Superhero stuff

"hiiii, angel!"

 peter parker's voice pours from my phone's speakers. it's music to my ears. peter and i have known each other since he joined the avengers, two years after i had. we've been inseparable since that week in haiti, saving civilians from a freak tropical storm. 

we had so much in common, from our love of legos to our protective sense for the people we care about. my friends like his friends, and vice versa. even my mom and may get along. 

we're like peanut butter and jelly, chicken and waffles, and cookies and milk. we're great on our own, but together, we just make something amazing. wait, what?

i shake the ridiculous thought from my head as i remember i'm on the phone.

"what do you want, parker?" there's a playful accusatory tone in my voice as I cross my arms like he can see me.

"whatever do you mean? i can't just call my best friend because i want to talk to her?"

i roll my eyes and say, "peter, you only call me angel when you want something." and i know i'm right. he's called me angel ever since we went on a mission where i basically saved his life. he knows it strokes my ego.

"fine, you caught me. may's at this thing with some ladies she met at the library. i'm soooo bored."

"well you're in luck," i proclaim, pushing off of the fridge and walking down the hallway. "i need to run errands, you can come with me."

i hear something like plastic rustling on his end of the phone before he groans, "ew, errands? no thanks." his words are almost incoherent around a snack of some sort.

making it into my room, i drop my phone on the bed and start to change out of my sweats. "okay, stay at home and be bored out of your mind. and when i go to delmar's later don't ask me to bring you anything." i smirk at the commotion i hear from his side as i pull on a different shirt. 

"delmar's? i'll be at your house in 10," he says loud and clear, then he hangs up. 

I shake my head while messing with my hair a bit. not that i care what i look like in front of peter, i just like to be decent anytime i leave the house.

---

true to his word, peter knocked on my door 10 minutes later. his cheeks tinted red and his hair unruly. 

"did you swing here?" i ask him, reaching up to comb through the curls until they lay somewhat flat. he leans down a bit and allows me to work, his hair like silk between my fingers. 

"yeah, the sooner we do boring grown-up stuff, the sooner we can get sandwiches." he looks at me with a gleam in his eyes that never disappears. 

i push his head away lightly as a grab my purse and keys. "you only wanna run errands with me so i'll buy you food? you're such a leech, parker." i say with fake hurt in my voice as i turn to lock the door. 

"awww. that's not true, i'd run errands with you anytime, angel." he coos, and i have to force myself to remain standing as he runs his fingertips down my spine.

i narrow my eyes at him to hide the fact that i'm wracking my brain for possible explanations of why he could have done that. there had to be something on my shirt. that gesture was pure friendliness, right? and better question, why did it make my knees feel weak as toothpicks?

"whatever, liar." i laugh a little to keep my voice steady as i brush past him towards the elevator.

as we get in, he asks me what kind of errands i need to run. first, the library to return some books, then groceries. then we can get delmar's i assure him.

the walk from my apartment building to the library isn't long, and once i return the books, we head for the grocery store. between the destinations, we talk about school, different shows, and our secret "club," but only with codenames in case anyone is listening. we people watch and play games, and every now and then i feel peter's hand brush mine. only slightly, like it was an accident, i pray it was an accident. 

we reach the grocery store, and like the gentleman he is, he grabs a basket while i look for the list in my purse. 

"okay, first things first, cereal." i declare, walking in one direction. they had recently rearranged the layout of the store, but i was confident that i knew where i needed to go. i turn to say something to peter when i realize he's walking the opposite way. 

"peter," i call for him, "where are you going?"

"...to..get..cereal?" he points out like i've just asked him the most obvious question.

"baby," i condescendingly say, "cereal's this way," i point in the direction i was originally going. 

"no, sweetheart, cereal is this way." he juts his thumb in the direction he was going.

"alright, parker." i walk closer to him. "since you think you know everything, let's make it a game."

"okay," he smirks as he crosses his arms, "i'm listening." his tongue swiping across his bottom lip.

my eyes catch on his thick arms, straining against his sweatshirt. stupid spider. and i have to rip my eyes away from the motion at his lips to continue my thoughts. what is wrong with me today?

"for every item on the list," i fight to keep my eyes on his, "we'll make a bet about which side of the store it's on. whoever loses the most has to buy dinner."

he nods along to what i'm saying, seemingly contemplating, but i can already see the mischief in his eyes. "i'll play your game, but when you lose just know i'm ordering everything delmar's makes."

"oh please, be my guest," i nod along with him, "i just hope you've got enough cash to back yourself up."

in the next second, he's in my space. barely three inches away as my breath catches in my throat. 

"so, cereal... lead the way."

---

i turn on my heels, speeding towards where i know the cereal is. he doesn't expect me to move so quickly, as he's still standing where i was a second ago. but he reacts, catching up to me slightly.

my heart is beating fast and hard, and i pray he can't hear it. i can't think for the life of me why he's acting like this. he can't like me. we're friends. that's how i know that peter is awkward. and he's shy, especially with girls that he likes. but he's not shy right now. he's being so forward. which means...

he doesn't like me, he's playing with me. this really is a game to him. he only calls me angel when he wants something.

i almost pass what i'm looking for in my scatterbrained state. "see," i motioned, "there it is, like i said." 

i grab what i need and put it in the basket, barely looking at him, though i can feel his confusion at my change in emotion. i take the list, putting my initial next to the first item, and read off the second item to him. we place our bets, and head in his direction first. it turns out to be correct, so i check off the item and write his initial. we continue this for the rest of the items, but my mind begins to wander again.

i can't believe peter would mess with me like this. playing with my feelings. feelings that i didn't even know i had. i try to think about when they could have developed, and it dawns on me. as i watch him put bread in the basket, an item i was right about, i realize why today is different. 

peter and i had never run errands together. being in such a domestic situation with someone i had come to care for so much made me realize just how much i like peter. of course, when i first met him, i thought he was attractive, but more so, i found him adorable. and he's funny, and he cares so much. and throughout the years he's done everything he can to make me happy. running errands with him made me think of the future. our future and how this could be us one day, making groceries for our apartment.

but it will never be us, because peter doesn't feel that way, and he's playing with me, and it hurts more than i can admit.

i don't hear whatever gloating statement he makes as he wins the next item, fruits and vegetables, and he notices. his face falls as he assesses what might be wrong, and i can feel my throat close at the thought of having this conversation. the universal, friendship-ending, i-like-you-why-don't-you-like-me-back conversation. i cough, clearing my face of any emotion except feigned annoyance. 

"good job. you're in the lead by one. the last item is jam, and i think it's this way, so let's go."

i don't give him a chance to say anything as i take the basket, and head in the direction i indicated. i can feel him keeping his distance, but i don't bother to look behind me. it's good that he can feel his game ending. maybe we can go back to being regular friends after this. hopefully. 

we reach the shelves filled with jellies, jams, syrups, and preserves. it's exactly where i thought it was, although a little high, and i mark my initials next to it. peter congratulates me quietly. i make no comment about how we're tied now, and i reach for it, just aching to hurry up and get out of this store and go home.

i can't reach it, not even on my tippy toes, so i step on the lowest shelf to give myself a boost. i feel my fingers graze the jar, and i almost have it when i hear peter.

"angel, you're gonna hurt yourself, just let me get it." 

and it's a good thing that his hand is hovering over my lower back, waiting for permission. because hearing him call me that name, the one that doesn't sound the same anymore, makes me falter, and with my weight of center because of the basket, i slip off the shelf. 

it's not that high off the ground, but in my distressed state, it startles me nonetheless. peter catches me, one arm on my back and one arm around my front. i'm sure he can feel my heavy breaths, my beating heart. 

he takes the basket, sets it on the ground, and i can feel it before he says it. it takes everything in me not to cry. it's not enough.

"are you okay, angel?"

next thing i know, i'm angrily wiping tears from my face and pushing him away from me. 

"stop it. stop calling me that," i say between deep breaths.

"okay. i'm sorry. i thought you liked it." he steps towards me, hands up, with an apologetic shrug.

he's right.  and that's the problem.

"i do; i do like it. but not like this, not when you don't mean it." i see his brows furrow.

"wh-what do you mean, 'i don't mean it'?" i don't realize he's so close now, and as he places his hands gently on my arms, i don't stop him.

steadying myself, i gaze at my shoes. unable to look at him as i rip my heart out to put it on my sleeve.

"you only call me angel when you want something. but today was different, and i hadn't put two and two together until just now. when you brushed my back in front of my apartment, and when you kept touching my hand on our walk, and when you got in my space when we first got here, it all drove me insane. and you keep calling me angel, but it's different, and now i know why. because you're messing with me, peter parker. and it hurts because i really, really like you, but this is just a game to you. which hurts even more because i never thought that you would do something like this."

i finish my rambling in sniffles, and i wait with bated breath for him to laugh in my face. 

"aw, baby," his hands cupping my face coax me to look at him. "do you know why i call you angel? hm?"

"because i saved your life," i sniffle and try to look back at the floor. but he holds me in place, dipping his head to keep eye contact with me.

"well yes, but also, because you're my angel. any time i hear you laugh, it makes my heart feel like it's gonna beat out of my chest. and you're so beautiful, all the time, it's like you're glowing. but most of all, just like an angel, you make my world a better place just by being in it."

it's easier for me to breathe now. and i don't think i've ever been happier than i am in this moment. i bet i look hysterical, covered in tears, and standing on the jelly aisle. 

"if you really like me, why did you act like that, all bold and stuff?" I'm starting to calm down, "the peter parker i know is awkward when he likes a girl, always."

peter's cheeks go pink, and it's his turn to struggle to hold eye contact.

"i don't know, when i asked mr. stark what i should do about liking you, he told be to be bold because girls like that. i guess i didn't think about if that would work with you." 

his thumbs caress back and forth against my cheeks absentmindedly.

"well, it doesn't work with me," i place my hands on his wrists, my thumbs mirroring his motion. "i want awkward peter parker."

his face is slowly inching towards mine, and this time i don't mind.

"oh yeah?," his eyes flicker to my lips before returning to mine. "i promise i'll go back to being awkward, right after this."

he presses his lips gently against mine, the salt from my dried tears present between us as i kiss him back. even though we were standing in the middle of a grocery store, it was the softest, most romantic experience i've ever had. i wouldn't change a thing. as his tongue brushed against my bottom lip, i had no choice but to regard the fact that we were in public.

"okay, tiger," i pulled back, reluctantly.

the pink in his cheeks deepened drastically. 

"see," i move my hands to cup his face now, "there's my peter parker."

he turns my hand to kiss my palm, then the other. we separate long enough for him to grab the jam and place it in the basket, picking it up. then, he wraps his free arm around me and pulls me into his side.

"i know we tied, but will you still buy me dinner?", i ask as we walk towards the checkout line.

Bucky closed his book, placed it on the coffee table, and waited for you to reach the couch, a smile spreading across his face. He loved these moments- when you returned home all giddy and carefree. You were a ray of sunshine, lighting up his dark, lonely world.

"Hey, doll," Bucky replied, his voice filled with affection, and adoration, as he watched you walk towards him. His eyes were twinkling with love as you finally reached him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, guiding you into his lap, and you immediately snuggled up, like it was second nature for you- which it was. "You had a good time tonight?"

You nodded enthusiastically, your head all but bopped up and down and swayed from side to side, your face flushed. "The best time! We danced, and- and we... oh! I have something for you!" You reached into your purse, retrieving a small package wrapped in colorful paper.

Bucky's curiosity was piqued as he took the package from you, carefully unwrapping it, and revealing a set of magnets. His eyes widened in surprise. "Magnets?"

You nodded again, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "For your arm!" Your words slurred slightly as you laughed, your intoxication making the idea seem absolutely brilliant.

You took out a heart-shaped magnet, trying to stick it on Bucky's arm, to no avail. It kept falling; you huffed, annoyed, and took out another magnet from the set, this time, one shaped like a rocket ship. Aggravation was quick to take the place of your excitement when it kept falling as well.

Bucky chuckled softly, his heart melting at your drunken enthusiasm. He glanced down at his vibranium arm, knowing that the magnets wouldn't stick, he felt kind of guilty having to break the news to you. "Doll, vibranium isn't magnetic."

Your smile faltered, and your brows furrowed in disappointment. Your intoxicated glee quickly transformed into genuine heartbreak, as tears welled up in your eyes. "I... I didn't think about that," you murmured, voice laced with sadness and disappointment.

Bucky's heart ached at the sight of your distress. He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear that had escaped. "Hey, hey, it's alright," he whispered soothingly, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You didn't know. It's the thought that counts." 

You sniffled, lower lip trembling. "But I wanted to your arm to look even cooler. Imagine how cool it would look with magnets, Buck." 

Bucky's heart swelled with love and adoration. He had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing at your antics. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you sighed at the feathery touch of his lips, seemingly content for the time being. 

"I love you, Bucky," you whispered, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, your eyes shimmering with affection.

"I love you more than words can express," Bucky confessed, his voice filled with sincerity.

At that moment, everything else faded away. Sat in Bucky's lap, wrapped in his arms, your love for one another radiating throughout the room. 

"C'mon," Bucky ushered, "let's get you to bed, honey." His voice was gentle.

"Next time, I'm getting stickers," you mumbled to yourself, a very serious look on your face.

Bucky smiled blissfully, a blush adorning his face. As he held you, he knew that his love for you was unbreakable, even in the face of small disappointments. Your bond was stronger than any magnet could ever be.

The next day, you were determined to make amends with Steve and return his feelings by catching him as he got off of work. Unfortunately, you never got the chance because before you could get inside, you were stopped by your ex who happened to be walking by.

He came up to you and stepped so close you could feel his breath on your skin. It made you want to recoil. No matter how much you told him so, he wouldn't take the hint that the two of you would never be together again. However, he crossed the line when he grabbed your face and pressed his lips to yours. Immediately, you pushed away from him disgusted by his actions. But what hurt even more was seeing Steve's broken face as he watched the interaction from afar before running to his car.

oOoOo

Trying again the next day, your knuckles rapped against his door gently, as though it was Steve you were touching. The wait between your last knock and the opening of the door felt like a lifetime, and you sighed in relief when you saw Steve standing in front of you. His eyes were dimmer than normal, and his clothes looked rumpled, but he was still your Steve.

"Hi." you began rather lamely, not sure where to start.

Steve did not seem to be in the mood for small talk. "What do you want, y/n?" he deadpanned.

"I'm sorry for what happened, but you have to know what you saw is a completely misunderstanding." you began and rushed to continue as you watched Steve silently scoff at your words. "I didn't want him to be there, to be that close to me, or to even talk to me. I told him that all we're exes and that's all it's going to ever be. I'm so sorry that I hurt you, Steve."

"Yeah, well why should I believe you? I don't wanna be anyone's second choice."

His words hit hard in your chest. It was no secret how vulnerable Steve could be and for good reasons. You never wanted to be the person to cause him to doubt his worth. "Well, I'm here aren't I? After all, I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love you." you confessed, waiting with battered breath.

It took a moment, but Steve seemed to visibly soften at your words and let his guard down once more. "Y-you mean that? You love me?"

"Of course, I love you, Steve. I've been wanting to tell you for months, but I was always too scared. But I'm done being scared now."

"Hi, babies," you greet, arms already out to take Dove.

If you could, you'd take Beth instead, because getting her dressed is a much more difficult job than calming Dove down, but Dove craves your attention every second of the day, as babies tend to do. If you don't pick her up she'll start screaming. You've learned from experience.

Steve offers her up with an extreme amount of care considering she's not a baby baby, she's eighteen months. You heave a satisfied sigh. There's something about how warm kids can be, your own kids, that puts you at ease from the moment you hold them. 

You and Steve used to kiss like idiots when you got home from work. You remember when Avery was a baby, and you'd get home and she's be laying on her play matt, you and Steve could watch her from the sofa cuddled up together, putting off laundry and dishes and bath time because it wasn't the end of the world if you didn't get to them. These days, you have to stick to deadlines and chores. If you don't, the house turns to a mess, and it makes everything that much harder on you both. It's best to stay on top of it. 

So while you'd love to sit yourself down in Steve's lap and have him rub your back, you don't. You barely say hi to one another. He finishes getting Beth dressed and you break out the mom-ese, bubbly talking at Dove in the hopes she'll talk back. Dove follows after Beth — they're both so quiet. Avery's the chatterbox. 

"Hi, baby, I missed you," you croon, face plastered over with a smile. "Have you been good for your daddy today?" 

She sniffles at you. True to Avery's report, there's an unfortunate mark spreading across her brow denoting where she'd hurt herself. You kiss it gently. 

"Poor baby, you got an owie. Aw, sweetheart, mommy's gonna have to wrap you up in bubble wrap, aren't I?" 

"We could put her in a hamster ball." Steve suggest, pulling Beth's shirt down over her tummy.

"We could," you agree. 

Dove doesn't understand and it doesn't matter, anything at all cheers her up if you say it sweetly. Pleased at being the centre of attention no doubt, she drops her face into the crook of your neck. She's likely tired from crying, and it's not too far from her bed time. 

Dove settled, you navigate Beth's tea set spread out across the floor and sit on the end of the bed, not far from Steve's position. You reach out, stroking the wild mess of hair at the back of his head. He hadn't showered, which means today has been a hard day. 

"How are you, handsome?" you murmur, sliding your fingers deeper into his hair to scratch lightly at his scalp. 

He stops where he'd been helping Beth into a sweater and drops his head toward his shoulder, turning at the waist so he can see you. "Tired." 

"Yeah?" 

His eyes slip closed, a momentary bliss. "Your kids are evil," he continues. 

You look past him to Bethie, who's quiet. She's always quiet, but this is near silent. She shifts from one foot onto the other. It's like looking into a shy little mirror. Beth has always looked more like you than Steve. 

"Bethie," you hum, "are you okay?" 

She pulls her sleeves over her little hands and frowns. Steve sighs and straightens up, forcing you to take back your hand from his hair. 

"I'm not mad at you, Beth," he says. 

Her face crumples up. You have the energy to find it adorable, but Steve's so tired he can't summon much more than a hug for her. She twists up into his arms. 

"I'm sorry," she whines. 

"It's okay," he promises, patting her back in a slow rhythm. "Now you know why me and mom tell you not to chew on them, yeah? They aren't food, my love." 

My love. It would sound odd coming from Steve if he didn't say it as gently as he does. 

Speaking of food, Avery has not appeared. You tilt your head to one side, and you question yourself on if you're hearing what you think you are. The fridge beeps when it's left open too long, and you're ninety eight percent sure there's a beeping sound coming from downstairs.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks. 

Beth steps back and wipes her cheeks with both hands, nodding. 

Steve replaces her hands with his own and wipes her sticky skin tenderly. When her cheeks are dry, he frames her face with both hands and smiles at her until she smiles back. 

You're not surprised when she goes in for another hug. 

"It's okay, Beth," he says again, "you're not in trouble." 

Beth has a huge guilty conscience. You wonder sometimes how she's turned out so different to Ave considering they've been raised with the same amount of devotion, and you worry that maybe she's been given a little too much sheltering. That being said, Avery had, to your regret, suffered from time to time in place of your and Steve's ineptitude. Nothing that has ever left a mark, but small things you'd wished you'd known. How the majority of her crying had been because she needed burping (so much burping), or how owning a pair of hairdressing scissors does not make you a hairdresser. Sheltering seems fair. 

You love your girls. You want them to be happy more than anything and you don't mind sheltering them, even if they all end up shy and clingy. 

You love clingy. 

"Stevie, I'm gonna make dinner tonight, okay?" 

"Thank you," he mumbles into Beth's hair. 

You frown deeply. He really needs a break, and it's only Thursday. That's one more day until the weekend. 

You lean down, Dove pressed to your chest with both arms, and kiss the top of his head. "I need to call Jessica, and then we'll have dinner. Do you want to go lie down? Take Bethie with you and cuddle?" 

"What do you think, pretty girl?" he asks her, pulling his face from her hair. He strokes down the side of her face with the first knuckle of his index finger. You can practically feel the sensation from watching, the light, fluttering tickling feeling. 

You and Dove ditch their lovefest and bump down the stairs together, one careful step at a time. 

In the kitchen, Avery has made a mess.  

You blink. "Ave," you moan, "what are you doing?" 

"I'm putting stuff away, mom, what does it look like?" 

She's sarcastic rather than cruel, there isn't a drop of attitude in her whole body. 

"It looks like an explosion," you say. 

"I'm putting stuff away," she insists. 

She's dragged a chair to the cupboard, there's canned food all over the counter, there's a busted bag of macaroni elbows on the stove, and the fridge has been open so long the lights inside have turned off. 

You have to laugh. "Do me another favour?" 

"What do I get?" she asks. 

You pretend to think about it, humming to yourself. "Hm, let's see… a kiss?" 

She shakes her head. 

"A hug?" 

She shakes her head again. 

You tip your face toward Dove's, who babbles an incomprehensible suggestion. "I don't know," you murmur, "I don't think that'll work." 

"What won't work?" Avery asks, a plastic wrapped head of broccoli in her hands. 

"What if… We have cake and ice cream after dinner?" 

"Friday treat?" Avery asks, gasping. 

"But on a Thursday!" you agree, turning your excitement to Dove. "My lovely girls deserve something sweet, I think. And your dad, too." 

Avery narrows her widened eyes into a more 'grown-up' expression, playing it cool like Steve pretends to sometimes. "What's the favour?" 

"You and Dove watch some TV while I make dinner?" 

"That's easy," Avery says.

You beam at her. "Thank you. You're such a good girl. Come here, give me some kisses before you go." 

You kiss Avery until she's groaning about slobbery cheeks and send her and Dove into the living room with a sippy cup of juice and two secret cookies, hoping to distract them for a while. You clean up Avery's mess, and you admit to yourself that she wasn't doing a bad job. Really it was sweet of her to even try. You make dinner, and while the veggies are sautéing you call your boss, Jessica. 

You don't explain, only ask if it'll be okay to take one of your holidays. She's not thrilled to give you one, but she knows you have three girls. 

And so, you have the day off tomorrow. Steve can take a breather. 

You pull the table away from the wall and plate up everybody's dinner one by one. Rather than shout, you do the rounds. 

Avery and Dove are snuggled up together in the middle of the big couch.

"Dinner's ready," you cheer, sweeping Dove into your arms. "Let me go get daddy." 

"I'll do it!" Avery says.

She runs up the stairs and you turn back to the kitchen. Dove hates her high chair, so you elect to have her in your lap, even if that means you don't actually get to eat anything. When Avery appears she's jubilant, hand in Steve's and pulling him through the door. 

"Hey, troopers," you say absentmindedly, focused on spooning mashed veggies into Dove's open mouth. 

"Hey." 

"Stevie, listen, I got the day off tomorrow," you say. 

"What?" 

"You just-" You lift your gaze to meet his. "You looked so tired." 

He stands by the side of your chair and drops a slow, sweet kiss into your temple. "You didn't have to." 

You kind of did. You don't want him to get sick, or — honestly, it's not even about overworking himself. You want him to be happy. Happy, and not overwhelmed. 

You savour the short squeeze he gives your neck. 

After the most pathetic dinner you've ever seen (seriously, your family are sapped), you get cake and ice cream in three bowls and line your girls up in a row on the couch. Nothing steals their attention more than sugar and Sesame Street.  

Finally, finally, you can talk to Steve. 

He sits in the armchair. 

You come to stand in front of him, not shy, but tentative. "Could I-" 

"Shut up. Don't even ask me, or I'm gonna be furious." 

You smile like an idiot and sit yourself down in his lap, careful not to put all your weight on him. He rolls his eyes and twists your around until your back is flush with one of the armchair's arms, legs hanging off of the other, ribs to Steve's stomach. 

"Stevie," you mumble, cupping his cheek, "you okay?" 

He looks as though he might brush it all off. Then, eventually, he confesses, "God, it's been never ending today. Dove- She smashed that weird paperweight from my mom, like, ten minutes after we got home from dropping off the girls, and then she screamed bloody murder when I wouldn't let her touch it." He lets his head rest against yours. "Then the school called me because Bethie forgot-" He sighs. "I forgot to give her clothes for soft play. So we had to get back in the car, and you know how much she hates that car seat. She's been miserable all day, and I didn't eat until you made dinner so I've been miserable, and I hate when I'm like that because it's not her fault." 

You cup his cheek in your hand, tugging his face closer to your own. His arms curl around your waist and he hangs onto you like a life raft. 

"It's not her fault, but it's not your fault either. Don't feel guilty about things you have no hand in, honey." 

His voice goes weak. "I don't want to be that fucking angry dad who's mad and miserable." 

"You're not. You never, ever could be," you say, laughing softly. You scratch his jaw. "I won't say they can't tell when you're upset 'cause we both know they can, but I can promise they know it's not permanent." You angle his face carefully to the girls, where they all sit happy as clams, lips sticky and smiling.

"Angry dad," you repeat. "Babe, you're barely mad. You're tired. It was a bad day." 

"Wasn't all bad. Thank you." 

"We are a team," you whisper, pronouncing each word emphatically. 

"I know. Thanks for being my team," he says. 

You rub your cheek against his collar. "Sorry today sucked, handsome. I swear tomorrow's gonna be better. You don't have to get up in the morning, I'll do drop off and breakfast, and then when you do get up we'll," — you kiss his neck — "spend the whole day doing nothing. Or, you'll do nothing. I'll do laundry." 

"I have to clean the bathroom." 

You kiss his neck again. "I'll do it. Don't worry, baby. I got you. I got you completely. You can write me a list, if you like, but I don't need one. I'll do everything." 

He whines into your neck dramatically. "I don't know how it gets this bad." 

You give him another kiss, another, folding love into each one. 

"I mean, I've been doing this- We've been doing this for six years. Six years," he whispers pointedly, "and I still can't perfect it." 

"Families definitely aren't supposed to be perfect." You suck in a quick breath. "I mean, mine is. My girls, my guy. You're perfect." 

"God." 

"Is there something you need me to do tonight?" you ask gently. "Do you want to go shower?"

He starts to torment you, hands rubbing all over your back and arms, face a heat smushed to the top of your head. "I need you to stay here. Can't remember the last time I got to do this."

You wiggle your feet over the armrest. You're not sure, either. Too long. 

He pushes against your stomach. When you're pregnant Steve's hand may as well be glued to it. Now, though, it's just soft. You'd be insecure if he weren't so loving, and loud about it; he worships you and your body unabashedly. 

You don't know how you feel about having more kids. It's too complicated to hash over tonight, you'll give yourself a migraine. You want more, you want as many as Steve wants, and Steve wants a football team, but you struggle through every pregnancy. Avery's had been terrifying, Beth's had been exhausting, and you'd been so sick and weak during Dove's that Steve had genuinely sat you down and made sure you knew you never, ever had to do it again if you didn't want to. For any reason at all.

But you look at your girls and you get this awful panging longing for more. And wouldn't Steve just adore a baby boy? Wouldn't you?

"You know, we have a pattern going," you say. 

Steve smiles. "What pattern?" 

"Two and a half between Ave and and Beth, two and a bit between Beth and Dove. If we had another one, there would be two and a half between them, too." 

You're not just saying it to lift his mood, and you're not saying it because you definitely know what you want, but it's a conversation you wouldn't mind having. Steve's excited smile is a bonus.

"You want another one?" he asks. 

You stare into his eyes. "I'm not sure, but you do. Right?" 

"You know I do, but it's… it's your decision, it always is." 

Hasn't he told you that a thousand times by now. "Is it really only mine?" 

"You're the one who's at risk. You're the one who has to carry her." 

"Her," you say. "You're so sure it'd be a girl?" 

His laugh is warm where it kisses your cheek. "Pretty sure that's my only mode." 

"I'd want a boy, if we had another one. A boy who looks exactly like you. He would be the most handsome little boy in the world." 

"We can't have more that look like me," he argues, sounding like himself for the first time tonight. "Don't you think two's enough?" 

"No." Easiest answer ever. 

"Seriously? Dove glared at me earlier and it was like looking in the mirror." 

"I love your face, Steve. You know that? I really, genuinely, think you're the most beautiful person I've ever met. Of course I want our kids to look like you." 

Steve raises a hand to your neck and kisses you. You don't remember to close your eyes, he's too quick, and when he pulls away he laughs. "Shut your eyes, weirdo," he demands. 

"What?" he asks amusedly, words reverberating into your lips and tickling you. 

You close them. For your efforts, Steve gives you a handful of quick, close-mouthed pecks that slowly soften, your favourite kind of kissing without getting too handsy.

His lips are a little bit chapped. You make a note to smooth him over with some chapstick tonight, and you laugh at yourself for making a note. 

You don't want him to be insecure. "Just happy, Steve. So happy it's awful." 

He doesn't kiss you anymore than that. You're hoping you can entice him for at least a few more, but Beth has other plans. She slides down the couch and slinks to the armchair, looking very polite as she pauses in front of you. 

You and Steve have the same reaction. Rampant affection. 

"Hello, gorgeous," you say, holding out your arm. 

She struggled to climb up into your lap. 

"I haven't seen you very much today, have I?" you ask, helping her sit on your tummy where Steve's hand had been before. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm okay," she says sweetly. 

"Yeah? You have ice cream on your lip, you want me to wipe it away?"

She nods heavily and closes her eyes. You share a mischievous glance with Steve, and then you lean forward and kiss the corner of her mouth. 

"There," you say when you pull away. 

"Mommy," she mumbles giddily, "that's not wiping." 

"Sorry, I just missed you so much. Think I can have another one? Would that be okay?" 

"Leave some for me," Steve complains. 

Beth ignores him. "You can have-" She trips over the words but keeps going anyhow. "Can have as many as you want, mom." 

"I can?" you ask, delighted, barely waiting before you're pulling her into your chest to press soft little kisses into her chubby cheek. 

"Oh, she's my shy girl," you murmur at her lowered chin. "She's so shy. She has such a pretty face I just can't help it, I gotta kiss it." 

Steve noses along your ear. "'Cause she looks like you." 

You pinch his waist until he's threatening to roll you off him. 

"I'm serious." 

"Think of Beth," you say deadpan, before sinking right back into mom talk. "Me and my girl are having kisses and he's just jealous, right Bethie?" 

"Right," she says. 

Steve groans at such a terrible betrayal and deflates in defeat, his thighs sliding underneath you. "Whatever." 

You take pity on him quickly. Dove will side with you unquestionably, but Avery's about justice, so you psst at her until she turns your way, and you mouth, "Kiss your dad, pretty please" with raised eyebrows. 

She practically throws herself off of the couch and hurtles to the armchair. She's super tall for her age and she doesn't need any help at all to climb up. There's not much room but she makes it work, kneeling on the armrest beside your head, hands vying for her dad's arms. 

He looks up in surprise. "Hey, Avey." 

"Kiss?" she asks. 

Steve simpers. "I knew you were a good egg. Get off of me, mom." 

"No way," you say, squirming in his lap. 

Dove notices what's happening and makes her way to you with an expectant smile. Soon, you've whipped her up into your lap and Steve is submerged in his girls, hands and arms and kisses all over him. 

"Love you, dad," Avery says.

"Love you," you say, pleased with her amazing timing. 

"Love you, daddy," Bethie says, her ear to his heart. 

Dove raises a socked foot up toward him like it is the most important thing she's ever done, a signal for wanting tickles. He has to pull his arm out from where it's sandwiched between you and Avery, scratching the bottom of her foot until she's giggling infectiously. 

"I love you," he says. To all of you, presumably. 

This doesn't last as long as it should. 

"I love you all," he clarifies, "but one of you is crushing my leg." 

It's absolutely you. He's kind for not saying it. 

"Wanna move to the couch? I'll go get us some blankets," you offer, brushing hair from his eyes fondly. 

His eyes squint together ever so slightly. "That would be nice."

—

It had been a day from hell.

Pulling into the driveway of the tiny, two bedroom starter home you and your fiancé, Steve, lived in felt like the finale to a day that would never end. You woke up late for work, managed to spill your coffee all over yourself and had to wear the humiliatingly large coffee stained light blue dress the rest of the day, and you messed up details on a letter that was to be sent out to the entire company.

The day was filled with a few monumental moments followed by small things that just added up throughout the day until you felt as if you'd reach your breaking point upon arriving home.

Clicking the key and pulling it out of the ignition, you stared up at the light cream colored house, willing yourself to not cry. The last thing you needed was to walk through the door and have Steve see you crying.

You navigated your way up the stairs and onto the front porch, pausing at the door to take a couple deep breaths before walking inside. The house was quiet aside from the low murmur of the tv that was on in the living room. You pushed the front door closed with your left arm while tossing your keys onto the small stand near the door. The clinking of the keys against the table top alerted Steve to your arrival.

"Welcome home babe!" Steve shouted from the living room. "How was your day?"

The question caused a lump to form in your throat. You wanted to answer but knew if you did you'd just start crying. It wasn't that you didn't want to cry in front of your own fiancé. The whole day felt like one big stupid mess and crying over it seemed redundant.

"Babe?"

Realizing you zoned out for a moment, you looked up to see the gorgeous brown haired man in front of you, his brows knitting together in concern.

"Are you okay? Did something happen?" Steve asked, stepping closer to you.

The attempt to choke back a sob failed miserably. You dropped your head, eyes squeezing shut as brand new hot tears rolled down your cheeks. Within seconds of shedding your first tear, Steve had his strong arms wrapped around you in a comforting embrace.

"Hey, hey, hey," he whispered. "it's okay, you're okay."

Steve paused the questioning for the moment, opting on letting you cry it out. He cradled you close to his chest, kissing the top of your head then nuzzling his lips and nose against your loosely curled hair. Steve swayed the two of you back and forth slowly as you sobbed.

You felt slightly embarrassed that you started blubbering like a child, but it felt damn good to let it all out after holding it in for the entire day.

Once it seemed like your sobs had slowed and you regulated your breathing, Steve pulled away slightly to make eye contact with you. Tear stained, red cheeks, smudged mascara, you still looked perfect to him.

"Did something happen at work?" he asked.

You huffed at the question. "What didn't happen at work today. It was an awful day. I couldn't get one thing right."

Talking about it urged another small bout of tears to fall down your cheeks again. Steve used his thumbs to wipe them away, a small yet sympathetic smile appeared on his lips.

"Well the day is over, you're home, everything is a-okay." your fiancé reassured you, keeping his arms firmly around your midsection. "You're not fired so I'd say that's a good thing, maybe just a bruised ego and a coffee stained dress?"

Steve's eyes darted down to the obvious stain on your dress then back at you, his small smile growing in size to a more cheeky and goofy grin. His words caused you to smile and chuckle slightly, it was the first time you smiled the entire day.

"Yeah...I guess it could have been worse." you admitted.

"How about I make dinner tonight, your favorite." Steve rubbed the sides of your shoulders with his hands as he spoke.

"Spaghetti bolognese?"

"You got it!" he chirped, kissing you on the lips, holding the kiss for a moment before pulling away. "I love you, even on your worst days."

His words prompted new tears to grow on your waterline, the difference being these tears were happy ones.

"I love you too." you answered, heart fluttering as you spoke.

Steve smiled with a twinkle in his eye hearing your words. "Now go get into some comfy clothes while I prepare dinner. I don't want you to lift a finger tonight." he directed before disappearing into the kitchen.

You move quietly, not wanting to disturb his concentration. You place a few cookies on a plate and pour some milk from the fridge. You'd made snickerdoodles: Steve's favorite.

You pad over to the kitchen table. Steve's back faces you, shoulders curved inwards.

"Baby," you say softly, setting down the snack next to him. "You'll hurt your neck sitting like that."

You slip your hands over his shoulders and dip down to kiss his face and—oh.

You blink. Steve has... glasses?

"Hey," you start. "Where did—"

They're gone in a flash. Steve tears them off and shoves them into his pocket. His cheeks are dusted pink. You frown.

"Why'd you take 'em off, sweetie?"

Steve shakes his head.

"Didn't want you to know."

"Didn't want me to know... you wear glasses? Why not?"

Steve pushes hair behind his ear and fiddles with his pencil.

"'S stupid," he says.

"No," you reply immediately. "It's not stupid if it's making you feel bad. Tell me, baby, please?"

You sit in the adjacent chair and lean in to hold Steve's hand. You squeeze encouragingly. Steve swallows.

"People made fun 'f me," he admits quietly. "My–my dad said only weak men wear glasses."

"What? What the fuck does he know? God, what a—"

You catch yourself. Right. This is about Steve, not his prick father.

"Sorry, honey," you say. "Go on."

Steve shrugs. He's wound tightly, poised like he's ready to bolt any second.

"I've needed glasses since sixth grade. I just didn't wear them 'cause Tommy teased me. And some girls said I looked better without 'em. So I just never wore 'em. But now—" Steve swallows. "I—I guess the stuff with the Upside-Down made my vision worse 'cause the letters are too blurry for me to see without glasses."

Steve stops then. He looks at your neck, not your eyes. You realize he's waiting for you to pass judgment.

"Baby," you say. "Can you show me your glasses?"

Steve looks a little green at the request. You kiss his cheek, petting his face.

"I bet you look really cute," you add. "Bet I'll wanna kiss you till your glasses fog up."

Steve snorts at that.

"Smooth," he says. "Which one of us was the king in high school?"

You grin.

"What're you talking about, Stevie? Obviously, I ruled the school and you got all shy when I charmed your pants off."

Steve really does go shy at that. You prod his arm.

"Please, baby? I promise it's okay. Promise I won't make fun of you or laugh at you. You know I'd never do that."

Steve heaves a sigh. Then he reaches into his pocket and puts on the glasses.

The lenses are a little thick, and make Steve's big eyes even bigger. They're clear, thin frames that sit delicately on Steve's nose.

You have a visceral reaction because holy shit. Whoever said Steve looked ugly in glasses had stew for brains.

"Oh," you breathe.

"What?" Steve panics, reaching for the glasses. "What? They're bad, right? I knew I shouldn't have trusted that guy at the doctor's. He said everybody's wearing these, but—"

You stop him by his wrists. Steve looks at you, eyes wide with confusion.

"You look so good," you say.

Steve's ears go red. He ducks his head.

"You don't—you don't have to say that stuff, Y/N. I know they're dorky and—"

"No, Steve. I—fuck. You're so fucking cute."

You stand and situate yourself on his lap, straddling one thigh. You cup his face, feeling the soft skin.

"Such a pretty boy," you coo. "So, so pretty."

You take him for a proper kiss before he can argue. He follows along clumsily like maybe you really did rule the school instead of him, soft and pliant underneath.

You feel rabid. Of course, you hadn't expected Steve to look ugly in the glasses. Steve is handsome in everything. But...

You pull away. Steve's lips are swollen. His glasses are fogged up. You grin.

"Oh, baby. You've been holding out on me."

You tuck your hands behind his neck and twirl the shorter hairs there. Steve holds your hips, half-lidded.

"They really look good?" he asks, voice a little stronger.

"Yeah, sweetie. They really do. My handsome boy."

Steve swallows hard. You give him a chaste kiss on his nose and then reach behind to bring a cookie to his lips. He pouts.

"Eat," you order.

"But..." Steve openly stares at your lips.

"Eat," you say, leaning in. "And I'll fog up your glasses all you want. 'Kay?"

"can you help me put this on?" you held up the necklace in your hand that steve gently took from you before he moved to stand behind you. you moved your hair out of the way to make it easier for him and the cool metal of the chain of it caused a shiver to go down your spine when it made contact with your skin. "thanks for coming to this with me by the way. i'm sure it won't be all that fun, but it'll be easier with you there."

"of course, sweetheart. you always endure dinner with my shitty parents and make it easier for me so i’m obviously going to join you to a party with your shitty coworkers," steve explained as his eyes were laser-focused on clasping the necklace together.

"alright and..." steve trailed off when he closed the clasp. he was done with what he was asked to do but he couldn't waste the opportunity that you presented him with. he was quick in pressing his lips to your neck, moving forward from the nape of your neck to just below your ear.

"steve!" you squealed when his string of kisses felt more ticklish than anything. you'd let go of your hair and turned to the boy who planted a kiss right on your lips when you did so.

"you look gorgeous, you know that?" your cheeks warmed at his words and you were the one to initiate the next kiss.

"you are the love of my life, steve harrington." his eyes sparkled when they stared into yours.

"and you are mine, y/n y/l/n."

remember to support writers & reblog :)

He chuckles under his breath, looking away and shaking his head before looking back at you. “God, I don’t know how many more of these goddamn parties I’d have survived without you,” he mutters, pressing his forehead against yours as his hands stroke up and down your arms.

“Good job you’ll never have to again,” you grin back, leaning up to kiss him. He wraps his arms around you, one palm splayed out between your shoulder blades and the other on the small of your back. You hum against his lips, pulling back to tease, “Easy, tiger!”

“I warned you,” he grins back as he leans back in for another kiss, which you allow until you can hear the name Steven! being shouted from the floor below. A joint sigh from the two of you. “Ready to be my arm candy for the night?”

You raise your eyebrows at him, “Is that all I am to you?”

“Oh, hang on,” Steve steps away to mime holding a fishing rod, reeling it back in and acting as though he caught a huge fish before holding his hands out to you. “Here. For you,” he smiles sarcastically.

You gasp in mock offence. “You’re a mean one, Mister Harrington!”

He holds your face in his hands, stroking your cheeks with both of his thumbs. “And you’re the most beautiful woman to grace these godawful halls.” With another peck to your lips, his hands reach down to find yours to lead you out of his room and down the stairs. He addresses his parents, “You know, if you want to at least make this whole Happy Family thing believable, you could at least call me Steve like everyone else does.”

His father scoffs, “There’s no respect in nicknames, Steven.”

“Well then, good luck getting my attention. Because I don’t respond to Steven,” he says through gritted teeth as he pushes past them.

“You know, I really hoped you’d have gotten through to him by now, dear,” his mother says to you, her tone more meek than her husband’s yet still just as biting.

Steve marches back to glare at her icily. “You don’t talk to her that way, either.” And with that, he takes your hand and guides you into the kitchen to pour you both a drink. “God, I’m so sorry about them.”

You shrug, “I’m used to them by now. It’s all part of the package, and I far prefer the benefits to that,” you rest your head on his arm as he holds out your drink. “I could have handled them, though.”

“I know,” he coos, “but they’d have only ignored you, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

“How did you get raised by them again?” you ask.

“I didn’t. All this is a result of a nanny called Martha, a maid called Beverly, and a sprinkling of Oscar the gardener,” he chuckles. “But tonight, I am… Full Harrington.” He raises his own glass up high with a sarcastic expression and clinks it with yours.

~~~

“Well, well, and who is this pretty little thing here?” A voice croons from around your shoulder. You get your grimace out of the way while he’s out of your field of vision before turning it into a softer, faker smile. Of course he’s old enough to be your grandfather. Of course his hair is grey and thinning, and he’s covered in liver spots and wrinkles, and his creepy smile is full of dentures. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, who do I have to berate from keeping their sweet daughter away from me?”

With a nervous chuckle, you explain, “Oh, no, my parents aren’t here, I’m actually Steve’s girlfriend.”

“The Harrington boy?” The old man barks out a loud laugh. “Oh, well, what a chip off of the old block he is. Let me guess, you’re one of three he’s got here tonight?”

Your smile starts baring far more teeth than necessary. “Not as far as I know!”

Another laugh, still far too loud. “Ah, what a dog he is. Still, leaving you out all on your own here, that’s not very nice of him, now, is it?” The old man frowns. “Perhaps I ought to, ah, keep you company in the meantime?”

Thankfully, your knight in black-tie armor arrives. “Mr Armstrong! Good to see ya, as always,” Steve’s forced drawl is being pushed through gritted teeth barely faked into a smile. “How’s things at the plant, how’s Melanie doing?”

“This guy!” Mr Armstrong cackles. “Trying to get in good with the ol’ ball and chain by asking about mine, eh? Well, I can kill two birds with one stone there, they’re both a nagging pain in my ass!” You and Steve share resigned glances as he doubles over with laughter.

This sort of thing carries on for the rest of the night. Just absolutely exhaustive conversations with the worst kind of people. Mrs Forbes doesn’t think you and Steve will last if you’re still referring to his parents as Mr and Mrs Harrington, but she doesn’t have any retaliation when you make up something about doing it out of respect. No less than five men make vastly inappropriate comments to you. No less than eight women make it incredibly obvious that they don’t want you here. You try your best to make it clear to them that you don’t, either. 

Steve gets more and more agitated as the night goes on. At first, taking him into a quiet room to cool down is a distraction; it’s fun, it’s flirty, it’s telling him to save this energy for the bedroom, it’s letting him get a little handsy with you before cutting him off and leaving him wanting more. But the more people you’re forced to interact with, the more testy he gets. He’s not just riled up, he’s angry. He wants to defend you, despite you squeezing his hand and silently telling him with your eyes that it’ll all be over soon. He wants to spit in the face of everyone who tells him he’s just like his dad. He wants to tear this goddamned penguin suit off and sit in his room with you and never leave the safety of his bed again.

By the time the last few guests have left, Steve runs up the stairs wordlessly. You follow suit, not wanting to hear whatever degrading debrief the Harringtons have for yours and Steve’s ‘performance’. When you get to Steve’s room, you see him sprawled on the mattress, one wrist still in a buttoned shirt sleeve, his pants undone and halfway down his thighs, as he’s crashed out asleep. With a gentle smile, you gently and lovingly strip him down to his underwear, before washing the make-up off of your face, getting changed into an old Hawkins HIgh gym set of his and climbing into bed with him. Even in his deep slumber, he still wraps his arms around you the moment your bodies touch. You move his hair away from his forehead to kiss it before sleeping next to him.

“Hmm, good morning, beautiful,” the gravelly, sleepy tone of your boyfriend fills your ears as you stir. Blindly tilting your head up, Steve meets you by leaning down to kiss you sweetly. You pull him down, silently guiding him to straddle you, but he laughs against your lips. “Easy, tiger,” he mutters, an obvious quip from you telling him the same thing the night before. “Gotta clean up today. Mom and Dad always order way too much food, all the non-alcoholic drinks don’t get touched, so they want it all thrown out. May as well get it over with.”

You frown, “Didn’t you have staff on all night? Oh god, I’m one of them,” you look away from Steve, horrified, but he brings your gaze back to him with a finger push to the jaw and a chuckle.

“You could never.” He presses a single peck to your lips. “But why pay someone to do it when your spawn could do it for free?” He pulls a face. 

You pause to think for a moment, and then tap his bicep. “Why don’t you leave all of that for now? Just go get showered, I wanna see something.”

He grins slowly, “What do you have planned?”

“Just you wait,” you mirror him.

~~~

The sound of a singular trumpet blare echoes through the Harrington household. Robin lowers her instrument and nods to Eddie, the both of them wearing matching tuxedos, as Eddie then bellows, “Introducing the latest arrivals, Master Sinclair and Miss Mayfield!”

In come Steve’s friends Lucas and Max, Lucas wearing a suit that’s a horrific shade of yellow, and Max wearing a dress in a similar shade but that’s obviously a size or two too large. Still, they play their part by sticking their noses high in the air as they prance in. “Oh, hello, Master Harrington and your, ah, little friend,” Lucas sneers in an over-the-top posh voice.

“Apologies for us being so late, there were some dastardly little peasants on the road, I insisted Lucas here simply run the little roaches over, but somebody decided he just had to stop for them,” Max plays her part beautifully. You have to duck behind Steve’s back so as not to make them break character with your laughter.