around you tight, one hand coming up to the back of your head, holding you there for just a second longer than necessary.
you could feel his heartbeat, fast, but steadying.
when he pulled back, he didn’t go far. just enough to reach into his jacket pocket.
“right- okay, so, i got you something,” he said, already starting to ramble again as he pulled out a small box, a little scuffed at the edges like he’d been carrying it around all morning. “and before you say anything, i know it’s a bit- well, you’ll see, but i thought it made sense because you always, like, you’ve got all those little things, you know? the trinkets and bits you keep everywhere, and you actually use them, which i don’t understand but i respect-”
you opened it.
inside was a small, intricate silver keychain, tiny, delicate charms hanging off it. little tools, a miniature compass, a fold-out blade no bigger than your fingernail, all detailed and slightly worn like it had history.
you blinked. “oh?”
he lit up immediately, like he’d been waiting for that exact reaction.
“yeah- see, okay, so, you remember that shop? on our first date? the one with the weird window display? like antiques but not really antiques-”
you did.
“this was in there,” he went on, words picking up speed. “and you stopped for like- i don’t know, a full minute, which is a long time for you, by the way, and you didn’t say anything but you kept looking at it, and i thought, right, that’s a thing. that’s a thing she’d actually use. and then i saw it again the other day and, well. yeah.”
he shrugged, suddenly a little unsure.
“figured it might come in handy. you know. eventually. statistically speaking.”
you didn’t let him spiral any further.
you leaned in, kissed him, quick, soft, cutting right through the noise.
when you pulled back, you were smiling wider.
“thank you, baby.”
he blinked, like he’d forgotten what he was saying entirely, then gave a small, crooked grin.
“yeah. yeah, okay. good.”
he cleared his throat and reached into his jacket again.
“also- card. which i did write in, properly, before you accuse me of anything.”
you took it, already noticing the way his handwriting crowded the inside, messy, uneven, like he’d had too much to say and not enough space to say it neatly.
you read it slowly.
it wasn’t polished. not even close. words scratched out, sentences crammed into margins, a few lines slanted where he’d clearly run out of room.
but it was him.
about how you were “his angel” (with angel underlined three times, like he’d argued with himself about writing it and then committed anyway). about how he’d “do just about anything” for you, no hesitation. how proud he was of you, for things you didn’t even think he noticed.
it made your chest ache a little.
your eyes stung before you could stop it. you didn’t say anything right away, he noticed, of course. he always did.
his arm came around you again, pulling you into his side, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head. he pressed a small kiss there, absentminded, like it was second nature.
“don’t cry,” he muttered, softer now. “it’s not- i mean, it’s good crying, i assume, but still-”
and then, without missing a beat,
“you know, the woman at the card shop, completely unrelated, but she told me this whole story about this dog she’s getting? like full life plan for the dog, i swear it had a better schedule than i do-”
you laughed into his chest.
of course he did.
he kept going, describing the dog in unnecessary detail, mimicking the woman’s voice badly, getting distracted halfway through to comment on the shop layout.
you could’ve listened forever.
a lot of people didn’t. a lot of people got tired of it, of him, the constant motion of his thoughts spilling out. you never did.
you leaned into him, smiling, letting his words wash over you like background music.
after a while, he shifted slightly.
“oh- also, before i forget,” he said, like it had just occurred to him. “i fixed your radio. it was the wiring, by the way, not whatever you thought it was. and your camera, had to take it apart, which was risky, but it’s fine now. and i sorted that basket of clothes you kept ignoring. and, yeah. other stuff. probably.”
you looked up at him, smiling in that quiet, fond way that always made him falter for a second.
he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly awkward.
“what? it needed doing.”
eventually, miraculously, he went quiet.
just for a second.
then his expression shifted again, like he remembered something important.
“right. okay. last thing—actual plan for today,” he said, pulling out two slightly crumpled tickets. “outdoor cinema. tonight. figured… you’d like it.”
you did, of course you did.
the rest of the day blurred in that easy, comfortable way it always did with him.
he cooked, properly, for once, which he reminded you of at least twice. you visited your parents, where he was oddly polite but still managed to go off on a tangent about garden tools with your dad.
by the time evening rolled around, you were both a little tired, a little full, and very much still wrapped up in each other.
you stopped for snacks on the way, completely unnecessary amounts of them. most of it terrible. all of it perfect.
at the cinema, you didn’t even bother pretending you’d watch the film properly.
you stayed in the car, curled up together, sharing food, talking over half the dialogue.
at one point, mid-sentence, you realised he’d gone quiet.
you looked up, he was already looking at you. not distracted. not halfway somewhere else in his head. just watching you.
there was something softer in his expression. something a little stunned. like he still couldn’t quite believe it, like he’d spent so long assuming people would get tired of him and then you didn’t. you were still there.
his girl.
you nudged him lightly. “what?”
he blinked, then huffed a quiet laugh, leaning in to kiss you, slow this time, unhurried.
when he pulled back, he stayed close.
“sorry,” he murmured. “wasn’t- i mean, it’s not exactly… big. today. but-”
you shook your head, smiling against him.
“it was amazing. thank you, t.”
he studied your face for a second, like he was checking you meant it then he smiled and pulled you closer.
kurt kunkle
he’d text you earlier that morning, something simple and a little awkward, like “hey!! come over today? i have something planned. it’s not a stream thing. promise.” which immediately made you suspicious, because kurt never did anything off camera if he could help it.
so when you showed up, you were half-expecting a tripod set up somewhere, a ring light, maybe even a “birthday special” title waiting to go live.
but when he opened the door, it was just him.
no camera. no setup. just kurt, standing there in one of his own hoodies, hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it too much, smiling in that nervous, lopsided way he always did.
and that alone made you smile.
“hey- hi. you, uh… you look really good” he said quickly, stepping aside to let you in, like he forgot that was the more important part.
the apartment smelled faintly sweet, like syrup, and when you walked into the kitchen you saw why. on the table sat a plate of pancakes, stacked a little unevenly, with a wobbly smiley face drawn in syrup that looked like it had taken a lot of effort and still didn’t quite cooperate.
next to it was a gift bag.
with a unicorn on it.
you couldn’t help it, you laughed, soft and surprised, and when you turned back to him he looked both embarrassed and hopeful at the same time.
“they didn’t have- i mean, they had other bags, but this one was… like, brighter? and i thought you’d- yeah” he rambled, rubbing the back of his neck.
before you could say anything, he stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug, a little too tight, like he’d been waiting to do it all day. he pressed a quick, messy kiss to your lips right after, a little off-angle, a little rushed.
“happy birthday, baby. i love you.”
“i love you too” you murmured, still smiling, and you could feel the way he relaxed just a little at that.
he nudged the gift bag toward you like he couldn’t wait any longer. “okay- open it”
inside was, of course, his merch.
but it was in your favourite colour, neatly folded like he’d actually tried, and tucked under it was a gift card to your favourite restaurant, the one you’d mentioned once, casually, weeks ago.
you looked up at him, a little softer this time.
“you remembered.”
“yeah, well… i- i write stuff down” he admitted quickly, like it wasn’t a big deal, even though it clearly was.
you leaned forward and kissed him, slower this time, deliberate. he made a small surprised sound against your lips before kissing you back just as messily as before, hands unsure but eager where they settled on your waist.
“thank you” you whispered.
he ducked his head a little, smiling.
the two of you sat down and shared the pancakes, and he watched you take the first bite like it was some kind of final exam.
“they’re good” you said, laughing a little.
“really?” his eyes lit up immediately. “okay, good, because the first batch was, like, really bad.”
after a while, he nudged the shirt toward you. “you should try it on. just to- like, see if it fits. for quality control.”
you rolled your eyes, but stood anyway, slipping it on over what you were wearing.
it fit perfectly.
when you turned back to him, he froze for a second, then very obviously tried to act normal and failed.
you laughed.
“kurt.”
“i- i’m normal. this is a normal reaction. it’s, yeah,” he said, smiling nervously, looking anywhere but directly at you.
you stepped closer, bumping your shoulder into his. “you’re so weird.”
“you like it” he shot back, a little more confident now.
“i do.”
later, he took you out.
he insisted on going into town first, and before you even knew where you were heading, he was pulling you toward a photo booth like it was the most important stop of the day.
“it’s- it’s a thing. couples do this” he said, already digging for coins.
inside the cramped booth, he got even more awkward, trying to figure out where to put his hands, how to smile, glancing at the camera like it might judge him.
the pictures came out slightly chaotic. one of you laughing, one where he blinked, one where he was clearly mid-sentence.
and the last one, he kissed you. soft, quick, but real. he stared at that strip for a second longer than the others, then, of course, took a picture of it on his phone.
you didn’t even have to ask.
“don’t” you warned lightly.
he was already typing.
“too lat,” he said, showing you the post: My worlds birthday 😍
you groaned, but you were smiling.
-
the park was quieter.
he’d set up a small picnic, nothing overly fancy, but thoughtful. your favourite snacks, a blanket, drinks he knew you liked.
“you said you liked this. picnics. so… i did one” he explained, like it needed justification.
it didn’t.
you sat together, talking, eating, the afternoon stretching easy and warm around you. at some point, he reached into his bag again, a little more hesitant this time.
“okay, this one- this one’s like… i don’t know if it’s too much or-”
he pulled out a small charm bracelet.
your expression softened immediately.
“kurt…”
“i did a bunch of pr stuff to afford it,” he rushed to explain. “like, extra. more than usual. i saw something like it on your pinterest and i wanted to get you something, something special.”
that hit harder than anything else he’d done that day. you wrapped your arms around him without thinking, hugging him tight.
“it’s perfect.”
he let out a small breath against your shoulder, like he’d been holding it.
later, he leaned back against a tree, and you settled in front of him, your back against his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around you.
he kept pressing small kisses to your cheek, your temple, your jaw, soft, absent-minded, like he couldn’t help it.
for once, he wasn’t talking.
he’d actually made the whole day about you and he’d done it right.
“as a reward,” you said eventually, tilting your head back slightly to look at him, “i’ll join your stream later.”
he blinked. “what? baby, it’s your birthday. you don’t have to do anything for me.”
“i want to,” you said simply. “we can play minecraft.”
his expression softened in a way you didn’t see often.
“are you sure?”
“i’m sure.”
you paused, then added, “if you also play animal crossing with me.”
he laughed softly, almost breathless. “yes. baby, anything.”
then, like he couldn’t help himself, “i’m also- i’m saving up for the new tomodachi thing? so we can stream that. i think people would really-”
you just smiled, letting his voice fade into the background as you sank back into him, warm and steady and real.
--------
@prettyfortucker @harringtondarling @katsallthetime @thichnhathanhh @keepdrlving @beth-mirrorball @powerpuffedbjtch @itzeeeee @ddenniiee-729 @teheblue @frozenpeanutbutterr @coldalpsmcu @b0nzey @xceafh @hearts4steve @swirledyouintoallmypoems @saintlaurentdiva @joekeerylice @blurrygir1 @songkangslvr @keerymylove @foreverserving @cciessuzi @livingblythedoli @toopypoopy @ellieluvercentral @evies4ngels @lattewirl @wolfiee10 @maevebloom @drunkedniallh @girlwithkaleidoscopeeyes777 @mabsters @i-got-the-cinema @batmanssssss @bluehexagon8 @magnificentcitadelcrest @pleasecallmeunhinged @purplequeen64-stuff @inherdiary77 @whispersoflost @yikesdrama @chronicstevelover @horanlover7 @ann-aatn @xoxocelestial @1011008 @sturniolo-szn2 @louisbelongstome28
