i saw that you asked for requests and i also saw that you wrote some nikolai stories based on taylor's songs (i loved). so you could write something based on wilders dreams or you are in love or call it what you want, you choose pls
MY BRAND yes of course i can.
and you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars...
“marry me.”
you shook your head. while any other girl would likely collapse onto the cobblestones had they the pleasure of hearing those words from the king, you would not. you could not. the possibility of accepting his proposal was a lie you no longer could afford.
“i have a certain inclination to your use of words, darling,” nikolai caught up to your strides easily, “without them, you answers are so very unclear.”
you stopped your pace, shutting your eyes. obviously, nikolai only meant to try and persuade you of his reasoning. he was unaware of how the repetition further shattered the pieces of your heart.
“stop asking,” you requested unevenly, “i cannot marry you because i cannot be a queen.”
“cannot or will not?” nikolai dropped his calm disposition. his words now swam through endless seas of exasperation.
eyes widening at his assumption, you glared, “your people will not accept a grisha on the throne. they will not make an exception for love because they cannot understand how such a thing between you and i could exist.”
albeit offended, nikokai softened, “and i wish i could do more to protect you but even i am unable to offer you reprieve from your own doubts.”
however bold or brash his words seemed, you took them because there was no other conceivable explanation. you refused to argue with him further, not when your remaining moments were already beginning to slip away.
“you have too much hope in the world.”
nikolai scoffed, knocking his shoulder into yours. you saw through his sly smirk and glowing grin, and he knew it. the fox could hide away from just about anybody but never you—not that he ever wanted to.
so, he would pretend for a minute or two, rile you up with his plethora of personalities. then, he would sober up, resounded to your ability to penetrate his defenses. your keen awareness of every notch in his armor, every foothold to climb his fortress, both aggravated and comforted him simultaneously.
“somebody has to,” he chided you, content to snake an arm around your waist and pull you flush against his side, “i don’t want to forget.”
“forget what?” you questioned, turning to face him more fully as a soft pout formed on your features.
“that i have this,” he motioned to your entwined limbs, “you,” he kissed your forehead, “to come back to. i only ever hoped my heart would find its home.”
you stilled. surely, an artist from above could have captured the moment perfectly because of it. they would have to gently shade your individual silhouettes into one, execute the softness of his gaze, and reproduce the muted lighting with watercolor.
you liked to organize your life into two categories; there was the before nikolai lantsov and the after him. before saltwater became the first thing to invade your senses in the mornings, you would have set fire to the bridge of any desperate man’s creation. after you learned to never assume anything impossible, you willingly gave up a piece of your heart to the most lovesick of them all. the one you simply could not have.
gingerly grabbing ahold of his fingers, you aimed to kiss the tip of each one. as always, he pulled away before allowing you to complete your objective. with a frown, you ran your thumb over his cheek.
“i only got to six. none of that,” you minded him with a calm look, “sobachka,” you began to warn him. 
“it’s more than five,” he commented with a reference to the day before. quickly, he kissed you to remove any possibility of a retort. you could not escape his lips even if you intended to try, which you did not.
the need for air ultimately pulled you away from nikolai. you frowned discontentedly his way, still frustrated by his actions. you understood his insecurities and accepted the validity of his feelings, but it did not ease the pain of watching him crumble before your eyes.
“my love,” you urged, “i have never understood many things and ended up running,” you held him off with a look, “but i want to stay and learn every part of you.”
bashful, he tucked his head into your neck.
“you have to spare some hope for yourself,” you said softly, leaning your head onto his.
he groaned, indicative of him sourly acknowledging your truth. you turned to kiss his temple, giving your lips the respite to linger just beneath his curls. you sucked in a breath when he responded with one of his own, planted upon the column of your throat. tender yet unexpected.
“but i want you to have it,” he responded, careful to inject the appropriate dose of his personality to make you smile without doubt of his sincerity being a means of withdrawal from the subject.
rolling your lips into your mouth, you melted under his gaze and into his arms, “okay.”
he smiled as radiantly as the sun, with a blush to match the artistry of it setting. you thought you could stay in that moment with him, that not even he could carry you to the next quite yet. you should have known better to predict his unpredictable behavior.
“so,” he drew out, “marry me, then.”
“nik-,” you breathed, fighting a losing battle with a smile of your own. his persistence did not force you to agree, rather charmed you to.
“no!” he cut off deliberately, “no,” the delivery of his words now intentionally softer.
“nikolai,” you enunciated, “if i’m a queen,” you caught the exact second light filtered back into his eyes, “i will never have you again in the same way—not how i do now, at least.”
“i don’t understand,” he frowned between his mumble of the phrase.
“we will be closer than ever before,” you voiced, “but i fear that could push us further apart than we have ever been,” you expressed with a sunken tone.
not letting you pull away either emotionally or physically, he took you into his arms. already feeling more grounded, you breathed in his scent of sea and pine. he was all around you, and it was enough.
“i could never not love you,” he countered.
“that’s not what i’m saying,” you refuted, “but what if you don’t like me anymore? after we are stressed and overwhelmed and stubbornly disagreeing?”
nikolai giggled, kissing every inch of your face, “i like every single piece of you,” his thumbs slipped down your cheeks and onto your throat, pushing your head back for further access, “i like you more than any travel i have been on, any adventure i have sought, and more than any squabble we might face.”
looking up at him under a thick set of eyelashes, you quirked a crooked smile, “really?”
“oh, yes,” he divulged, “i like you more than anyone else—even myself,” he began to taunt you, “and i happen to like myself quite a bit.”
“fine,” you relented with a light sigh, “let me show you just how much i like you and i’ll be your queen.”
a smirk stretched across his face but before he could dip his head to yours, you grabbed his hands away from your neck.
“i like you,” you began with a breath, leaning forward to kiss each of his fingertips, “one, two, three,” you continued as he watched you delicately, “eight, nine, ten.”
blinking rapidly, his gaze softened, “don’t be my queen,” nikolai mouthed, a single breath away from your lips, “continue to be my best friend, the woman i look for in every room, the reason time moves way too fast.”
“thank you for sharing your hope with me,” you spoke and drew your lips in a straight line, “thank you for letting me be in love with you.”
“i never let you do anything,” he began to sway, “could only hope you would keep coming back.”
“i’m in love with you,” you insisted, “and i happen to like that very much.”
song; king of my heart [taylor swift] pairing; duke!mattheo riddle x baron’s daughter!fem!bookworm!reader genre; arranged marriage, fluff, angst, hurt comfort, s2l word count; 11,2k timeline; bridgerton au warnings; minor character death, talk of death, minor character terminal illness, minor character severe injury (involving blood), abusive parents (verbal, neglect, vaguely implied physical), patriarchal gender roles, misogyny, implied ptsd, trauma-related nightmares (nothing graphic), verbal conflict summary; your refusal of marriage led your father to relinquish permission for you to choose your own husband, allowing him to make the decision himself and ensure the most status and wealth possible. the problem? the man he chose for you was closed off and arrogant
this is my longest oneshot yet so buckle yourself up!
masterlist
“i made up my mind, i’m better off being alone.”
————————————————
Your father hadn’t been pleased with you the last couple of years, as you had refused to attend the many balls of the engagement season. Marriage was not within your interests, no, your interests were with the shelves upon shelves of books in your family estate’s library.
Of course, that did not matter to Baron D/N, as in his mind a daughter should only be at home until she is of marrying age, at which point she moves to her husband’s estate. You despised the patriarchal traditions of your society, but because of those very same traditions, you could do little to change the matter.
“Y/N,” he spoke to you at dinner one night, sat far away from you on the industrial-sized table, “Due to your refusal to find a husband, I have had no choice but to find one for you.”
Your eyes snapped up to him in shock, and you felt the anger in your fingers as they clutched your cutlery tightly.
Keep reading
sam’s reveal at the end makes this a thousand times funnier
Girls just wanna
❎ have fun
✅ fulfill witches' prophecy and become king
Y/N: I know the Bible talks about forgiveness
Thanos:
Y/N: But Jesus would hold my purse while I absolutely kicked your ass.
Just remember guys they're fucking kids.
Ass' Ear- Comfrey
Bat's Wing- Holly Leaves
Beard Of Monk- Chicory
Bear's Foot- Lady's Mantle
Bird's Eye- Germander or Speedwell
Blind Eyes- Poppy
Blood From a Head- Lupine
Blood Of Ares- Purslane
Blood Of Hestia- Chamomile
Bloody Fingers- Foxglove
Calf's Snout- Snapdragon
Cat's Foot- Ground Ivy
Crow's Foot- Wood Anemone
Devil's Ear- Jack In The Pulpit
Devil's Plaything- Yarrow
Dew Of the Sea- Rosemary
Dog's Mouth- Snapdragon
Dragon's Teeth- Vervain
Elf Leaf- Lavender
Englishman's Foot- Common Plantain
Fairy Eggs- Nutmeg
Flower Of Death- Vinca
Goose Tongue- Lemon Balm
Graveyard Dust- Mullein
Hawk's Heart- Wormwood
Juno's Tears- Vervain
Jupiter's Beard- Sempervivums
Lion's Foot- Lady's Mantle
Little Faces- Viola
Man's Bile- Turnip Sap
Mortification Root- Rose of Sharyn
Nose Of Turtle- Turtlehead, Chelone
Nosebleed- Yarrow
Our Lady's Tears- Lily Of The Valley
Old Man's Flannel- Mullein
Ram's Head- Valerian
Scale Of Dragon- Tarragon
Semen Of Ares- White Clover
Semen Of Hermes- Dill
Serpent's Tongue- Dog's Tooth Violet
Sparrow's Tongue- Knotweed
Tree Of Doom- Elder
Unicorn Root- Boneset
Weasel Snout- Yellow Archangel
Wool Of Bat- Moss
Eye- Blossom or Seed
Heart- Bud or Seed
Beak, Bill or Nose- Seed, Bud or Bloom
Tongue or Teeth- Petal or Leaf
Head- Blossom
Tail- Stem
Hair- Dried Herbs or Stringy Parts Of Herbs
Privates, Genitals Or Semen- Seeds Or Sap
Blood- Sap
Guts- Roots or Stalk
Paw, Foot, Leg, Wing or Toe- Leaves
Toad- Sage
Cat- Catmint
Dog- Grasses, Specifically Couchgrass
Frog- Cinquefoil
Eagle- Wild Garlic
Blue Jay- Laurel
Hawk- Hawkweed
Lamb-Wild Lettuce
Nightengale- Hops
Rat- Valerian
Weasel- Rue
Woodpecker- Peony
Tizzberg is an online social community website for people who have untold stories in their heads. By pretending to be one of the characters you created, we talk and share our inner worlds, engage with others’ stories, and explore ourselves through our imaginations. We commit to building a warm and nice community for every solitary soul - Welcome to Tizzeberg!
★ Warnings: dad!steve, mom!reader, husband!steve, fem!reader, no use of y/n, established marriage, domestic fluff, mentions of parenting and child behavior, playful family banter, holiday traditions, mild chaos caused by kids, Steve being the ultimate dad, tender family moments, sweet kisses, references to Home Alone, soft nostalgia, and an abundance of Christmas warmth.
★ Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, 1995, and the Harrington family is in full holiday mode. Between their six-year-old son Ethan’s endless questions, their four-year-old daughter Sadie’s knack for causing adorable mischief, and Steve’s playful dad jokes, the night is full of warmth and laughter. 3k
★ Pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader
★ Fic Inspiration: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” - Frank Sinatra (again)
★ Dividers: thank you to @bernardsbendystraws for the adorable divider, it’s greatly appreciated!
★ Author’s Note: husband and dad steve harrington. goodness. anyways this should be the last Christmas and overall fic of the year (be on the look out for new year’s day) unless i get inspiration again. this is horribly messy and terribly written but nonetheless enjoy!
Snow fell steadily outside the Harrington home, muffling the usual sounds of Hawkins under a thick, sparkling blanket.
The rooftops were capped in white, the snowdrifts shimmering under the glow of streetlamps. Icicles hung from the edges of the roof, catching the twinkle of the colorful Christmas lights that Steve had painstakingly strung up a week ago, with the help of 6 year old Ethan’s enthusiastic, yet, chaotic help.
Each light blinked in perfect rhythm, painting the snow below in shifting hues of red, green, and gold. Through the fogged-up windows, the warm golden light of the Christmas tree spilled onto the lawn, offering a glimpse of the cozy world within.
Inside, the kitchen was a war zone of holiday cheer. Flour clung to nearly every surface—the countertops, the floor, and even the stool where little 4 year old Sadie stood, perched like a determined little artist. It dusted the tip of her nose and her wild curls, making her look like a miniature mad scientist as she meticulously squeezed green frosting onto a gingerbread man.
Her tongue poked out in focused concentration, her small hands gripping the frosting tube as if her life depended on it. Beside her, an array of cookies lay half-finished on the counter, buried under uneven layers of sprinkles and frosting swirls. Each one was a testament to her boundless creativity, if not her precision.
“Santa loves sprinkles,” Sadie declared with absolute certainty, her little face scrunched in concentration as she scooped a generous handful of the colorful confetti-like decorations from the nearest bowl.
The sprinkles scattered across the gingerbread man with wild abandon, tumbling off the edges and onto the counter, onto the floor, and even into the air, as if they were little bursts of festive confetti.
“Santa doesn’t want to eat cookies that are all sprinkles,” Ethan countered from across the counter, his voice dripping with the kind of exasperation only a six-year-old with a perfectionist streak could muster.
He was working on a star-shaped cookie, his movements precise, deliberate. The tiny silver balls he was placing on the edges of the cookie were perfectly symmetrical, each one spaced exactly the same distance apart, as though he were an engineer and this cookie was his blueprint.
Sadie, undeterred, shot her brother a sideways glance, her lips twisting into a defiant pout. “Santa loves all cookies!” she shot back, her voice high and firm, as if daring him to challenge her further. She grabbed another handful of sprinkles, her tiny fingers clumsily but lovingly adding them to her gingerbread creation with a look of pure determination in her eyes.
Steve, who had been quietly observing the sibling exchange from his spot leaning against the fridge, let out a low chuckle, his arms crossed loosely across his chest. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched his children, clearly entertained by the growing battle of wills between his two little ones. “You know, Sadie,” he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm, “I think Ethan might have a point. That gingerbread guy looks like he just survived an explosion at a sprinkle factory.”
Sadie gasped dramatically, clutching the cookie to her chest as if Steve had just insulted her entire artistic vision. “He’s festive, Daddy!” she protested, her eyes wide with faux horror. “Santa will think he’s beautiful!”
Steve raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, alright. Festive, got it. You win, kiddo,” he said, backing off, but his smile never faded.
You glanced up from where you were carefully transferring a fresh batch of cookies onto the cooling rack. You’d been absorbed in your task, the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla filling the room, but the sounds of your kids’ banter had been too amusing to ignore. You shot a smirk over at Steve, catching the tail end of his playful exchange with Sadie. “Don’t encourage them, Steve,” you said, your voice a mix of amusement and mock exasperation. “This kitchen already looks like a bomb went off in a bakery.”
Steve turned to you with that familiar, mischievous grin that always seemed to pull at your heartstrings. He pushed off the counter and sauntered over, his presence a comforting warmth that seemed to fill the space between you. As he reached you, he slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you close, his chin resting on your shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck, his lips soft against your skin.
“Oh, come on," he said, his voice a playful murmur, "It's Christmas. A little chaos is good for the soul."
The warmth of his touch and the affection in his kiss made your heart flutter, but before you could respond, you heard a chorus of groans from behind you.
"Eww, Daddy, gross!" Ethan wrinkled his nose, his six-year-old voice full of dramatic disapproval. Sadie was standing beside him, her eyes wide as she tugged at his sleeve, mimicking his disgust.
"Yeah, gross!" she added, her voice just as playful, though her face was scrunched in exaggerated annoyance. "Get a room!"
Steve pulled back slightly, his smile widening as he laughed. "Hey, you two can't appreciate true love yet," he teased, raising an eyebrow at them. "When you're older, you'll understand."
You chuckled, shaking your head as you met Ethan’s wide-eyed gaze, his expression a mix of surprise and genuine concern.
"They're right, Daddy," you teased. "We'll have to save the romance for later."
"Yeah, later!" Sadie agreed with a dramatic sigh, making a show of fanning herself with one hand, as if the display of affection had been too much to handle.
Steve gave a mock sigh of defeat, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer for another kiss, this time to the top of your head. "Guess we'll have to keep it PG for a little while, huh?" he murmured with a playful grin, his voice soft but full of affection.
As you hold onto his arms that wrap around you, the warmth of his embrace grounding you, you couldn't help but smile at the chaotic love that surrounded you. The kids' teasing, the laughter, and the warmth in the room-all of it felt like exactly what you needed. It was chaotic, but it was perfect.
The kitchen was, indeed, a disaster—sprinkles everywhere, frosting streaked across the table, and flour footprints leading from the counter to the floor. And yet, in the midst of the mess, there was something so perfectly Christmas about it all. You couldn’t help but shake your head fondly at the sight of your two children, Sadie with her chaotic artistic flair and Ethan with his precision, both creating their own little pieces of holiday magic in their own ways.
You let out a soft sigh, your heart swelling with a mix of warmth and contentment. This was your life now—messy, loud, and filled to the brim with joy. The kind of joy that came from every moment spent together, it was imperfect, but it was yours. And you wouldn’t change a thing.
“I suppose a little chaos is good for the soul,” you muttered, leaning into Steve’s embrace, your back resting against his torso. “But we’ll have to clean it all up before Santa comes.”
Steve’s grin widened as he kissed the top of your head. “Deal,” he said softly, his voice warm, full of affection. “But for now, let’s just enjoy it.”
And in that moment, amidst the mess, the laughter of your kids, and the hum of Christmas music playing softly in the background, you truly did. You couldn’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas Eve.
By the time the last batch of cookies had cooled, the kids had moved on to decorating with gusto. Sadie was a whirlwind of frosting and sprinkles, her hands sticky but her smile wide. Ethan’s creations, on the other hand, could have been featured in a magazine—each one neat, symmetrical, and perfect in its own way.
“Do you think Santa will like mine better?” Ethan asked as he placed a gingerbread snowman carefully on the plate.
“Santa loves everything,” you replied diplomatically, shooting Steve a look that warned him not to stir the pot.
“He’ll love Sadie’s too,” Steve added, crouching down to examine one of her creations. “Especially this one. It’s, uh… very colorful.”
Sadie beamed, clearly taking this as the highest of compliments.
Once the cookies were arranged on a plate, along with a glass of milk, the four of you moved into the living room. Ethan darted ahead to claim the best spot on the couch, while Sadie grabbed her stuffed reindeer and curled up in Steve’s lap.
Steve held up a VHS tape like it was a trophy. “Tonight’s pick: Home Alone.”
Ethan pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!”
Sadie giggled, clutching her reindeer tightly. “Kevin’s so funny!”
You settled onto the couch next to Ethan, draping a blanket over your lap as Steve popped the tape into the VCR. The kids quieted as the familiar opening music began, their eyes glued to the screen.
The living room was warm and cozy, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. The Christmas tree lights cast colorful patterns across the walls, and the faint scent of pine mingled with the sugary sweetness lingering from the kitchen.
As Kevin McCallister navigated his hijinks, Sadie giggled uncontrollably at the Wet Bandits’ antics, her laughter ringing through the room. Ethan, meanwhile, provided a running commentary.
“They’re so silly,” he said, shaking his head as Harry slipped on the icy stairs for the third time. “Why don’t they just give up?”
“That’s not the point, buddy,” Steve replied, chuckling. “They’re supposed to be silly. It’s funny.”
“Kevin’s really brave,” Sadie whispered, clutching her reindeer as Kevin faced off against the burglars. “He’s all alone, but he’s not scared.”
You smoothed her curls with a gentle hand. “He’s smart too, just like you.”
Steve caught your eye, his expression softening as he smiled at you. These moments—the quiet, ordinary ones—were the ones he cherished most.
By the time the credits rolled, Sadie was fast asleep in Steve’s lap, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of his sweater. Ethan was valiantly trying to stay awake, but his head kept nodding forward, his stubbornness no match for his exhaustion.
Steve glanced down at Sadie, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Looks like it’s bedtime for these two.”
You nodded, sharing a glance with Steve as you both made your way toward the kids. Without a word, you reached down to gently lift Ethan into your arms. He squirmed slightly, grumbling under his breath, but didn’t protest as you settled him against your chest, his head resting on your shoulder. Steve, in turn, scooped up Sadie with ease, her small body curling instinctively into his hold. She mumbled something incoherent, her voice muffled by sleep, but didn’t wake as he cradled her against him.
The two of you made your way upstairs in comfortable silence, each step echoing softly through the house. It felt like a peaceful rhythm, this simple act of carrying your kids to bed, a reminder of how much you both cherished these little moments.
You reached Ethan’s room first, carefully lowering him into his bed. He groggily shifted under the covers, his sleepy eyes flicking up at you with a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. You helped him into his pajamas, smoothing out the fabric with a practiced hand before tucking him under the covers.
“Do you think Santa’s gonna like the cookies?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep but still filled with that unmistakable childlike wonder.
Steve, who had followed you into the room, chuckled softly as he leaned against the doorframe. “He’s gonna love them. Especially that one with all the sprinkles,” he said, grinning.
Ethan let out a small giggle, his eyes already fluttering closed. “Good,” he mumbled, his face relaxing into sleep as he drifted off, his soft breathing the only sound in the room.
Meanwhile, Steve took Sadie to her room. As soon as he placed her on her bed, she curled up into her blankets, her little reindeer toy tucked under her arm. She sighed contentedly as he adjusted the covers around her, kissing her forehead gently.
“Goodnight, lovebug,” you whispered from the doorway, watching the tender moment unfold.
Sadie mumbled something sleepy and incoherent, her eyes fluttering closed as she snuggled deeper into her pillow. “Goodnight,” she whispered back, her voice already soft with sleep.
As you and Steve stood in the doorway for a moment, watching your kids drift off into peaceful slumber, a sense of quiet satisfaction settled over you both. The house was still, the Christmas lights outside casting a gentle glow through the windows. Everything felt right. You turned to Steve, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “They’re going to be so excited when they wake up tomorrow.”
He nodded, his arm naturally finding its way around your waist as you both quietly left the room. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’ll be up before the sun is,” he said, his voice a mixture of amusement and fondness.
You smiled up at him, leaning into his side as the two of you headed back downstairs, the soft hum of Christmas music filling the air around you. It was a quiet night, just the two of you, in the calm after the chaos. And as the two of you settled back into the warmth of the living room, the love and laughter of the night still lingering in the air, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. Christmas was here, and your family was exactly where they belonged.
“Think they’ll notice if we eat one?” Steve asked, breaking off a corner of a gingerbread man with a playful grin. He popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly as if savoring the moment.
You looked at him over the top of the cookie jar, raising an eyebrow. “Not unless you want to explain why there are bites taken out of the cookies they spent hours decorating.”
Steve shrugged, his eyes glinting with mischief as he reached for another cookie. “Eh, they’ll never know. Besides, Santa can always come up with his own cookies.”
You smirked, swatting his hand away as you grabbed one for yourself. “I’m pretty sure Santa’s going to have a sugar high with how much we’ve put out for him.”
He laughed, popping a piece of cookie into his mouth. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. I mean, we’ve done all the hard work, haven’t we?”
You took a bite of your own cookie, sighing in contentment. “True. These are way better than store-bought.”
Steve’s grin widened as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “I think we’ve officially earned it. We’re doing all the Christmas magic around here.”
You laughed as Steve pulled you into his arms as the fire crackled softly behind you. The glow of the Christmas tree bathed the room in warmth, and Frank Sinatra’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” played faintly in the background.
As you leaned against him, the quiet of the moment settled over you like a blanket.
"This is it, you know," Steve said suddenly, his voice low and serious. His eyes were soft, distant in a way, as if he were taking in the entire scene-the glowing lights, the quiet of the house, the warmth of it all.
You looked up at him, your eyebrows furrowing slightly. "What is?" you asked, curious but not entirely sure what he meant.
"This," he said again, his gaze sweeping across the room, lingering for a moment on the kids' cookies on the counter, the half-empty mugs of hot chocolate, the soft Christmas lights casting a warm glow over the space. Then, his gaze landed back on you, his expression tender.
“The kids, the house, you. Everything I ever wanted. It's right here."
The way he said it-so genuine, so full of admiration-caught you off guard. Your chest tightened with emotion, and for a moment, you couldn't find the right words.
You reached up instinctively, cupping his cheek, feeling the stubble there beneath your palm, the warmth of him as you held him close.
"You deserve it, Steve," you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. "Every bit of it." You didn't need to elaborate. You knew what he meant.
Steve's gaze softened even further, a look in his eyes you could only describe as reverent.
Slowly, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as if savoring the feeling of being with you in this quiet, perfect moment. When he pulled back, he looked at you, his eyes filled with something deeper, something that made your heart swell.
"I don't know how I got so lucky," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"But I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for this. For us." His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you gently against him. He didn't rush it, just held you there, his lips grazing against yours in a kiss that was soft, slow-like he was trying to memorize the feeling of being close to you.
You smiled, your chest tight with affection. "I love you.”
There was a quiet stillness between you both, a peacefulness that wrapped around you like the softest blanket. The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of Christmas music drifting from the speakers and the distant sound of snow falling outside. But in this moment, nothing else mattered.
You were together. The life you had, the love you shared-it was everything, and it was yours.
Steve's hand gently brushed the back of your neck, and he kissed you again, his lips soft, lingering. It was a kiss that said more than words ever could-more than any ‘thank you' or 'I love you' could ever express.
You had everything. And you wouldn't change a single thing.
thank you so much for reading! please like/reblog or comment if you did, it would be greatly appreciated. have a great day and a happy holidays!!
the amazing spiderman.
lost backpacks. lab explosions. comic books. parkour. sarcasm. quick quips. exclamation points. breaking the fourth wall. science puns. skateboarding. late night patrols. skyscraperdiving. film cameras. layered clothing. fake glasses. no one seems to grasp the concept of the mask. record stores. record player. uncle ben’s vinyl collection. webshooters. naps on web-hammocks near the ceiling. phone out of battery.
[marvel masterlist]