#steebe is soft

[plistommy]

Steve takes Eddie’s virginity by riding the older boy after a long session of smoking and drinking inside the metalheads cramped van.

He’d praise Eddie on how good he’s making him feel, how big his dick is and how he’s so pretty under him that it makes Eddie moan loudly, strong hands roaming and squeezing the fat of Steve’s ass as he begs to fuck Steve harder.

”I need to fuck you, Steve- please, sweetheart-”

Steve would kiss him, sloppy and wet as he whines into Eddie’s mouth when the dick inside him hits just right.

When he pulls back, breathless, he picks up the pace and finally lets Eddie buck up to meet his thrusts.

Eddie would just look up at Steve, brown eyes wide and realize he’s so in love with the gorgeous boy on top of him and he never wants to let go. Never.

[hainethehero]

I don't know exactly which comic this is from but the sentiment remains the same.

Steve Rogers has never had a moment's peace in his entire life ever since he got the serum. He's been in fight mode every day. He's been made to follow orders from the 40s and into the future. And before the argument is made that "well, that's what he signed up for" let me stop you right there.

The government and SHIELD saw Steve's morality as one of his weaknesses and capitalized on it. He can never say no, not when innocent lives are at stake. So they keep him on a leash. They keep him working and busy because they know, he can never say no to them.

And the only time he's ever been selfish was when he realized that Bucky was still alive. He literally committed treason for Bucky who ironically was the only man who's ever treated Steve Rogers kindly. The only one who saw Steve for Steve and loved him unconditionally because of it. Even after he got the serum, he never treated Steve like he was some kind of robot. Or some other inanimate object to be ogled & touched and tested.

And Steve himself is fighting with his own sense of morality and his duty to saving innocents. He's not an inherently selfish person but he has those little moments when he just wants to live. Just wants to be Steve Rogers and not Captain America. It's not that he hates the job. But he's sure as hell getting tired of being a lackey for the government and never seeing an ounce of compassion or understanding for it.

He doesn't expect thanks or gratitude. But for once, it would be nice if someone was kind to him. If the world would be kind to him. If the world could give Steve Rogers a chance.

Yeah. That would be nice.

[oh-my-damn]

I miss daddy and it got me thinking of what an ideal hypothetical Valentines Day would be like with him ((I don't celebrate V-Day in real life but this is RP-life so obviously I'm a hopeless romantic))

And it would absolutely include a horde of giant plushies (I like bunnies but teddies are also good) and lots and lots of chocolate in heart shaped boxes

Maybe also something a lil naughty (red lace lingerie set, mayhaps? yes, yes indeed)

And drinking wine but choosing to stay in to watch a rom-com on the couch and I'd have this cute silk PJ set in pink (button up and short) to hide said lingerie bc it's supposed to be a surprise (duh)

And we'd watch the absolutely cheesiest rom-com and maybe I'd give him a good massage bc he deserves it and then obviously eventually we'd -REDACTED-

OR going out to dinner to a fancy restaurant surrounded by people but all you see is him?? all he sees is you?? SWOONS

Anyway these are my thoughts bc I've been feeling kind of soft but also a lil sad lately and coming up with scenarios is fun (it's almost like writing except I'm having a hard time writing the stuff I'm supposed to be writing)

Anyway the point of this is I miss daddy and I'd spoil him for valentines

[cookiesandwhimsy]

Ahhhhh so sweet AND HOT and sweet!!! I love it!!!

Title: Fire Burning from a Cedar Tree

Fandom: MCU

Characters/Pairings: King!Steve x Royal!female!Reader, brief appearance from Natasha

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Georgian-but-quasi-American royal AU. You came into the betrothal with no illusions to the situation – yours was a marriage to ensure the continuation of many generations of alliance and peace between your respective kingdoms. Very early, however, you learn what your royal union truly means to you both.

Content Warnings: politically arranged marriage, reluctant pining, SMUT (rough fucking, p in v, oral – female receiving, fluffy fucking, nipple play)

Additional Notes: The eighth and final offering in my 2022 Holiday Extravaganza. Just a smutty one-shot here with a smattering of situation painting/plot and relationship development. Did I think we were going to end up with this much Steve for the HE? Nope! But here we are, yet again ahaha. I had closed my laptop and gotten up to go to bed, had this idea while brushing my teeth, and sat back down and typed for an hour, then have been feverishly returning to it as I had the time. So I hope you enjoy, dear reader.

Music Ficspiration: Big God by Florence + the Machine, I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face from My Fair Lady, Better Love by Hozier, Movement by Hozier, So Real by Jeff Buckley, Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley

“Your Majesty,” one of your ladies in waiting enters your bedchambers and sweeps into a curtsy.

“Yes?” you prompt, turning in your chair to look at her directly instead of through mirror of the vanity.

“His Majesty the King has returned.”

You nod, “Thank you. You may retire for the evening.”

She curtsies again, bowing her head, and then leaves, closing the door softly behind her. You sigh, turning back properly in your chair so your lady in waiting, the Duchess Natalia, can resume taking down your hair.

“Your Majesty?” she prompts, noting your sigh.

“It’s good to hear the king is back.”

“He will undoubtedly request an audience with you tomorrow,” she says. She is far too observant and already knows you too well.

She is also mercifully diplomatic, discreet, and a confidant who listens and doesn’t needle you or pry, so she continues letting out the braids, letting you muse on your own and only speak further if you want to.

You don’t want to.

The product of a long-arranged betrothal to bring peace between two countries, you had accepted your fate, resigned to be a good and dutiful queen. You were not to inherit a throne in your own country, had known that from birth with two older brothers, and you had grown up ready to embrace duty and opportunity. On arriving in the kingdom of Brooklyn as the future queen, your interactions with King Steven had been limited, but pleasant. They had been sufficient for you to be secure in your hope that it would be a good union, no need to worry about him being either cruel or moronic.

You had expected to be wedded and bedded. What you had not expected was to actually fall for him after the wedding ceremony and royal festivities when the two of you had taken the custom ten-day royal honeymoon to the palace in the north of his country by the lakes. The first night, of course, you’d consummated the union. The first few days you had been tentative in each other’s company. But with few staff, few interruptions, no royal obligations, only time really to yourselves – dining together, walking in the gardens, riding in the forest, in your bedchambers… you had grown close, and you had dangerously started to lose your heart to him.

Then you had been sent back to court while he had to depart directly to attend to matters in California in Stark’s kingdom. Two weeks had stretched to three, and the longer he was absent, the more you missed him, spurring you to grow more irritated at your naivety for developing more tender feelings for him than just that of the dutiful wife and queen you were supposed to and had intended to be.

No, here you sat, hoping your husband would summon you on the morrow, as you could not simply turn up in his royal presence, even though you were queen. Indeed, you could go anywhere else in this kingdom, had the company of many – some only because they had to or were courting your favor, but enough warm and developing relationships throughout the court – but not the one person you now yearned for.

You had been prepared all your life to marry a king and not to grow sentimentally attached to him as your husband. You felt like such a fool, pining when you had been perfectly fine and content in your life a mere six weeks ago.

There are voices outside your bedchamber and you and Natasha exchange perplexed looks. Just as she turns toward the door, it bursts open, the king entering without hesitation. He takes in the scene then quickly strides forward.

Natasha quickly drops into the customary curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she says.

You should have risen from your spot and greeted him as well, but your heart has jumped into your throat, and you are momentarily frozen.

The king is across the room and standing next to you by the time Natasha rises back to her full stature. He reaches out for the brush in her hand, and you catch the nearly imperceptible lift of the corners of her lips in a smile as she gives it to him.

“Duchess, you may go, I will take over.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

She makes to curtsy again before exiting, but he waves her off. “Go,” he commands, impatiently but somehow without any irritation, and she heeds his wishes and departs immediately.

Wordlessly, he steps right up behind you. You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised he came to you. You belong to him, and he’s been denied by proximity for three weeks. He pulls all your hair into his left hand, then, holding it, works the brush through it with his right hand, starting at the bottom, moving up a little at a time. You marvel at how gently and methodically he works through your locks, almost reverently. Neither of you speak as he brushes your hair. You study him in the mirror. He’s concentrated fully on his task. Coming to a finish, he finally meets your gaze in the mirror, and the look in his eyes is intense. He sets the brush on the dressing table and sweeps your hair to one side, exposing your neck and he leans down to press a long, heated kiss to your delicate skin. You shiver as he follows this with shorter kisses trailing down your neck to the juncture where it meets shoulder, and it’s a sensitive point that draws a sigh from your lips.

He stands up straight and urges you to turn in your chair and face him. His fingers possessively trace along your jaw, tilting your chin up. “Did you miss your king?”

You couldn’t say you missed your husband and not your king, not yet, so instead of mincing words or spinning together something else true enough to say, you bring your hand up over his, and turn your head to press a kiss into the palm of his hand.

You try to move to kneel before him, but he says, “Oh no,” instead insisting on luring you up and pulling you into a kiss, fully flush against his body, and he leads you in no uncertain terms to the bed, shoving you down to sit at the foot of the mattress. He draws back and both of you are panting heavily. He stands between your legs, and he doesn’t take his eyes off your as he pulls his tunic up over his head and drops it to the floor. His breeches quickly follow, and his cock springs free, hard, and ready to take you. Already breathing heavily, you’re able to hide your reaction somewhat – which is a confusing mixture of both excitement and trepidation.

He urges you to scoot back, crawling up to join you,

Midway up the bed, he presses on your shoulder, “Lay back for me. “

He rucks up your nightgown around your hips, and crawls over you, using one hand to guide himself into your already slickening folds before caging you in on either side of your head and thrusting deep inside your cunt, filling you completely with the first thrust.

He adopts a frenzied pace to fuck you. It’s hard and fast. He’s no longer looking at you, his head dropped and buried into the crook of your neck. You can’t catch your breath. This isn’t what you wanted.

He holds your thigh up around his narrow waist, spearing into you again and again, his fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising force. You let out a quiet sob and he abruptly stills, raising his head to look at you, but you can’t look at him.

You’re not fast enough to brush away the tears though, and you know he sees them slowly rolling down your cheeks, tears you had fought to keep at bay.

He utters your name as if in pain and draws away completely, sitting back on his heels.

You turn away, rolling to your side, feeling so much more of you has been exposed than merely your naked body before him.

After a moment that stretches on between the two of you, his fingers tenderly caress your calf. He murmurs your name tentatively this time, a question.

You sense him shift on the bed, and suddenly you feel him behind you. You are wrapped in on yourself, but his hand brushes softly from your elbow to your shoulder. He lingers there for a moment, then you feel him shift behind you again, and he props himself up, so he can look down at you over your shoulder, and his hand moves purposefully now to your cheek to wipe away your tears. He plants a kiss on your shoulder. Then he brings his hand back to your shoulder and softly urges you to roll toward him so you’re on your back again and he can look directly at you again.

“That was too rough. You are a queen and deserve better treatment from a king.”

You turn your head away. “No, it’s not…” You bite your lip. Even the way he apologized was too detached and it made your heart ache.

“Not what?”

More hot tears spill silently over your cheeks. How can you explain? You hardly understood the tempest in your heart yourself.

But then he cups the side of your face, brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek, and when he draws your gaze back to him, there is something in his eyes so searching and raw that your heart longs for more of that version of him. “It wasn’t that you were too rough, it was that I don’t want to be merely used and discarded.” Your admission is out in a rush before you could second guess your words or their consequences.

He frowns. “Far from it.”

He moves closer and plants a kiss on your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours. Eyes closed, for a moment you both simply breath each other in being that close, one of his hands still cupping your cheek. At length, he speaks again. “I was desperate for you.”

“Desperate for me?”

He breaks away and laughs softly, but there’s a pang of bitterness to it. “Yes, desperate.”

He sits up, facing away from you.

You sit up next to him, smoothing your nightdress down, unsure how to proceed, you don’t want to lose him in the present. “Steven?” you try to coax him for more.

He sighs. “I’m afraid you will find me to be a fool.”

You wait for him to continue, needing to hear what he means.

“I was serenely independent and content before we wed, and inexplicably in a matter of days you somehow seem to have seeped into my bones, because from the first of your absence my mind turned so often of you. I found myself wondering what your opinion would be, wanting you to try some of the delicacies alongside me, wishing to see your smiles and your frowns throughout the course of the day. When I returned to my chambers each night, they were empty instead of peaceful and solitary. I’d grown accustomed to your voice, accustomed to your face, accustomed to your place at my side.”

He pauses again for a moment, and his expression pained. “But it was more than accustomed – I truly yearned for you and was angry to feel so much unlike myself when I’ve ruled for more than a decade without you, lived a life I thought was very much complete before you, devoted to the crown and happy in my reign, and now…”

The sentiment lingers in the space between you. Surely, he must hear your thundering of your heart in your chest. Finally, you say, “If you’re a fool, I’m a fool.”

His head snaps to look at you.

You take a deep breath and expose your soul to him, too. “I was born and raised for our royal duties, to marry and become a useful and reliable queen. There was no question of your deep commitment to rule this kingdom dutifully as its king. In the days before we married, it was evident we had the same expectations of our union, no sentimental notions. It made sense, and we were well-matched. At our wedding, we became king and queen. Away from our royal expectations, alone with each other, I think we both fell into becoming husband and wife. I’ve yearned for you these past weeks as well, and I couldn’t abide how impossible I thought my situation was, so sure and confident I would make for a good queen but discovering I wanted more. It was only when you went away that I felt the lack of something – an affection as I’d never had before, both for you and from you.”

He turns fully toward you and kisses you again, and instead of the demand and hunger, as he kisses now it’s driven only by the unrestrained yearning he confessed and that you admitted in return.

He pulls you into his lap, and you straddle him. He breaks the kiss to rid you of your nightdress entirely now instead of only pushing it out of the way as before, and then his lips immediately seek yours again. Your arms wrap around his neck, and his broad, warm hands are splayed across your back, pressing you flush to him, and you are just as eager to feel every inch of his skin seared against yours

He pauses his kiss, both of you utterly breathless now. You put a hand on his chest over his heart. He looks down and smiles at the gesture before looking up and beaming at you, but his small falters a fraction at the concentrated look on your face.

“What is it?”

You speak the notion that’s newly bloomed in your chest. “We are the only two people in the world with whom we can be totally ourselves, husband and wife, not the king and the queen, just a man and a woman.”

He nods fervently. “A new vow then between us: to both guard and embrace this as a true and unfettered love.”

You kiss him, but he only returns it briefly before pausing it again. “Do you swear it?” he asks.

You bob your head eagerly, seeking his lips, but he grips your chin, holding you back. “Words.”

“I swear it with everything I am.”

“As do I,” he affirms, then captures your lips again with his, moving you both again, this time lowering you worshipfully to the mattress. His mouth begins moving slowly down your neck, and you shiver, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair, the other clutching his muscled bicep. When he reaches the base of your neck, his tongue laves at the sweet spot he discovered there in your first precious days together, making you whimper. He then mouths at the spot and plants one more kiss there before moving lower. His lips skim lightly down your chest, kissing over where your heart is thrumming. He kisses the swell of your left breast, and then moves to mirror that action on the right. He brings his right hand up to palm one of your breasts as his tongue flicks across your nipple. He works to bring both to stiff peaks, licking and sucking the right while his hand plays with the left. Your back arches in pleasure at his ministrations.

He moves his mouth back to the other breast, and before you can think to miss his hand there, it’s confidently parting your thighs, seeking your now extremely wet folds.

“Steve.”

“That’s it, my love, let me make you feel good,” he says, and you whimper again. His fingers stroke your labia slowly. Your eyes close as he stokes your pleasure. He slips a finger into your core, pumping in and out. When he adds another finger, you can’t hold back the little noises that escape you. He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles, and those little noises morph into a moan. Steve moves up now to hover over you, watching your face as he works you up to your first climax that night. You would feel too exposed if he had studied you this way during your first days together, but your confessions tonight to each other leave you now feeling safe being so intimately on display. When you cry out, hips bucking, he continues to stroke, working you through the orgasm.

He removes his fingers, and you need the moment, but lament the emptiness. His eyes are still on your face, and when your breathing is close to normal, you open your eyes and look back at him. Then you glance lower to see he’s pumping his hard, thick member with the hand that was still glistening with your slick of arousal. His eyes are aflame with his need, and he moves in to kiss you again. You welcome it, parting your lips and sliding your tongue between his. He opens for you, and as your tongues tease and delve, you roll and hungrily push him back on the mattress.

Steve grabs your hips with both of his hands and moves your body to straddle him. In place just where he wants you, chest to chest, you drop down to your elbows, planted on either side of his head. As you continue to kiss, he presses his hand down to the base of your spine and brushes his cock temptingly against your entrance. You push your hips back against him, and his chest hums with approval.

“Please,” you plead.

He doesn’t make you ask twice, using his other hand to guide his length into your quim. He doesn’t rush this push into you, but it’s not slow. Once fully sheathed, he moves his arms to circle around your chest, holding you close to him as he sets a steady pace thrusting up into you. He swallows your moans of ecstasy. When it begins to overwhelm you, you have to break off the consuming kiss to gulp lungful’s of air. Seeing you desperate like this above him drives his voracity.

Still buried inside you, he rolls to bring you beneath him once more. You cling to his shoulders, and he continues to advance toward release for both of you. He shifts the angle of his hips, and he’s rewarded with a pure keen from you. He continues to hit the spongy spot up against your pubic bone. You sob, so close, and this time the tears are pure pleasure. He grasps at one of your hands, and your fingers twine together. A few more thrusts and your walls flutter around him and then he your orgasm hits. Your spasming channel is too much, and with a groan he spills inside you right after.

He collapses against you, and you welcome the weight of his body. You’re both quiet in your moment of satiation. Your free hand draws lazy patterns over his shoulder blade as your breathing returns to normal. You wonder if he’s going to drop off into sleep, but then he repositions slightly, and asks, “Are you comfortable?”

“Mhmm,” you respond. You’re comfortable physically and intimately in this moment with him.

He brings your joined hands to his lips, and he kisses the back of your hand, then tucks it close to his chest and begins conversing with you – about the mundane, the important, things from the past few weeks apart, and from your lives apart before. There’s more kissing, followed by more pleasure, pulling each other apart in turn, and no sleeping until long after midnight.

You groan when he wakes you at what seems to be daybreak. You close your eyes again swiftly, and open your mouth to protest, but he cups your jaw and his thumb brushes over your parted lips. “I know it’s early,” he murmurs, “but I want to have you once more while we’re alone and unbothered.”

And when he says it like that, with such tenderness and longing, you wouldn’t dream of denying it for either of you. You hope to grow accustomed to many more stolen mornings over your lifetime together now.

COMPANION/PREQUEL PIECE: The Thrill of Knowing How Alone We Are

READ THE NEXT PART: A SHIFT IN THE MORNING ROUTINE

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[variantia]

Anonymous / @hellcasted said : “Can you give me any protection spells? I’m kinda tired of getting hurt all the time.” Hellcasted for alastor / ALASTOR.

" Hmmmm ... you know, I do believe I can do you one better, my boy. "

Alastor leans down, crooking one arm out toward Steven. " Let's pay my DEAR FRIEND ROSIE a visit. She owes me a favor, and I think she can create something that will keep you safe better than any temporary spell. Come along, now, lively we step ! "

[cumonstevie]

"Hello? Who Is This?"

Summary: Steve and your little brother bond via play phone.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: nothing but fluff

A/N: I haven't proof-read this yet, so I'll do that when I wake up. I was just excited to FINALLY post something after like, 2 years. I hope you guys like it!

“I hate this,” Steve says as he closes his math book. “I don’t even like math.”

You playfully roll your eyes at your boyfriend before turning them back to your own math book. “Nobody likes math,” you say, “but it’s mandatory so…”

Steve groans and throws himself on your couch, burying his face in the soft cushion. “Can’t we take a little break?”

His words are muffled but you can understand what he’s saying.

“Steve…”

“Pleaseee,” he sits upright and gives you puppy eyes, “We’ve been going at this since school let out.”

You didn’t get the chance to respond when the front door opened and in came your mom with your two year old brother on her hip. Though, if you could respond, you would have said yes to the break.

“Steeb!” your baby brother yelled out as his eyes set on your boyfriend beside you.

He wiggled around in your mom's arms until she set him down and he came running into the living room, completely disregarding you and going over to Steve.

“Hey buddy!” Steve exclaimed happily, lifting him up and giving him a big hug.

Your mom chuckled at your brother’s excitement for the older male as she set down the groceries that were still in her hand. “Hi Steve.”

Steve looks over at your mom and smiles. “Hello Mrs. Y/L/N!”

“I hope you guys had enough time to yourselves because I don’t think Kyle is going to leave you alone.” she chuckles as she watches your brother cuddle up to Steve.

“Y/N’s gonna have to deal with it, I gotta spend time with my best friend now that he’s home, right Ky?” He looks down at your brother and he nods.

“Right!”

You playfully roll your eyes and make your way to the kitchen to help your mother put the groceries away while Steve and Kyle busied themselves playing with the building blocks that were nearby.

About an hour later, your mother took your brother upstairs for a nap so you and Steve could continue to study but this time it was a different subject. However, thirty minutes into Steve quizzing you with flashcards, Kyle comes running down the hall with his play phone in hand and your mom following behind him.

“He only slept for a little bit.” she tells you. “Guess I’ll get started on dinner.”

Your mom disappears into the kitchen and you turn back to Steve.

“Ready for another one?” he asks and you give him a firm nod. “Okay, how does dynamics differ from kinematics?”

You open your mouth to answer but before you could, your brother appears in front of the two of you. Kyle grunts and extends his arm toward Steve, offering him the play phone and Steve doesn’t miss a beat.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” your boyfriend apologizes to you as he takes the play phone from the tiny human in front of him, pressing it up to his ear. “Hello? Who is this?”

Steve stands up and starts pacing the living room with one hand on his hip while your brother stares up at him.

“No I’m sorry I can’t be your best friend, I already have one and he’s standing right next to me.” Steve pauses like someone else is talking on the phone then with a shake of his head, he sinks down to his knees in front of Kyle and passes him the play phone. “Here, talk some sense into him because he’s clearly not understanding what I’m saying.”

Kyle puts the phone to his ear and looks at Steve. “What do I say?”

“Tell him I can’t be his best friend because I’m already your best friend.” he whispers to the two year old.

“Otay.” Kyle whispers before turning his attention to the play phone. “He not your best friend, he mine!” your brother shouts then smiles at Steve. “That good?”

Steve gives your brother a thumbs up. “That’s great buddy.”

Suddenly, Kyle gasps and quickly hands the play phone over to Steve. “He said he want to talk to Steeb!”

He nods and takes the phone with a stern look on his face. “Listen mister, I don’t want to be best friends with you because Kyle is already my best friend, okay? Tell him.”

Steve brings the play phone to your brother where he shouts a “yeah!”

“So don’t call me again, alright? Bye.” He pretends to hang up the phone before handing it back to Kyle. “If he calls back, let me know, okay?”

“Otay!” your brother nods before running off to the kitchen, probably to have your mother speak into the play phone as well.

“Sorry,” Steve says as he grabs the flashcards again. “Some weirdo called wanting to replace Kyle as my best friend. Can you believe that?”

You look at your boyfriend in amusement as you shake your head. “How dare they.”

“Right?” he agrees before shuffling the cards three times.

You giggle at your boyfriend who, only mere seconds ago, was taking role playing on a play phone seriously with your two year old brother. This catches his attention and he looks over at you.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say, “you’re just really good with kids is all.”

Steve shrugged. “I was lonely as a kid. Playing with Kyle is like playing with the sibling I never had.”

You smile and run your fingers through Steve’s hair. “You’ll make a great dad, Stevie.”

“Yeah?” The apples of his cheeks tint pink, “you think so?”

“I know so.”

The two of you look at each other fondly and Steve reaches over to grab your hand, rubbing small circles over it with his thumb.

However, the moment is interrupted by your mother hollering from the kitchen; “As much as I love you, hopefully we won’t find that out any time soon, right Steven?”

He pulls his hand away from yours and sits up straight, clearing his throat. “Right Mrs. Y/L/N! No kids until I graduate and get a well paying job!”

“Good!” your mother calls out, “I’m not trying to be a grandma right now.”

You choke on air when she says this and Steve starts to blush again.

“Moooooommm…”

“What? I’m just saying!”

You shake your head and Steve clears his throat again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, ready for the next question?”

You nod. “I was born ready.”

Steve smiled at you as he pulled a card from the deck and began reading it. “Is condensed matter theory different from information theory? If so, ex-”

“Steeb!” your brother interrupts his question.

“Yeah little dude?” Steve’s attention is fully on the two year old now, flashcards completely forgotten once again.

“Call!” Kyle shouts, thrusting the play phone toward Steve.

“Did he call back?” he asks and your brother nods. “Gimme that,” Steve takes the phone and stands again, this time waving his hand around while he spoke. “I told you not to call me again! What do you not understand about me not wanting to be your best friend? I already have one! You know what-” he takes the play phone away from his ear and passes it to Kyle. “Here, he’s not listening to me. You talk to him.”

Kyle takes it out of Steve’s hand with a scowl and starts going on about how Steve is his best friend and to leave them alone or else while Steve threw in an occasional “yeah!” to support Kyle.

You giggle at the two of them as they continue to argue with the fake person over the play phone. You start to put your notes and flashcards away just as Kyle comes up to you with the play phone.

“For me?” you point to yourself. Kyle nods and you put the phone to your ear. “Hello?” You suddenly gasp and hand the phone back to your brother. “He said he’s gonna take me from you! That I’m gonna be his sister now!”

“No!” Kyle shouts, putting the play phone to his ear. “My sissy! Not yours!” He turns to Steve. “Steeb!”

“I got it,” he takes the phone. “Oh, so not only are you trying to steal me away from my best friend, now you’re trying to steal my girlfriend? I think not! Let me tell you something-”

Your mom watches the three of you play with the two-year-old and she can’t help but smile. Not only does Kyle have an amazing older sister, but he also has an amazing friend who would no doubt do anything for him. Your mother loves that Steve makes you and Kyle happy and hopes that he will stick around for years to come.

Little does she know, he does.

[lovebugism]

can I request steeb taking care of shy!reader who is upset after a bullying incident in school? I figured she would be a year younger (like robin’s grade) because I don’t think anyone would touch her if king steve was around. I feel like he’s be so soft with her but also reeling at the thought that someone hurt his girl!

thanks for ur request anon! idk if i can count this as a blrub because it's nearly 3k words but alas pls enjoy! tw for blood (knee scrapes) and j*son c*rver

You come to Family Video with a scrape on your left knee.

It’s not the weirdest thing in the world — you ride a worn-down bike that’s probably older than you are. Steve’s been begging you to get a new one for as long as he’s known you, outright offering to pay for the damn thing as long as he’s sure it’ll get you to him without getting hurt in the process.

You reject him every time. “It gets me where I need to go,” you always shrug. “What more could I want from it?”

And he wants so badly to be angry at the beauty you manage to find in mediocrity. But he can’t be, really. It’s why you fell in love with him in the first place, isn’t it? Why you took the heartbroken boy in your arms on Halloween night in 1984 and convinced him he wasn’t bullshit despite what he told you. He’d be an idiot to be mad at how kind you are.

But when you walk into Family Video, halfway limping with blood dripping down your knee, he knows it’s different. 

Something more than a toppled bike hurt you.

“Oh, god, babe,” he winces from where he stands at the counter with Robin. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you shrug as he races over to you.

“You fell?” Robin scoffs. “Knock me out with a feather.” You know she’s joking, but it’s a little too monotone, and you’re a little too sensitive. Something in her words hurts more than your throbbing knee.

Steve, who knows you like the back of his hand, understands exactly what your diverted gaze means. When you look down to the floor, he shoots Robin a firm glare.

What? she mouths, obviously confused at the sudden silence.

“Can you get the first aid kit from the back? I think there might be some gauze in there,” he asks, deciding to change the conversation entirely. He wraps an arm around your waist and walks slowly with you to the counter. He meets your grimace with a soft smile. “I’ll clean it, wrap it up, and you’ll be good as new.”

You don’t give him anything in response. Not even a pity smile.

He sits you on the counter with the open first-aid kit beside you. Robin flips the store sign to closed. It’s barely five o’clock. She starts tidying up the store to go home, anyway.

Steve wipes up the warm blood with a napkin and cleans the scrape with an alcohol wipe. You hiss at the feeling — it’s like a hundred tiny bee stings. From where he sits just below you on a worn swivel chair behind the counter, he leans in to press a kiss just above the cut.

Without all the blood, it looks a lot less gnarly than before.

“See? It’s not so bad,” the boy smiles as he unravels some gauze. “I’ll patch it up, baby you for the rest of the night, and you’ll forget it ever hurt by morning.”

Again, you don’t even smile. You just purse your lips to the side and nod.

Steve’s heart stings, but he doesn’t take anything by it. He wraps the bandage down and over your knee in an even rhythm. He tries not to be so direct when he asks: “How’d this happen, anyway, huh? Did Ol’ Sliver finally give up on you?”

You shake your head, eyes on the gauze instead of the boy. The white cloth splotches with pink from where your wound still weeps. “No,” you answer quietly. “Just fell.”

“Just fell, huh?” he repeats quietly. A few caramel-colored strands fall over his forehead as he peers up at you with his chin tilted towards his chest. He tries his best to smile. “You’re givin’ me the sad eyes, babe. I feel like it was more than just a fall.”

“It was stupid…”

He scoffs. “Never.”

“A car drove by me,” you confess, only half-lying. You try to look down at him, but your gaze wavers along with your courage. “And the music was kinda loud, and it… It startled me a little.”

You don’t tell him that Jason Carver intentionally swerved on the wrong side of the road to scare you — or that he yelled mean things through the rolled-down passenger window before speeding off again. It’s easier to keep it to yourself. You don’t want it to become a whole thing.

Steve’s brows furrow as he tucks the end of the bandage to keep it from unraveling. “Were they going too fast?”

“I don’t know. Kind of.”

“It wasn’t those football assholes, was it? I swear to god, they need their license revoked.”

“No,” you answer, quick to soothe his rising anger. “It was— It wasn’t anyone. I just got scared, and I swerved off the road, okay?”

Even in your mousy voice, it sounds like you’re being stern with him. And you’re never stern with him.

“Well, that’s okay,” Steve assures with a shrug. “We all get scared. It’s better than you getting hit, I guess.”

“I guess,” you echo with a huff, a teasing smile on your lips.

Steve grins back, happy to see you less pained. He smacks a gentle kiss to your wrapped-up knee. “Go get in the car, okay? I’ll clean up here, put your bike in the trunk, and we can go home.”

You go shy as you peer at him from beneath your lashes. “Your home?” you clarify, secretly hoping he’ll say yes.

His answer isn’t surprising. “Of course, my home. You practically live there, anyway.”

You smile and brush a soft kiss to the scruff of his jaw, murmuring a quiet thank you there before leaving. You’re not limping nearly as badly as you had been before.

Robin waits for the door to ding shut before blurting: “I think it was Jason.” 

Steve stills with the first-aid kit in his hands. He squints at her from where she stands between the horror and X-rated horror aisles. 

“What?”

“I think that’s who might’ve run her off the road.”

“…Why?”

“He gives her a hard time sometimes, I don’t know,” she explains vaguely and with a sigh. “Normally, it’s stupid. Like, honestly, I just think he’s super shit at flirting. Maybe he was just trying to scare her and… got a little carried away…”

Anger burns red hot in Steve’s chest. It blooms just behind his ribcage like a flower with fire for petals.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks through gritted teeth, trying not to sound too angry. It’s not like Robin was the one who hurt you, after all — just some douchebag who wouldn’t have laid a hand on you if he knew who your boyfriend was. 

Steve’s knuckles go white as his grip tightens on the plastic box.

“Because I thought it was harmless!” Robin agonizes as she rushes to meet him. Her deep ocean eyes swim with worry, frightened that he might be angry at her. “Seriously. Most of the time, it sounds like he’s just being mean to get into her pants. And, like, I don’t know if that’s how he landed Chrissy back in the day or what, but he’s obviously got no clue what kind of girl he’s flirting with because…”

She trails off at Steve’s hardened umber gaze.

Robin groans and leans over the counter, reaching for the boy’s wrist. “Please don’t be mad at me, Stevie. My heart can take that. I’ll be sick for days—”

“I’m not mad at you, Rob,” the boy promises. He sighs. “I just gotta… go beat up a kid now.”

—————

You’re too focused on the stars and the feeling of Steve’s warm hand on your thigh to notice he’s taking the wrong route home.

The car slows way sooner than you expected. When you come back down from the clouds, you find that you’re in a near-empty lot. The car jolts softly when Steve puts it in park.

“What are we doing?” you turn to him with furrowed brows.

Steve unclicks his seatbelt. “I’ll be right back.”

You look past him, at the large building lit up by amber streetlamps and the green door with a light in its window. Every so often, someone will whip by it wearing a white jersey. Your heart sinks.

“Why are we at school?” you asked, scrunched-faced in a mixture of anger and worry. You don’t know how he knows what happened to you, only that he does know.

“I need to take care of something here. It’s okay—”

“Don’t go in there,” you plead. “Please. Let’s just go home—”

“I’ll be right back,” he repeats. He leans over the console to kiss your cheek. You don’t lean into it like you usually do.

“Steve—”

The car door shuts and cuts off the rest of your pleas.

Steve has an easy time getting into the gym. The backdoor is propped open with a small wooden block like it always is. The coaches welcome him in like usual. They beam as the old team captain waltzes into the newly painted gym like he owns the place.

“Harrington!” the burly man calls over the sounds of squeaking shoes and bouncing basketballs. “Come to turn in an application, finally? I’ve only been asking you to be co-coach since you graduated.”

Steve smiles coolly. “No. Not yet… I, uh— I actually needed to talk to one of your players.”

The man shoots him a look.

“Jason Carver.”

“Oh,” the man chuckles, a deep belly laugh. “You only wanna pull my star player out of practice, huh?”

“It’ll take, like, two seconds. Tops.”

A momentary stare-off ensues. Steve knows the answer he’s going to get. Everyone at this damn school has got a soft spot for him. Perks of being Hawkins High royalty, he figures.

“Two,” the coach says in the place of any real answer. 

He takes the green whistle from his neck and blows into it. The shrill sound echoes through the gym. Like trained dogs, the boys on the court still.

“Carver!” the man shouts, almost too loudly. Steve winces from beside him. “Get over here!”

Jason passes the ball off and jogs to meet them without question. When Steve says he’s got something to tell him, the blonde-haired boy smiles like it’s a privilege. Red-faced and out of breath, he trails behind Steve as they walk out into the hallway.

“Don’t tell me you’re coming to be assistant coach,” the boy says with an audible smile. “Coach Blair has only been talking about it for a year—”

When the double doors shut behind him, Steve whips around and shoves the boy into the lockers. They clang beneath his sudden weight and echo down the empty corridor. Jason’s smug face contorts into shock. “—What the hell?”

He tries to regain his footing, but Steve only shoves him backward again. His hands twist in the neck of his jersey. 

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Jason shouts.

Steve’s stern features never waver. He leans in close, eyes trained on the boy like a predator to prey. “Leave my girl alone,” he threatens lowly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know who your girl is—”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Steve spits in response. The lockers bang once more when he shoves the boy backward again. “Should break your leg for what you did to her. What would the star player do then, huh?”

Jason’s wide eyes flit between the both of Steve’s. He racks his brain for what he might’ve done so wrong and who he might’ve done it to. He gapes at the realization — “Bambi? Bambi’s your girlfriend?”

“Oh, that’s what you call her?” Steve muses in a monotone, feigning interest. “How cute.”

“I didn’t know, man. I swear. If I knew, I never would’ve—”

“I don’t care. And stop pleading, alright? It’s embarrassing.”

Jason goes quiet. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Steve’s hand loosens on his jersey. His ice-cold gaze never wavers.

“I don’t wanna know what you did to her. I don’t wanna know why you’re doing it, either — if you think she’s pretty, or if she’s easy-pickings for assholes like you — I don’t care.” He presses the boy further into the lockers, their noses inches apart. “But if I hear you’re messing with her, talking about her to your friends— if you so much as look in her direction again, I promise you won’t like what I do to you.”

Jason’s jaw clenches. He juts out his chin in a feeble attempt to make himself taller. “Yeah?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s real rich coming from someone who couldn’t even beat up Jonathan Byers.”

“I’ve learned a lot since then,” the older boy promises, weirdly composed. “Feel free to find out if you don’t believe me.”

The boy stays quiet.

Steve shoves him backward when he lets go of him. He gives him a final glare and one last warning before walking back toward the gym. “And plant your feet when you’re on the court, alright? It’d be a real shame if you broke an ankle.”

—————

The drive to his house is silent.

It usually is. Most of the time, you’re too zoned into the music or making shapes in the clouds to talk. But now it’s because you’re angry. Steve would be an idiot not to notice. He can feel it radiating off of you like steam.

He reaches for the console and turns the air-con up.

“Are you hot?” he asks in a feeble attempt to break the quiet.

With your arms crossed and your gaze out the window, you deadpan: “I’m mad.”

“I feel like that’s sorta the same thing,” Steve jokes with a weak, lopsided smile.

“I didn’t want you to do that,” you choke through a tight throat. “You’re just gonna make it worse.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have gotten so bad if you would’ve just told me.”

You turn to him with eyes glassy from unshed tears. A stoplight bathes the both of you in shades of neon scarlet. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d do something about it,” you spit.

“So you’d rather let some asshole run you off the road, huh? Is that it?”

He doesn’t mean to be so harsh. He’s just upset, and the adrenaline’s making him antsy. 

Steve learned a long time ago not to be so forward with you. Even if he’s just joking around, even if he’s mad and saying shit he doesn’t mean — you’re not built for that. You’re made of something softer: marshmallow fluff and crocheted yarn and flower petals. It’s why you let Jason Carver pick on you for so long without saying a word about it.

“It’s not like that,” you argue quietly, blinking back tears as you turn away from him again.

Steve sighs. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean— I’m just upset, okay? I didn’t mean to yell.”

“I know…”

“I just wish you would tell me these things, you know?”

His hand is warm on the skin of your thigh as he smooths his palm over it. Your eyes flit to your leg and then to him. You nod. “I know. I just…” Your features crumple when you trail off. 

Steve squeezes your thigh in reassurance. “You just what?”

“I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle myself,” you confess quietly. “Everyone thinks I’m so weak. I didn’t want you to think that, too.”

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Steve scoffs out a laugh, like he almost can’t believe you’d even think something like that.

Your brows furrow. “No?”

“No. Not even a little bit. But as your boyfriend— ‘cause I am your boyfriend, right?”

You meet his teasing gaze with a half-hearted scowl. You’ve only been dating for a year and a half. You nod to humor him.

“Exactly. So, as your boyfriend, it’s my job to help you through the hard shit, you know? Just because you can get through it on your own doesn’t mean you have to.”

Your chest swells. You try not to smile too wide, but it’s hard not to. You’ve never had someone who wanted to protect you before. It’s as strange as it is gratifying.

“Okay,” you concede with a nod.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeat with a giggle.

Steve leans over the console, moving slowly like his lips are made of magnets that drift to yours. Through the overwhelming urge to kiss you, he jokes: “Is it— and I’m just checking here— is it okay?”

You shake your head and lean to meet him halfway. “You’re such a dork.”

Your lips barely brush before a loud honk echoes behind you. You jolt apart from him, not noticing that the light had turned green until then. 

Steve sighs and mourns your unkissed lips. His engine roars softly as he presses on the gas.

He’d noticed. He saw the light change about twenty seconds ago — how the bright crimson changed into a softer shade of lime that bathed you in its neon hues. He just loved the way you looked in green.

[hainethehero]

Steve x Bucky x Clint drabble...

"Why are you breakin' my heart?" Steve whimpers, tears in his ocean blue eyes.

Bucky shakes his head, running fingers through his hair impatiently. "Don't cry, doll. Please don't cry."

Steve swipes at his runny nose hastily, "No! Tell me what I did! Tell me what I did wrong!"

"Steve-"

"I did everything I could to get you back!" Steve wails, "I just got you back-"

"Darlin'-"

The blonde grabs a hold of Bucky's metal wrist and squeezes. "Just tell me what to do, Bucky. Tell me and I'll do it, please- please don't leave me, please-"

Bucky exhales heavily, his eyes stinging. "St- baby, you don't understand. I have to go-"

"Then take me with you," Steve interrupts, eyes wide and so full of hope, it breaks Bucky's own heart.

"Only one of us can go back, sweetheart," he explains gently, as if Steve didn't understand.

"You don't! You don't have to go, Bucky, please!"

Bucky makes a disapproving sound again. It's sickening to Steve's ears.

Steve hears himself crying- bawling, really- and it doesn't even sound like him. He's never heard himself so distraught and broken before. It's like the wailing cry of a dying animal. His throat burns from sobbing, his eyes are sore and blurry. Snot and tears run down his face.

Can Bucky not see just how sad he's making him?

Did Bucky even know that Steve's heart felt like it was beating out of his chest? Like it'd jump out at any second and leave him cold and dead in the wake of Bucky's absence?

"Stevie..."

"Jamie please, please please please please..."

"Please-!"

*

"Steve? Sweetheart, wake up, you're having a nightmare."

Steve's eyes pop open and he's suddenly back in Avengers Tower. His eyes are wet, tear tracks drying down his cheeks. His chest is heaving as if he'd just run a marathon. And his body feels paralyzed in abject fear.

A gentle hand strokes his face and caresses his jaw, petting him softly.

"It's okay," Bucky whispers, "only a dream, darlin."

Steve, still traumatized from his nightmare pushes Bucky away with a petulant growl. He curls up against the headboard, arms wrapped around his bent knees.

Clint, who's sleeping on the other side of Steve, startles awake from the sudden movement, eyes on high alert.

"Whas'at?"

Bucky stops for a few, totally confused at Steve pushing him away. He turns and flicks on the bedside lamp, setting the room in an incandescent glow. Clint winces and turns to put on his hearing aids.

"Steve?"

The blonde is still curled up in a tight ball, trembling from some imaginary cold. Bucky can hear the stifled hiccups and sniffles, a soft whining in the back of his throat. He crawls closer but doesn't touch Steve for fear he'd push away from him again.

"Baby boy, talk to me. What's gotten you so upset?"

Steve shakes his head stubbornly. Then he mutters, "You left me..."

Bucky frowns and shares a confused look with Clint who still looks delirious from being woken up so abruptly. "I'm- I'm right here sweetheart."

"Yeah baby," the archer grunts, voice rough from sleep, "Bucky ain't going nowhere."

Steve shakes his head harder and finally looks at them with a teary glare. His blue eyes are steely and electric as he points an accusatory finger at Bucky.

"Daddy left... said he didn't wanna stay... went back to-" a sob escapes from Steve's mouth and he buries his face in his palms again, whining like a kicked puppy.

"Went back to what baby?"

"Brooklyn... when I was smaller..." Steve mumbles through loud sniffles.

Clint cuts Bucky with a disappointed look as if Bucky could control what Steve dreamed about. Then he leans against the headboard with Steve and wraps the blonde in his arms. Bucky tries not to feel the sting of rejection when Steve willingly accepts Clint's touch.

"Oh come here, sweetpea," he murmurs, giving Steve's temple a smacking kiss that makes him squeak in slight amusement.

Bucky can't help but feel a little bitter at the dream version of himself in Steve's head. Why'd he have to go and ruin things, dammit?

"You know Bucky loves you, right?" Clint asks their boy.

Steve goes suspiciously quiet before nodding twice, face still buried in Clint's bare chest.

"And you know he'd never leave you, right?"

"But-" Steve starts, the feisty little fucker, but Clint gently admonishes his outburst.

"Ah ah, Daddy's talkin'."

Steve bites his lip, eyes big and cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

Clint continues, "It was a nightmare, darlin. Scary? Sure. But real? Nah, Bucky's right here with you and me. Look at em."

Steve slowly pulls himself off of Clint's chest to look at Bucky, who's still looking a bit wary but more concerned than anything. He offers Steve a soft, encouraging smile and stretches out his metal hand on the bed. Steve's immediately drawn to the movement, blinking at the metal appendages thoughtfully. Then his brows furrow and his lips quiver- a telltale sign that he's about to burst into tears again.

Bucky almost pulls away but in an instant, he's got a lap full of a sobbing super soldier whose arms and legs wrap tightly around his body like a clingy spider.

"Thought you wanted to leave me for- ...for when I was tiny," he sniffs sadly.

Bucky absolutely melts and squeezes Steve tighter. "Oh baby doll, you're the same punk I loved all those years ago. Wouldn't make sense going back to the past when I've got you right here."

Steve mumbles something in response but it's all garbled and doesn't make sense. Clint chuckles and fondly pets Steve's downy blonde hair.

"Never gonna happen, sweetness. You're stuck with your Daddies forever."

Steve mutters out a quick, "'kay," and nods his head a couple times as if trying to reassure himself. Then he pouts and says, "Love you," in a small voice, pecking Bucky's lips shyly.

"Aw, you're so sweet, baby doll," Bucky praises, which makes Steve blush like crazy. He ducks his head and grumbles into Bucky's chest, sniffing.

Clint grins, then rolls his eyes. "Alright baby boy, let's get you tucked in to bed."

Bucky arranges Steve off his lap and back in his former sleeping space between himself and Clint. The blonde, clad only in soft lacy underwear and fuzzy blue socks snuggles back into Clint's waiting arms, while Bucky presses their chests together. He wraps his arms around Bucky's middle, while Bucky gently guides Steve's head to rest on his ample bicep. Steve's nose brushes the man's stubble, inhaling his woodsy scent and sighing in absolute comfort of being sandwiched by his Daddies.

"Good night baby," Bucky whispers into his hair, while Clint slips a warm hand past the delicate waistband of Steve's lacy underwear. He carefully avoids Steve's little prick and just rubs his belly in slow, comforting motions.

Steve doesn't have any more nightmares that night.

[carolmunson]

carol’s at the laundromat mat, so:

older!modern!eddie it is.

(tw: implied sexual themes, implied smut/spanking idk. they argue but it’s kind of hot leave me alone.)

Gwen whines, not used to having to sit still for so long and the iPad lost her interest twenty minutes ago. He bounces her on his lap to try and make her laugh but she’s tired and grouchy; he’s out of snacks — forgetting how long this takes when he’s not in control of it. When the only thing you can do is wait.

“Wan’ go home daddy,” she pouts, resting her curly head on his shoulder, “Pwease.”

“I know you do, baby girl,” he coos, big ringed hand smoothing over her back, “But we wouldn’t be here if you didn’t put your crayons in the washing machine.”

She huffs, burying her face in his neck and pushing her body further into him. Maybe if she melts his heart enough he’ll relent and take her home; but he can’t leave you here to do it all yourself.

You come over from switching the loads into the dryer; it’s a dead night so you can use a few to make the process a little faster. You’re about as grouchy as Gwen is; annoyed that you had to retreat and wash the loads you did originally and now that you have to get the washing machine professionally fixed. You run your tongue over your teeth when you sit down next to them, crossing your arms against your chest with a huff that matches your daughters.

Two grouchy girls.

“Why don’t you take her home and I’ll fold it all?” he offers quietly.

“No. I’m the one doing the laundry because you’re so out of touch you can barely work a laundry card. You can deal with an angry toddler,” you snap.

“Well right now I’m dealing with two angry toddlers, so,” he snaps back with a shrug; his voice is cool and calm. The measured tone puts warmth in your chest; perks up your posture.

“I’m not acting like a toddler,” you say back, Gwen occupied now with Eddie’s phone, looking at herself in the front facing camera.

“All that huffing and puffing?” his brows raise, “Coulda fooled me.”

“Shut up, Ed,” your voice sour, reaching into your canvas tote to take out a book while you wait for the clothes to run through the dryer.

“Steeb!” Gwen smiles, the FaceTime ring coming in with his photo in the corner. Eddie tosses you a tight look before answering the call, connecting an AirPod to one ear and the other on Gwen.

“Hold on to it, Gwenny,” he instructs.

“Kay, daddy,” she nods while he holds the phone in front of her face. Steve smiles at the sight of her.

“Hi girl,” he coos, “How are you, lady?”

“We’re at the washa-masheen sto’,” she smiles.

His brow quirks, Eddie leaning forward to explain her toddler-ese, “We’re at the laundromat.”

“Ew. Why?” Steve’s face sours at the thought of a laundromat, sharing machines, leaving things behind.

“Your favorite girl put her 64 pack of crayons in the washing machine so we have to get it repaired,” he sighs.

“Aww, Gwenny,” he pouts into the screen, “You silly girl.”

“It was by assident,” she pouts, lower lip jutting out.

“I know,” he matches her face back at her, apologetic voice on, “You’ve never done anything bad in your life. You never will.”

Eddie let’s a puff of breath out of his mouth with a roll of his eyes, “Yeah wait until she breaks something of yours before you say that.”

“She’s an angel every time she’s in Chicago,” Steve shrugs, “Maybe it’s just you. You’re an angel, right Gwen?”

“I’mma angel, Daddy,” Gwen nods, not really knowing what she means. Eddie giggles at her, running a hand over her soft curls.

“Yeah you are,” he smiles down at her before pressing a kiss to the back of her head while she babbles at Steve. He can still feel your frustration emanating off of you while you hastily turn a page in your book.

He takes a the headphone out of his ear before turning his head your way, voice low with warning, “Sorry, am I bothering you?”

“M’just trying to read,” your voice teeters on bratty when you whisper back to him with narrowed eyes, “You’re both being so fuck—freaking distracting.”

His mouth falls opens slightly in a surprised smile, “You’re in rare fuckin’ form tonight, you hear me?”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” your brow furrowed and on defense.

“Why don’t you go home? I’ll fold while Gwen talks to Steve,” he offers again, “Maybe you can figure out where all this attitude came from on the way there.”

“You can’t carry all that back with Gwen,” you counter, head nodding towards the empty laundry bags next to him.

“We’ll take a car,” he nods bitterly, “Go home. We’ll see you in a little.”

There’s no room for arguing, not when he puts on his authority voice. A voice normally reserved for Gwen when she’s in need of some parental guidance; but he’s used it on you a few times. A reminder — still twelve years your senior.

You suck in your cheeks, chewing on the skin for a minute while you consider it. You put your book back in your bag, tossing your keys in too, “Fine.”

“Fine,” he retorts back. He bounces Gwen to get her attention, “Say bye to mommy, honey.”

She turns, her big baby eyes rounding with confusion, “Bye mommy?”

“I’m gonna run home and start dinner, Gwenny,” you smile at her, forcing yourself not to be annoyed while you soothe her, “You want some chicken tenders and rice?”

“Ya,” she giggles, “Please.”

“Good manners, girlie,” you smile, kissing her on the forehead, “See you in a little.”

“See ya in a widdle,” she parrots back.

“Where’s Peach goin’?” Steve asks when Eddie puts the headphone back in his ear, watching you leave through the automatic doors.

“Home,” he sighs, rubbing his temple, “Dealing with two bratty girls today.”

“Ouch,” Steve nods, “Sorry about that — but, to be fair, Gwen is never bratty.”

“I’m gonna hang up on you, man,” he laughs, pushing his curls out of his eyes while Gwen takes over the conversation again; finally smiley and settling.

Eddie gets home later with the folded laundry and a napping three year old on his hip. He barely speaks when he brings the clothes upstairs and puts Gwen in her room while you work on dinner in the kitchen. Just like the both of you to hold a mini grudge when you don’t know what you’re arguing about in the first place.

He eases down the metal spiral staircase, jeans swapped out for sweats and long socks, t-shirt with the arms cut out that show off his arms and the tops of his obliques.

“You got somethin’ you wanna say to me?” he asks. You slam the oven in response.

“Ooh, okay,” he nods, perked up at the challenge, “Look’it me, huh?”

You look at him from under your lashes, aggravation pumping through you — you don’t even know why you’re mad anymore.

“What’s your problem?” he asks, making his way over to you, pressing you up against the counter while his arms come around to cage you in.

“Just — I don’t know, tired,” you shrug.

“Tired?” he laughs, tilting his head down to run the tip of his nose over your neck, up over your jaw, “You sure?”

Your needy sigh clues him in, you’re not tired.

“Think you need me to help you get over it,” he purrs, “Don’t you, baby?”

You whimper in response, he leaves a long kiss at the hinge of your jaw, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you later. I promise.”

“You’re insufferable,” you sigh, trying not to give in to him but wanting to desperately.

“That’s why you married me,” he smirks, coming back up to kiss you softly on the lips, “But keep it up, sweetheart. All that mean girl shit. See if I go easy on you.”

Later that night; you’re both grateful that his office is soundproofed.

[littlexdeaths]

jock steve harrington x fem reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: mean steeb, fingering, light choking, reader is referred to by nicknames (honey, baby, pretty baby), enemies with so much sexual tension

a/n: idk man seeing sweaty steve just got me thinking of how frustrated he must of been in that gym scene… and then i just spewed this out. enjoy xx.

teasing your rival steve harrington after you watch billy hargrove obliterate him on the basketball court— but he’s beyond fed up.

he’s sweaty and incredibly frustrated by the time he gets to the locker room. taking a seat on the bench as the rest of his classmates begin to filter out.

until it’s just him left… or so he thinks.

“billy really wiped the floor with you, harrington,” your soft voice startles him, those liquid honey eyes lift to regard you darkly.

you approach him slowly, leaning your back against the lockers opposite him. only a few feet separates your bodies.

“he doesn’t play fair,” he grunts, ignoring you as he begins to untie his sneakers.

“or maybe you aren’t as good as you think you are.” you fire back, watching in utter amusement as his jaw muscles tighten.

“i’m not in the mood.”

his sour tone only causes you to giggle, snapping the gum between your teeth. the sound echoed through the empty locker room as he kicked his nike’s off. before he grips the collar of his sweat soaked shirt, tugging the material over his head.

“aww, can’t take the heat, stevie?” you tease.

he moves quicker than you were prepared for, caging you in against the row of lockers. his nose brushes against yours as you feel his hot breath fan over your lips.

“you don’t know when to stop, do you?” his tone is harsh as he lifts one of his large hands to wrap around the base of your throat.

“it’s just so easy to rile you up, harrington,” you smile sweetly up at him, fluttering your lashes.

you try to ignore the growing heat between your legs, maintaining your composure. but the moment his hand tightens around your throat— you know you’re done for.

“god, you’re such a brat.”

your body reacts without any warning, thighs pressing together as a needy whimper leaves your lips.

“oh you like that, huh?” he chuckles, his other hand trailing down your side, slipping beneath the waistband of your gym shorts. “you like when i’m a little mean, honey?”

any other comment dies in your throat as he finds your swollen bud, the pad of his thumb brushes over it in small circles.

“no,” you whine.

“then why are you so wet, baby?” his tone is dripping with condescension, as his middle finger slips inside your tight heat.

your walls instantly suck him in, chest heaving as his lips trail across your jaw. the air around you has suddenly grown warmer, the scent of sweat and his aftershave engulfing your senses.

“steve,” you cry out and he adds another finger, curling them up to brush against your sweet spot.

“that’s it, honey.” he hums, his thumb pressing firmly onto your clit. “let me hear you.”

you reach your hands up to tangle them into his dark, thick hair. guiding his mouth to yours as you press them together harshly. he groans into your mouth as he increases the speed of his fingers.

and you swear he must be able to hear how loud your heart is beating against your rib cage.

“gonna cum, pretty baby?” he asks, despite knowing the answer already. as your walls continue to constrict around his fingers like a vice.

“please, please, please.” you beg, no longer caring that it’s steve harrington you’re begging to make you come.

but then everything stops.

the pressure that was building in your abdomen suddenly fizzles out, tears of pleasure turn to ones of frustration. you instantly miss the heat that was radiating from his chest, as he removes himself from you.

steve chuckles darkly, honey eyes watching in utter delight at your discouraged expression.

“maybe that’ll teach you not to tease me,” he warns, slipping his sticky fingers past his plump lips before turning on his heel.

leaving you exasperated as he heads for the showers.

[flowercrowngods]

hello i’m attempting something for steddie week too, but it'll be one large thing probably @steddie-week

day 01: pining

2 new messages

eddie The Problem munson: —steeb —esteban —stefano  —stevie —love of my life apple of my eye pls pls tell me i can call you  —i am very chill etc etc —no i’m not  —let me call youuuu  —😠🥺🙏

Steve snorts as he picks up his phone and reads Eddie’s messages that keep coming in his usual spam of consciousness, a giddy feeling spreading in his chest as he snorts and goes to answer. 

— Call me then, coward 

Not a second later, his phone rings. Steve picks up immediately, even though he considers making Eddie wait; just to be difficult. Just to calm his racing heart that is always so lively around Eddie. 

“What,” he says, attempting to sound bored and annoyed — in vain, because even he can hear the smile on his face. Traitor, he thinks to himself. 

“Steve,” Eddie sing-songs, drawing out Steve’s name like he does every time he’s happy. “Steve, Steve, Stevie.” 

“Ed, Ed, Eddie,” he sings back, relaxing into his couch and shutting the laptop. Lesson planning can wait, he decides, shuffling all the loose pages into the text book and placing his laptop on the pile, trusting that physics won’t betray him. “What’s got you so happy, hm?” 

“Why do you think I’m happy?” Damn idiot has a smile on his face as he asks that, Steve can hear it. It makes his own grin widen and he huffs into the phone. 

“I literally know you, babe.” 

Babe. His heart flutters every time he says it — and he tries not to, because it’s meaningless, it’ll never happen. But Eddie picks it back up every time, and Steve is weak. God, he is so, so weak. 

On the other end, Eddie hums and Steve basks in the sound for a moment. It’s always so contagious, Eddie’s happiness, and he wants to soak it all up. Wants to be the reason for it. Wants, wants, wants. 

“You do,” Eddie says, his voice so light and fond it makes Steve’s whole body tingle. And his heart flutter. And it fills him with such happiness that he feels like he could take on the entire world right now, just with the way Eddie’s voice went all soft on him. 

God, he’s hopeless. So, so hopeless. But he’s also weak. An addict, leeching off Eddie’s attention, getting a kick out of the smallest dose, and absolutely certain he couldn’t survive if it were taken from him. He needs it. Even if it kills him a little bit, because— 

“She said yes.” 

Steve blinks. “Huh?” 

“Chrissy. She said— She said yes, Stevie. We’re getting married.” 

He says it and he sounds so happy. So, so happy. And Steve is the world’s worst best friend for the way he freezes, the way he almost drops his phone if it weren’t for the vice grip he has on it, frozen in time and space because his heart has stopped beating. It has stopped, surely, because no beating heart can hurt this much. No beating heart can crack open and still work the way it used to three, five, seven seconds ago. 

Eddie, bless his entire soul, laughs to fill the silence, and it’s the happiest sound. A boyish one, like there is no pain in the world and not a worry on his mind. A bit hysterical, too. Like he can’t believe it himself yet. Like this is the best day of his life and saying it again has reminded him of it. At least that’s what Steve imagines it feels like when someone wants to be married to you. He wouldn’t know, of course, as the only person he would ever ask is already engaged to someone else. Apparently. 

Eddie is engaged. 

Engaged and laughing and so, so happy. 

And Steve feels nauseous. Dizzy. Breathless. His eyes begin to sting and the hand that’s holding his phone begins to tremble, his grip so tight it hurts. 

Steve feels… too much. His hands tremble and he tries hard not to cry. 

“You’re getting married.” 

“We’re getting married.” 

They’re getting married. 

Fuck. 

Someone has to tell Robin. Because in true Platonic Soulmate manner, Steve and Robin fell in love with the two people who are in love with each other. Like the chaotic mess they are. 

“Sorry I didn’t tell you about it sooner,” Eddie continues, a bit more sober now. Sounding genuine and sufficiently awkward about it, in true Eddie-manner. Like the big old softie he secretly is. “I would have, but…” 

But I know you’re in love with me and didn’t want to burden you with the love I carry for someone who isn’t you, Steve’s brain auto-fills helpfully. But you keep flirting with me and there was never room for someone else when I was with you. 

But, but, but— 

He swallows and drags in a deep breath past the pain in his throat where all the words he can never say are forming a massive lump. 

“Hey man, don’t worry about that, we all know I suck at keeping secrets,” he offers. And it’s a lie, because he has kept this one thing secret for years and years. This one thing, this huge and all-encompassing thing that he can feel in the tips of his fingers when he is texting Eddie, and on his tongue when they are talking, and in his heart even when he is sleeping. 

This one thing, this one secret, is his never-ending love for Eddie. 

And he will add another one to that, a lovely little friend for it. To keep it company. That other secret, of course, will be the way his heart has shattered into a million little pieces and will remain that way until he can’t even look at Eddie anymore. And even then will he look at Eddie and smile at him, and Eddie will smile back and the pain will flare up again.

Again and again and again, for the rest of their lives. Possibly even beyond that. 

“You do suck at that,” Eddie chuckles, though it is quieter this time, almost private. Fond. Gentle. Always, always like that. It used to mean something once. And if Steve closes his eyes, he can imagine that Eddie smiles his secret smile, the one Steve has only seen directed at himself. It almost breaks him. 

Eddie’s I have known you for a whole eternity and love you beyond words, silly, but you also make my life so much harder-smile. That’s what he has dubbed it because that is what Eddie had said the first time he smiled like that when Steve was drunk off his ass. 

But. But, but, but— 

It’s no use to think of that now, to reminisce and imagine what might have been if… Well. If Steve weren’t Steve. 

And that sure is a dark path he doesn’t want to trudge now, not in the face of the even darker path of Eddie getting married that he sure as hell will have to walk down for the rest of his life. 

He sighs and tries to think of something to say. Something good. Something that is not Please don’t marry Chrissy. Please don’t take yourself away from me. Please. Please don’t get married to anyone who isn’t me. Please open your eyes and see me, please listen to me, please understand what I say when I say I love you. Please.  

He kind of spaces out for the rest of the conversation, not really listening to Eddie’s words over the ringing in his ears and the pumping beat of his shattered heart. 

Eddie speaks softly to him, the undercurrent of happiness and contentment still in his voice, and it would give Steve life, it would be contagious, it would be so very precious if it didn’t also drive the knife of pain ever deeper into Steve’s entire soul, slicing him apart with no one around to put him back together again.  

Splitting him in half. One half that just wants Eddie to be happy, to sound like he does right now for ever and ever. And the other half, loathing that Eddie’s happiness is not inspired by him, not because of him, not in any sort of relation to him. 

It’s not fair. And Steve is torn. So he shuts himself off and lets Eddie ramble, tells him that he is tired after pulling an all-nighter again and wrangling the his difficult seventh graders that were particularly hard on him today when the other man asks him if he is all right. 

“Steve,” Eddie sighs, and a traitorous tear rolls down Steve’s cheek at the caring exasperation he hears there. “How often do I need to tell you that sleep is important? You’re gonna wear yourself out at this rate. And the kids just suck.”  

“I know,” he says, and sniffs, willing the tears to not fall. Not until Eddie has hung up on him. 

“Aww. That emotional, huh?” 

At that, Steve sobs out a laugh and gladly accepts the way out. “Well, excuse me, my bestest friend whom I love very much is getting married soon! Or, well, I hope it’s soon, nobody has time for all that suspense. Anyway, I am allowed to be emotional about this!” 

Eddie chuckles again and sighs gently. “Yes, you are. I’m glad you are. Thank you, Stevie.” 

Don’t thank me. Not for this. Not over this, please, don’t thank me. 

“Don’t thank me,” he says with a grin, and it hurts his cheeks from how forced it is. “Thank yourself for being brave enough to actually go through with the proposal! We both know you’re chicken shit.” 

Just like me, he thinks. Just like me. 

They laugh and it sounds hollow to Steve’s ears. He just wants the phone call to end, wants this to be over with. Wants them to not get married. Never, ever, in this life or the next. 

He wants… he wants Robin. No, he needs his best friend, his soulmate. He can’t cry alone, not about this. 

Eventually, Eddie hangs up, that smile still so audibly his lips, and that painful happiness still very clear in his voice. Steve wants to share it. But he can’t.

All he can do is stare at the phone in his trembling hand before he closes his eyes and lets himself cry, his head falling back against the couch until he slumps over to one side. He stares and he cries until he can’t anymore. 

Eddie. The love of his life. Is getting married. To Chrissy, the other, platonic love of his life, who is like a sister to him. Who, coincidentally, is the love of his real platonic soulmate’s life.

Fucking hell, the mess they find themselves in!

After a while of pitifully staring at the wall, all cried out and feeling thoroughly pathetic, he lifts his phone and speed-dials Robin. 

“Stevie?” 

He sniffs, and it must sound as awful as he feels, for her next words are, “I’ll be right there. Alcohol or ice cream?” 

“Both?” he whimpers after a moment, and Robin hums right back. 

“I’ve got you. I’ll be there in ten.” 

She hangs up before he can say anything more, and he is overcome with all the love he holds for her. 

As he waits for her to come over, he does not move from the awkwardly half curled-up position on his couch, the lesson plans for tomorrow forgotten completely. This is his life now. His Eddie-less life. His engaged-Eddie life. His loveless, hopeless, endlessly pitiful life. 

come back tomorrow for: bittersweet & angst | read here

[stvharrngton]

omg ky what about. 20 and 25 from the list u just reblogged with steeb ofc

— @inkluvs

coming right up <3 hope u enjoy !!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, oral (f and m receiving), sixty-nine, throat fucking, spanking

prompt: "breathe through your nose" and "does that feel good?" from this (x) list

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke

“Fuck,” Steve moaned out.

His eyes were dark and heavy as he stared right into your dripping core. Steve was naked, lay on his back on his bed as you were above, on top of him.

He never thought you would both end up here when you started making out on his bed, but then one by one your clothes ended up on the floor and when you asked if you could try something new, something different, all the blood in his body rushed south.

He hadn’t even touched you yet and he had your pussy dripping on his tongue, the boy moaning just at the sight of you like this for him. You ghosted your fingers up the shaft of his thick cock, a drivel of saliva leaving your lips and landing on the tip. 

Steve’s hands are gripping your ass, fingers pulling and kneading at the flesh. Large palms hot on your soft skin. Once you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, Steve went hell for leather.

Sure, he was always enthusiastic when he went down on you, licking and sucking at your pussy like a man starved but this was something else. It’s like Steve was addicted to you, addicted to your taste, your scent and he’d been starved for days and now he was finally getting his next fix.

He’s soft with it, tongue swirling around your cunt as his lips move over you gently but with just the right amount of pressure. The tip of his tongue dipping in and out of your hole as he moaned and groaned into you, toes curling into the sheets as Steve resisted the urge to fuck his cock up into your warm mouth.

You moaned around Steve’s cock, the vibrations rolling through his body as his length twitched in your mouth. His eyes rolled back, fingers digging into your doughy thighs. He pulled away from you for a beat, the pad of his thumb brushing over your puckered hole before he delivers a soft smack to your ass.

Steve presses his lips over your pussy softly, moaning out below you, “You taste so fucking sweet, baby.” He brought his finger to your entrance now, his index digit pushing into your hole, curling and fucking in and out of you slowly. 

You released Steve’s cock as your mouth relaxed, letting out an obnoxiously loud moan. He kept going though, filthy words continuing to leave his mouth, “Does that feel good? Little pussy’s just dripping for me, isn’t she?”

Trying your best to turn your attention back to Steve’s aching cock, you all but failed as he continued to lick at you. You settled for rolling his heavy balls in the palm of your hand, your tongue licking at the underside of the head of his cock.

Steve buried his face in your pussy, skilled tongue licking itself all over, a mixture of spit and your juices covering his mouth and chin, the stickiness spreading to your thighs. 

“Fuck, I can’t, Stevie–” you groaned, eyes fluttering closed, “mouth feels too good, shit.”

“Come on, baby,” he cooed, a light teasing tone lurking beneath his voice, “you asked for this, hm? Don’t give up on me now.” You couldn’t see but Steve was smirking below you, a stupid sexy smirk that you would normally love to wipe right from his face, “You’re so good at sucking my cock, pretty girl.”

You whined at his words, desperate to refocus but you just couldn’t. Steve was too good, too intense. You were overwhelmed to say the least, but you powered through, rolling his balls in your palm a final time before something in Steve snapped.

The boy bent his knees, strong arms wrapping around your lower back as your eyes widened in suspense and anticipation. “Breathe through your nose, baby.” was all he said as Steve began to rut his hips up off of the mattress.

“Oh,” Steve groaned, lips brushing over your cunt, “there you go, baby, that’s it. Good girl.” 

Steve fucked his cock in and out of your warm, wet mouth, his tip brushing the back of your throat with every thrust of his hips. All you can do is whine and whimper around his length, your eyes squeezed shut as Steve regains his composure and goes straight back to burying his face in your pussy.

You instinctively begin to roll your hips, grinding your cunt against Steve’s tongue as the tears begin to well in the corner of your eyes, your lashes wet, the salty water leaking down your cheeks. You’re not sure how much longer you can last, the tears are streaming now, your mouth is covered in saliva, saliva that’s dribbling all over Steve’s thick cock all the way down to his balls.

Steve’s thighs begin to tense as he smacks your ass once more, fucking your mouth so full of his cock, his tongue lapping and sucking at your puffy clit, it was all too much. You went into overdrive, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. 

Your pussy was soaking, creamy and leaking all over Steve’s waiting mouth. He took it gladly, lapping up everything that you had to give him. He groaned into you, toes curling into the sheets as his fingers caressed your waist softly.

He wasn’t far behind you, his body tensing all over as he leaped over the edge with a few more strokes of his cock. Your mouth is too tight and wet, too warm and inviting. The movements of his tongue on you ceased, his lips still brushing against you but the only thing that was leaving his mouth was whimpers of your name and incoherent moans as Steve rode through his orgasm.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, skin clammy, hair sticking to his forehead, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.

You were in no better state, your skin hot and shivery. You crawled off of Steve as gracefully as you could, rolling into his side as he wrapped you up in his arms.

“We are definitely doing that again.” Steve chirped, a coy grin on his face as he pressed his lips to yours.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

idk why but @ronearoundblindly

this angle 🥺

[ronearoundblindly]

The Right Partner (2/3)

Steve Rogers x lab tech!Reader

Take My Whole Life, Too, Part One (see previous or series)

Summary: Your honeymoon with Steve Rogers begins.

Warnings for vague smut (don't worry, I make up for it in pt2), cuteass!Steeb being extra, unrealistic adorable sh*t, and my complete lack of shame about it. MINORS DNI. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist instead, but this one isn't for you! WC 3.1k

It’s bright and loud.

Well, there is light—a pale blue that gnaws at your heavy eyelids—and the song of birds.

The birds are, frankly, irrationally aggressive even for late morning.

You groan and turn over toward the inside of the tent, hoping for an hour more of darkness, maybe two.

Dehydrated. That’s what this heavy, sluggish feeling is. You should have had twice the water you managed to drink yesterday. No one would fault you for having other priorities on your wedding day though.

Your fingers branch out to find the bed empty.

From your exposed shoulder beyond the comforter, you gauge it is quite chilly here wherever you are. You didn’t even ask Steve if he found out what state (or country) you two landed in. Who cares? You burrow deeper, peeking over the thick quilted seam to see—

“What are you doing?”

Steve’s back is to you when you hear a metallic clatter in the utility sink. He whips around in just his boxers, raising a hand to cover his mouth and garble out “nothing.”

You’re prone and below eye level to the countertop, so you sit up to look while Steve poorly hides his sin by leaning over the surface.

He swallows heavily.

“You want some tea,” he rushes to ask in a failingly casual tone. “I’ve got water heating.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” you jump up to stand on the mattress, knocking your head against the springy ceiling, and step down. “Are you eating our wedding cake without me?”

“You wouldn’t even give me some yesterday,” he whines, placing himself protectively between your approach and the confection. His guilty brows raise with sincerity.

“Oh, please! You got cake, and then you—” you poke his bare chest, glancing at the now quarter-demolished top tier “—you complained it wasn’t your flavor!”

“But…” Steve simply points. No other words come to mind based on his still-stunned expression.

“Fine,” you chuckle, relaxing to stretch your large sweater over your chilled hands and thighs, “I won’t tell anyone you’re nothing but a little sweets-thief. Hot tea sounds lovely though.”

“Allow me,” he smiles and leans in for a kiss, tasting of sugar and lemon like the night you got engaged, the night you first…oof. After just one reminder, the sweater is suddenly plenty warm.

“Thank you.”

The flood of mental images rushes from your brain, down your body, to your full bladder.

Next stop: the bathroom.

While he sorts out your morning boost, you chug a bottle of water to help with the rough, sluggish feeling weighing on you. No soreness though, which is good.

Steve returns triumphant with a camping mug and steeping, steaming wakeup juice, and you give him your own soft peck on his cheek.

No doubt he continues his dessert for breakfast the instant you step out to use the facilities aboard the jet. Good, he deserves all the cake, as much as he wants, whenever he wants.

The tiny mirror isn’t as scary as you thought it would be, but you do have to rummage around for a few straggling hairpins. A splash of cool water on your face just before you emerge is more refreshing than expected, too. The day is fresh, you are fresh, and your marriage is fresh.

You cradle the mug in your palms, making to leave, when your gown catches your eye hanging at the locker closest to the ramp, right beside Steve’s uniform.

Yesterday feels like the most wonderful, blinding blur.

All the military men (and women) wore their first uniforms, and you have to admit it created a sharp-looking bunch. Geeta’s uniform was only from nine years ago, Wilson’s just over fifteen, Rhodes’s nearly thirty, and of course, Steve and Bucky’s come in at eighty years old. Not shockingly, their uniforms were replicas, but the boys were very picky about the details.

Gracie, Natasha, Ro, Pepper, Tony and Bruce all kept their fancy dress within the same neutral palette. Morgan and Felicity were flower (leaf) girls. Standing at the alter as a bride, a groom, and their ‘besties,’ you amassed a punk, a jerk, a nerd, and a Booboo.

Your subdued red, white, and blue gown made the boldest statement of the day.

You were so worried yesterday morning. You thought the statement would read as if you were devoting yourself to an ideal, harping that you are in some ways ‘Misses America,’ but it’s more than that. You didn’t want to walk down that aisle and sign over who you are, to belong to someone else, even someone as magnificent as Steve Rogers.

Then you saw his face.

That man belongs to you as much as you belong to him. The look of pure, undiluted, delighted adoration nearly knocked you over. You’re lucky you made it through your vows. You melted inside to help your poor, fumbling Sketch with his own speech. Bucky winked once you finally got his buddy to the important bit.

Then that kiss.

Gosh, all this time you thought maybe the desperate heat of your first kiss in an evacuated AvIn hallway couldn’t be recreated—much less topped—but you were wrong. The boning in your bodice is the real hero, that’s for sure. Girl’s gotta have good support when it counts.

Speaking of being weak for a man, you think, sipping at hot tea, better get back in there. That, plus your legs are freezing.

A polaroid snaps the instant you cross the zip-up threshold, along with praises of your beauty. You blink rapidly but smile.

“What’s that?”

“Your wedding present,” Steve beams. He fakes a frown at your following ‘we weren’t doing presents’ look. “Not big ones. They’re just for fun.”

He picks up another Canon film camera, a hefty black and silver thing from his hard-sided suitcase, and hands it to you.

“Thought they’d be nice for the trip.”

You weigh it in your hands, eye the Polaroid, then switch with Steve.

“That one’s more of an artsy-fartsy Sketch thing,” you say, stepping around him with your new toy, rushing to grab toasty sweatpants from your own bag.

As you bend over to pull out the garment though, you hear a mechanical click and whip around.

Steve still faces away from you, but his head is slightly turned and he softly whistles, so of course, you lift your Polaroid and snap a picture of his ass, too. He wrinkles his nose, looking over his shoulder with an unhidden smile. You shake out the photo card provocatively while he suits up for the fireside in a sweater and jeans.

He glances at the developed shot and, seeming satisfied, plants one more kiss on your forehead.

He hums as he holds up his picture of you entering the tent, thumb tracing the line of your hip exposed like it was on the glossy magazine pages after your bear debacle.

“Yes, ‘m out there distracting all the wild animals,” you joke.

“It’s working,” he mutters. “Hungry, Misses Rogers?”

Yeah, you think, but you’ll need fewer clothes again. Instead, your stomach gurgles in response.

“Why? Do I finally get some cake?”

“Just a taste.” He kisses your lips, which you lick immediately after. “But I was thinking more like eggs. The fire’s ready.”

Your stomach growls louder. “Shhh, peanut gallery.”

Steve puts a hand over your stomach, chuckling. “At least she’s honest.”

The light pressure of his wide palm lingers even when he steps out to the camp ground. It triggers a potent flash of life with him.

You’ve spoken about kids and it will happen (or at least you’ll try) in due course, but he’s come home from missions with doubts about bringing children up in this world. What matters to both of you is having each other, and you know he’d be enough good and love for your lifetime. Even though you can always revisit the issue, that deep flutter ravages your gut while you watch him cook breakfast.

With another hunger pang, you remember how your stomach voicing her opinion is one of the reasons you’re together. One, solitary growl started the first real night of hanging out with Steve. Without it, he wouldn’t have shared a leftover meal (and cake—hint, hint, buddy), he wouldn’t have let you in his apartment, he wouldn’t have driven you and your car home the next morning, and he wouldn’t have given you some of his own clothes to wear.

You pull the sleeves of his sweater over your chilling hands and bury your nose in the fabric, inhaling deeply.

You wonder which one of those incidental, accidental moments was the tipping point, whether removing just one experience of you would have stopped Steve from seeing you, stopped him from loving you.

After a while, you pick up the polaroid. You can see his ease through the lens. Steve is in his element, chatting away while preparing a meal, planning what you two can do together next, complimenting how you look in his sweatpants and meaning it so profusely that his eyes light up whenever he looks your way.

You thought you caught it on camera, all of him, all of his happiness, but the shot isn’t close enough to do it justice. Your heart will just have to remember.

Yes, Steve Rogers on his own is more than enough. He is the gift. He’s your treasure.

You can’t decide what you want to do next, but a strong shiver running through you gives a hint: get warm.

Eggs are a good start.

When the food is done, Steve refills your tea and makes his own.

You snuggle up into the covers of the bed again, leaning your head into the dip of Steve’s sternum, using your furnace husband to full effect. The birds aren’t so annoying now. The air is so crisp and refreshing, laced with the smell of Steve’s skin. The rise and fall of his chest is so soothing as you sip and ponder the future.

Steve fiddles with the dials on the vintage camera above you. That’s the last thing you remember before waking up again, this time wrapped in his warm, toasty arms.

For once, he hasn’t woken up yet. He’s stretched, out-cold and perfectly content, unmoving as you wiggle out of the covers.

He never rests in the middle of the day, so you have to capture his sleepy form, eyes still tucked beneath the comforter, keeping the light out for just a little longer. He’s so beautiful.

Your husband is so beautiful.

Steve desperately wants to take the wedding presents for a spin out in the woods, so the afternoon is entirely consumed by a hike.

The Polaroid makes too much noise for wildlife and can’t focus on the tinier details among the branches and leaves, so you settle for jotting down some fanciful descriptions that come to mind and watch him sneak closer to birds, bugs, and color-changing foliage.

He gets so distracted with excitement that you two walk much farther than intended. Steve insists on carrying you the last few miles of your return, and you spend the entire piggyback ride with your chin tucked over his shoulder, your cheek against his neck, quietly discussing what you’d like to change in your lives now that you’re officially married.

Nothing. The answer is nothing.

Nothing needs to change because you two are the exact same people as forty-eight hours ago. Perhaps the rings on your fingers mean more for your life, but they just transmuted the love already in existence to matter.

Steve’s bright blue eyes go dreamy with philosophizing.

Your husband is beautiful, smelling of fresh air and optimism.

Steve refuses to miss another sunset, so you two lay in the hammock before lighting your evening fire.

You snuggle and chat, teasing each other, telling stories. You watch the Milky Way bloom to life above you.

Something Steve never figured out was how the Team knew about his plan to propose. He’s been going over it and over it, but he can’t see where he gave himself away. Steve says, when he asked Bucky yesterday in the men’s ready room, Bucky smirked.

Apparently, Steve, only once while you two dated, told his friend “there’s an order to these things,” and that was enough. Buck knew Steve’s intentions immediately, watching for the signs, the clues. Everyone understands that for a long time now Steve has resented his birthday is a holiday—not in a disrespectful way, but it annoys him that the day is already a big, loud affair,—and the whole group guessed (correctly) Steve would rather replace the symbolism with his own meaning.

“And hey,” Steve rumbles, faking Tony’s nonchalance as he quotes the billionaire playboy, “if you chickened out, fireworks are fireworks.”

His added shrug for effect shifts you and rocks the dangling net.

“Almost did, didn’t you?” you chuckle. “Chicken out?”

Your husband’s whole body tweaks harshly.

“You know I was scared shitless, Keeps! Almost fainted.”

“Or at least fell off your one knee…”

His hands fly up to scrub at his stubbled face, pinning you. “Oh! It was so bad,” he groans.

You sit up carefully in the wobbly fabric of the hammock, barely suppressing more laughter, and pound a flat palm at his chest. “It’s ok, soldier. You got the job done. We got there in the end.”

Steve’s hand covers yours, his peaceful smile glowing in the soft starlight.

He reaches to cradle your cheek, sweeping a delicately callused thumb over your skin.

“I almost can’t believe it,” Steve says quietly.

“Believe what?”

He could mean the beauty of the sky, or that Tony knocked it out of the park with your escape of a honeymoon, or that he didn’t croak instead of getting through all those mental and physical hurtles to be with you. You’re just not sure. Personally, you’ve ‘almost not believed it’ since the Captain America started talking to you, so it’s hard to judge.

Steve doesn’t answer right away. His voice grows even softer. “Happy. That’s all.”

Your heart breaks and mends in an instant.

“You can’t believe you’re happy?”

He goes shy, ducking then raising his gaze even higher towards the treetops. He clears his throat before admitting, “I lead…an unusual life. Not many would want this.”

“I dunno. Seems pretty nice to me,” you giggle.

��Yes, but—“ he pulls you into his chest and squeezes “—I get no guarantees. Not like others. We couldn’t even set a date. We could have been waiting years to get married.”

It’s your turn to shrug.

“You got something else to do?”

“No,” he sighs, “just more of this.” He nudges your body closer and closer to his, until all your arms and legs are tangled together. “As much as possible. I only meant…I love you.

“I love you, and I don’t think I had any faith left that I would find you.”

You. Not someone like you. Not someone for him.

You.

Even without a fire, even without sunlight, even without shelter surrounding you, Steve provides everything you could ever need: heat, comfort, safety. He provides, and it’s only right that he should have the favor returned.

Happiness. That’s what this is. Happiness that wasn’t guaranteed. Happiness that wasn’t expected. Happiness that was hard-earned.

Your muscles shiver and your skin tingles, all with need of him. “Sweetheart,” you whisper, clawing at his sweater.

He knows. He sees. He feels it, too.

When Steve lunges to kiss you though, the hammock swings with your combined weight and tries to topple you.

You giggle and squeal, flipping out and onto the ground with zero grace, and he follows.

Steve crawls over you, starlight and the glow from the tent painting his face in primary colors.

“Here, Mrs. Rogers?” He fakes shock. “In the dirt?”

“You fucked me on that picnic table just last night,” you joke, a dark, taunting edge to your voice which he matches.

Steve leans in again. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

He holds your gaze, his focus flickering to your lips while the crickets’ song roars around you.

It sounds silly after all you’ve done to get Steve out of his shell, but what you crave most in this moment is the familiar, traditional love-making that he offers best. His tenderness leads you on a merry dance not unlike long wilderness walks. He’s consumed by discovery and attention to how you feel in that very second. To him, you change as frequently as the landscape. He yearns to explore what’s the same, what’s new.

Steve never phones-in sex. He never just goes through the motions. Somehow, he makes an art of reevaluating your body, your pleasure, each and every time. He’s the proof vanilla is an infinite flavor.

But…

That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the chase.

Steve is leaning in to kiss you when your knee raises to his chest, halting his progress. You bite your lip and scramble to the ‘door’ of the tent. Obviously, he lets you win because he could easily have snatched you into his grasp.

Steve’s laugh stays close, but he follows all the way to the bed.

There’s something to be said about a good ol’ fashioned undressing, garment by garment, that dance of who leads and how much they touch the other as each piece of clothing falls away. Steve’s become a very good dancer.

Nothing is rushed. Nothing is missed.

He doesn’t combine the acts of maneuvering you and dragging open mouth kisses along your skin. He moves you, and then he lingers.

Time spent mapping you is time well spent to Steve Rogers.

You’re drunk on him. High on him. It’s an out-of-body experience that has you watching his broad back curve sharply while he thrusts and traces your collarbone with his tongue, noticing your toes seize up from force of your first orgasm, and admiring how fine his ringed finger looks laced in with yours and pinned over your head.

No one leaves the tent. The evening fire never gets started.

After a long and sweaty fuck in the bed, you’re filthy, gathering food for Steve who’s hungry, following you around with wipes. It’s comical how thoroughly you try to take care of each other.

No. Sit still. No. Let me just grab this. No. Fine. Together?

You two finish the top tier of cake after cleaning off…because Steve Rogers is the most stubborn, beautiful, and optimistic husband.

[Next Part]

[Main Masterlist; Fools Rush In Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[sunshinesteviee]

emma omg omg pushing strands of their hair out of their face with steeb pls and thank u ily forever 🫶🏼

kait!!! omg ilyt this is for u MWAH 🫶🏼

-

Your boyfriend is beautiful. His soft hazel eyes, his pretty nose, the most kissable lips, the cute little moles dotting his cheek. Everything about him is just gorgeous. It’s unfair, actually, just how pretty he is. You could stare at him all day long, if he’d let you, but no matter how confident he can be, he still gets shy under your gaze, so you have to be sneaky about it. But sometimes, you just can’t help yourself.

The best time of day — your favorite time of day — is when you wake up before him, warm yellow light spilling in through curtains, and he’s still fast asleep beside you, cheek pressed into his pillow. He always looks so peaceful, so innocent, with his lips parted, his soft, wavy hair falling into his face. He’s perfect.

Scooting in closer to Steve’s sleeping figure, you snuggle into his chest, leaving just enough room to still admire him. From the close angle, you can count each of his long lashes, trace the freckles and moles that dust across his cheeks. A lock of dark hair curls around his ear, another twisting down his neck, disappearing beneath the blanket, even more falling into his face. It’s been a while since he’s had a haircut, and it’s getting long and shaggy.

Fingers tracing down the length of his neck, you twist a soft wave around your pointer finger gently. It wasn’t your intention to wake him up, but he groans softly, nose scrunching up as his eyes flutter open after a moment. You grimace your apology, though he can hardly see with how slowly he’s blinking, eyes still heavy with sleep. Cupping his stubbly cheek in your soft hand, you murmur, “G’morning, Stevie. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Mm,” he manages to grunt in response, not angry or annoyed, just still half-asleep. His body curls towards yours, an arm searching for your waist as his nose pushes into the crook of your neck, breathing deeply, “mornin’.”

“Sleep well?” you ask softly, the hand not on his cheek rubbing a gentle line up the curve of his spine.

“Mhm, good,” he breathes out, lips pursing into a light kiss against your neck. “How ‘bout you, baby?”

“Me too,” you reply, moving in closer than you already are, a leg hitching up over his hip to press your torso to his. You’re both on his pillow now, huddled together on his side of the bed. All of your senses are filled with Steve. His smell, his warmth, his strong arm holding your waist, his heartbeat, his sleepy eyes meeting yours.

A lazy smile tugs at the corners of Steve’s lips as your eyes meet. It’s so soft, it nearly makes you melt into the bedsheets right then and there. Sometimes you’re not sure you deserve the softness. The love that Steve always looks at you with. The utter adoration for you that seeps from him, even in this half-awake state. Your hand slides up his back, tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck, running the soft strands between your fingers. You want him to know just how much you love him, too, but you’re not sure how to say it, not so early in the morning. You hope he can feel it.

It’s quiet for a few minutes as you lay with each other, all soft touches and gentle kisses, quiet whispers as the sun rises further into the sky, spilling bright light into your room. You sigh loudly after a while, knowing you need to get up, and Steve, finally more awake, pulls his face from your neck to really see you. He gives you one of his gorgeous, heart-stopping smiles, and nudges the tip of his nose against yours, “I’ll make ya coffee, honey.”

The long, wispy hair hanging in his face brushes against your forehead, tickling you slightly and causing your eyes to close, nose scrunching up. Giggling, you reach up to push your hands into his hairline, pushing all of it out of his face. He looks a bit silly, but still so handsome. “Mm, yes please.”

He shakes free of your grasp, hair falling into his face once again, an over-dramatic pout gracing his lips, “Okay, well I’m not going to make you any if you’re just going to tease me, baby.”

“Sorry,” you rush to apologize, a smile still tugging at your lips as, this time, you delicately push a few strands of hair out of his face, tucking them behind his ear, “‘m sorry. You’re so pretty it hurts, Stevie.”

A soft pink blooms on Steve’s cheeks. His eyes roll, but there’s the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips, “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

“I’m serious!” you reply, a deep frown creasing the space between your eyebrows, “Y’so pretty, Stevie. Prettiest boy this side of town, no question.” You sweep more hair back out of his face, pressing little kisses to his nose, his cheeks, the moles dotting his skin, anywhere you can reach.

Steve all but giggles, face scrunching up as he leans into your touch. “Stop,” he says in a way that clearly means keep going, cheeks somehow even pinker as he pushes his face back into the crook of your neck to hide.

You giggle with him, cradling the back of his head as your fingers continue to card through his hair, “My handsome, beautiful, hot boyfriend and his ridiculously soft hair. Love you.”

“You’re just jealous of my hair,” he mumbles into your skin with a loud huff, and you can practically feel the eye roll he’s giving you. “Love you, too, though, pretty girl. Still want that coffee?”

[hungharrington]

steeb with a praise kink and flushing when you call him pretty boy or sweet thing in public

watching him fall apart under you whimpering and muttering that he’s you’re good boy over and over again. telling you he’s been perfect all day so you deserves some type of reward. sweet prince . such a cute little play thing

18+ blog & afab!reader mdni!! anon u had me. drooling. sigh.

oh, and even better is that he doesn’t even realise it in the beginning— when you dote on him, a hand sweeping over his cheek, excited chatters about how proud you are of him, because u are!! and it makes steve positively glow. his cheeks get all rosy and his chest puffs up and hey, alright, if his blood runs a little hotter and his jeans get a little tighter, steve pays no extra mind to it. he’s a guy, alright? all sorts of crazy things get his dick going.

but then, that night, he’s got his mouth between your sticky thighs, his tongue warm and eager on your cunt as he presses your thighs closer to your chest. he pulls all the sweet noises out of you that he adores, that really make his cock ache, and then you say it, a soft praise wrapped up in your moan, “so good, you’re doing so good, baby,” and steve feels his cock leak at your words, giving a muffled moan against your slick and fuck, suddenly, he’s rutting himself against the sheets and kissing and sucking with a passion that has you building up your orgasm in a mere couple of minutes. but you’ve already caught it — the couple of words that seemed to release a beast in steve, turn him pliant and horny and eager to please. every moan that spills out is laced with praise, “yes, f-fuck, you’re so good- so good for me, steve,” and “so- so fuckin pretty between my thighs, aren’t you?”

and right as your tummy curls up tight, hands clutching tight at the bedsheets you move them, twining them in steve’s hair to get his attention, barely getting the words out between your pants, “gonna cum too?” and steve’s fingers dig into your thighs tighter, giving an eager nod but never stopping his tongue against your clit. his hips still roll into the sheets below him, giving himself sweet sweet friction. you moan breathily and say, “good boy,” and steve whimpers loudly, losing it as his cock gives a twitch and he cums in pants— your cunt swallowing his pitiful whines as he eats you through your own orgasm, grip painfully tight on your hips.

and then it’s like…. kryptonite to him. a well placed praise can render him useless in public, hand tucked in his pocket trying to keep his dick down even as he flames red all the way up to his ears — just because at your silly arcade date he’d beaten the basketball game and you’d put on that voice and said, “ugh! you’re just so good at these things, pretty boy,” then pushed up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “you’ll have to show me how you got to be so good, yeah?” and your smirk tells him that you’re well aware of what you’re doing :)