Steve’s Dad Is The Kind Of Guy Who Would Have A Kid With Another Woman And Leave The Baby With Steve

Steve’s dad is the kind of guy who would have a kid with another woman and leave the baby with Steve to take care of. Unknowingly, to his dad, Steve is hiding Eddie Munson in his loft. His dad just dropped the baby off and left. That's when Eddie decided to wake up from his nap. He stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and his hair a mess. He was missing a sock. Steve stood at the counter with a baby on his hip.

"Oh, good, honey, I'm glad you're up. I think it's your turn to take care of our baby," Steve said.

"What the fuck? How long was I asleep for? Am I still awake?" Eddie asked.

"I think someone must have wished really hard because now we have a baby," he said sarcastically, messing with Eddie.

"Oh my God!"

Eddie was panicking. This was his fault. Stupid. He just had to go and imagine Steve with his baby, a baby that looks just like Steve. Of course, magic was real. The Upside Down was real. Eddie wondered if a fairy happened to be passing by when he made his wish.

"I'm sorry, Stevie, this is all my fault!" Eddie exclaimed.

"It's your fault that my dad passed off his child he had with another woman for me to raise?" Steve asked with amusement.

The little girl started making grabby hands at Eddie.

"Oh yeah, that makes more sense. Your dad is a dick, man. Ugh. Also, you cannot fuck with me when I just woke up," Eddie said rubbing sleep from his eye.

"Mama!"

"Oh yeah, you do kind of look like her!" Steve giggled. "He had the decency to leave a picture of her for Rosie."

"Fuck off, Harrington. Look, I'm not your mama, kid," Eddie said.

"Mama?" She looked at him with big, watery eyes and a pouty lip.

"Aww, you hurt her feelings!"

"Ah, hell, come here," Eddie said and took the baby. "I'm sorry, but - "

"Mama!" Rosie exclaimed and started bouncy on his hip. "Mama! Mama! Mama!"

"Okay, question, since she brought it up, where is her mother in all of this?" Eddie asked.

"Abandoned her," Steve replied.

"Damn, kid, doesn't she know how cute you are?" Eddie asked. "Okay, if you're going to call me something, why not Dada? I'm a dude, Rosie."

"Mama!" Rosie said firmly.

"Dada."

"Mama!"

"Dada!"

"Mama!"

"Eddie, you're arguing with a baby," Steve explained.

"Dada!" Rosie said, looking at Steve.

"Oh, well, it looks like you got your wish after all, Eddie," Steve said. "We do have a baby."

"I hate you."

A few days later, the party had been gathered together to meet Rosie. Eddie was bouncing her on his hip, cooing at her.

"Mama!" Rosie grinned happily and grabbed his face.

"Yeah, that's right, I'm your mama!" Eddie said happily.

"Eddie, you're a guy. You can't be her mother," Dustin said.

"Aww, my little Rosie-roo, Uncle Dusty didn't mean that," Eddie scowled at him. "I am your mama."

Eddie blew a raspberry at Dustin, and Rosie followed suite, dimples appearing as she poked her little tongue out. Steve came into the room and Rosie squealed.

"Dada!" Rosie exclaimed.

"Man, I thought for sure that Steve would be the mom in this relationship," Mike said.

"We all did, Mike," Lucas said, slapping him on the back. "We all did."

More Posts from Queen-honeybee-stories and Others

9 months ago

When Zac Was Born 《Canon to Lazarus Serum》

When Zac Was Born 《Canon To Lazarus Serum》
When Zac Was Born 《Canon To Lazarus Serum》
When Zac Was Born 《Canon To Lazarus Serum》
When Zac Was Born 《Canon To Lazarus Serum》

Pairings: New Born Dad, Steve Rogers x His Newborn Son Summary: The first time Steve held his son after Y/N gavebirth in the hospital. A/N: This is been sitting in my drafts for waaaaay too long, didn't want it to rot.

When Zac Was Born 《Canon To Lazarus Serum》

Steve Rogers stood in the quiet hospital room, his newborn son nestled in his arms. The soft glow from the bedside lamp bathed the room in a gentle light. Y/N was fast asleep, exhausted but peaceful, her chest rising and falling in steady breaths. She had given everything in the delivery room, and now she rested, trusting Steve to keep watch over their little miracle.

Zac Anthony Rogers.

Steve looked down at his son, still marveling at the small, warm weight cradled against his chest. His son looked so tiny in his arms, almost too small to believe. Steve’s large hands, roughened from years of battle, now felt clumsy and oversized as he held the fragile little boy. The baby's head fit perfectly in the palm of Steve's hand, his body barely taking up any space in Steve’s muscular arms. How could something so small already hold so much of his heart?

The baby shifted slightly, his face scrunching up in sleep before settling again. Steve chuckled softly. Even though he was wrapped tightly in a blanket, snug and secure, the baby was still so small, so vulnerable, like he could be swept away by the world at any moment if Steve didn’t keep him safe.

"Hey there, little man," Steve whispered, brushing a thumb gently over his son’s soft cheek. The baby’s skin was impossibly delicate under his touch, so smooth it seemed unreal. "It’s me, your dad."

The word still felt new to him—Dad. Steve had been a soldier, a hero, a leader—but this? This was something else entirely. 

This was a love and responsibility that nothing could prepare him for. And yet, somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to have his son in his arms, even if his boy looked so tiny, so small compared to Steve’s solid frame.

The baby made a soft, contented noise in response, and Steve’s heart melted. He pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead, marveling at just how small and fragile his son felt against him. His eyes flicked over to Y/N, and he smiled softly at her. She had done so much to bring this little boy into the world, and Steve couldn’t have been prouder of her strength.

Just then, the soft shuffle of footsteps caught Steve's attention, and he looked up as a nurse entered the room. She gave him a kind smile, clearly seeing the awe in his eyes.

"How’s everything going?" she asked in a gentle whisper, glancing at Y/N asleep and then at the baby in Steve’s arms.

Steve smiled back, his gaze dropping to his son. "I still can’t believe it."

The nurse nodded, stepping closer to peer at the baby. "He’s a beautiful boy. You’re doing great, Dad."

Dad. There was that word again. It still sent a thrill through him.

The nurse hesitated for a moment, then tilted her head thoughtfully. "Would you like to try some skin-to-skin contact with him? It’s great for bonding, and he’ll love hearing your heartbeat up close."

Steve blinked, taken aback by the offer. Skin-to-skin? That was something he knew Y/N had done earlier with their son, but he hadn’t considered that he could do it too. He glanced down at the tiny bundle in his arms, his son so small, so new, and then back at the nurse, feeling a flicker of uncertainty.

"I—uh, is it okay for me to do that?" he asked, his voice soft and unsure.

The nurse smiled warmly, nodding. "Absolutely. Skin-to-skin is important for dads too. It helps the baby feel safe and secure. Plus, it’ll be a moment just for the two of you."

Steve looked down at his son again, the idea slowly settling in his heart. He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

"Yeah. I’d like that."

The nurse helped him carefully unwrap the baby from the blanket, and then Steve shrugged off his shirt, feeling a bit awkward but excited. His bare chest felt cool against the air, but as soon as his son was placed against his skin, everything changed. The warmth of his tiny body, the soft weight, the way the baby’s cheek pressed gently against him—it all hit Steve like a tidal wave.

He held his son close, his large hands gently supporting the baby’s head and back. His son looked even smaller now, his tiny body barely covering Steve’s chest, like he could be lost in the broad expanse of Steve’s torso. The baby’s fingers, so tiny they could barely wrap around Steve’s thumb, twitched slightly, his breaths steady and calm.

Steve’s eyes welled up with tears he hadn’t expected, his lips trembling. He looked down at the tiny boy resting against him, so small, so vulnerable, and yet, so perfect. He had never felt more connected to anyone in his entire life. Every protective instinct he had surged forward, and he knew in that moment he would do anything—anything—to keep this little boy safe.

"Hey, buddy," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "It’s just you and me now. You’ve got no idea how much I love you already."

The baby stirred slightly, a soft coo escaping his lips, as if responding to his father’s words. Steve smiled, his heart swelling even more. He could feel the baby’s warmth against his skin, and in that moment, everything else in the world seemed to disappear. There was no sound, no movement—just Steve and his little boy, heartbeats syncing as they shared this precious, intimate moment.

Steve shifted his gaze to Y/N, who was still asleep, and a wave of gratitude washed over him. He owed everything to her—this moment, this joy, this life. He couldn’t wait for her to wake up, to see the three of them together as a family. But for now, this was his moment. Just him and his son, who fit so perfectly in his arms despite being so tiny.

“I’m going to be here for you, always,” Steve murmured, his lips brushing the top of his son's head. “No matter what happens, no matter how tough things get... I’ll be here.”

He gently rocked the baby, who was now deeply asleep against his chest. The room was filled with the soft sounds of their breathing, a peaceful rhythm that Steve could have stayed in forever.

The nurse smiled at the sight of the two of them, her voice soft as she spoke. “You two make quite the pair. You’re a natural.”

Steve nodded, though he barely heard her. He was too lost in the feeling of his son resting so trustingly against him, his tiny body rising and falling in time with Steve's.

“I’ll take care of him,” Steve whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. “For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of him.”

And in that quiet hospital room, with his son nestled against him, Steve Rogers realized that no battle he’d ever fought could compare to the journey he was about to begin. Being a father—being this little boy’s dad—was the greatest mission of his life.

10 months ago

Warmth | S. R. | oneshot

Mature | Steve Rogers x Chronically Ill Reader

Warmth | S. R. | Oneshot

I’ll take care of you, he had said then. I love you. I always will. On the bad days and the good ones.

AUTHOR MASTERLIST | AUTHOR AO3

Warmth | S. R. | Oneshot

Established relationship, married couple, romance, fluff & hurt/comfort, angst with a happy/hopeful ending. Reader is good friends with Bucky and Nat.

Word Count: 1,771 words.

Reader Specifics: She/her. Mid-to-late twenties. Has a chronical illness that causes pain and fatigue, no specific diagnosis mentioned. Married to Steve. No description of appearance (other than clothes and such), no use of Y/N.

Warnings: Themes of chronic pain & illness, and the feelings that such conditions may cause, including self-worth and self-esteem issues.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Warmth | S. R. | Oneshot
Warmth | S. R. | Oneshot
Warmth | S. R. | Oneshot

You get close.

The base of the batter is done, butter and chocolate melted, instant coffee and sugars mixed into it, milk and eggs and vanilla extract poured into the bowl. The kitchen of the Tower floor you and Steve share is downright indulgent, spacious enough that you can spread everything out and you try to work fast enough before being up becomes too much to bear. You manage to ignore the nagging tingling of your body, the slow burning that goes in waves from knees all the way to your chest.

You grind your teeth, focus on the task at hand.

Warmth | S. R. | Oneshot

Just as you’re about to start sifting in the flour-cocoa mixture, the first red-hot knife sinks into your stomach. You yelp, even as you knew it was coming, and with the second strike of the blade, you drop down to crouch next to the kitchen counter, squeezing the edge of the counter with both hands, fingers cramping from the grip.

Eyes closed, you wait as the pain drums through your body with every heartbeat, nerves aflame with lightning, muscles contracting and releasing. You try to breathe through it, squeeze your eyelids together to keep the tears at bay.

That’s where Steve finds you.

It doesn’t alarm him like it used to; he no longer drops a bag of groceries down when he sees you like this. Instead, he sets it gently down next to the fridge and steps closer, kneeling down on the floor next to you. His warm palm slides over the back of your dress.

“You were supposed to rest, darling,” he scolds gently.

You glare at him with tear-filled eyes, but the anger melts away when you see the worry on his face. That has stayed, even as he has learned that anything like this is not inherently dangerous.  

“I wanted to bake. I was craving mud cake and the store-bought just never hits the right spot.”

“I would’ve baked for you,” he sighs.

“I don’t want you to bake for me! I want to be able to do things myself. I want this stupid goddamn body to fucking function like it should be,” you snap, regretting the bite in your voice the second the words have left your mouth.

“I know,” he says. “I know how it is. I know how much it sucks.”

And he does. It is almost impossible to remember that sometimes, after watching footage of him yanking helicopters out of the sky, but once, this was his life  too.

“Yeah, the difference being that you’re no longer pathetic,” you mumble.

“You are not pathetic. It’s just a rough patch,” he says.

He knows where it’s coming from.

You still remember the time you got your diagnosis, how you told Steve that you should break off the engagement, that you didn’t expect him to hitch his wagon to this. You went as far as sleeping on Nat’s sofa for a week, and then Bucky forced himself through the door and sat you down and looked at you with eyes full of Winter Soldier steel.

You really think he can’t take this, huh? If there’s one person who understands how it feels to be in pain and helpless, one person that will know why you’re full of frustration and anger at times, it’s Steve Rogers, he had said.

It’s not about what he can take. It’s about what he deserves, and what I don’t, you had grumbled in response, desperately not trying to show how much you missed sleeping in Steve’s warm arms at night.

So he wasn’t worthy of being loved and taken care of when he was sick and incapacitated and chronically ill? Would you love him any less if the serum fell out of him and he went back to that state?

Of course not. But that’s different.

How’s that different?

Because you are a fucking asshole, Bucky Barnes, you had spat, knowing that to resort to ad hominem was to admit defeat.

Oh, I am, he had grinned. But right now, I am the fucking asshole who is right.

And he had been precisely that. Steve had welcomed you back with open arms, and you had cried against his chest until you had felt like you could breathe again, until the words ‘chronic’ and ‘illness’ didn’t feel like they were sucking all the air out of your lungs.

I’ll take care of you, he had said then. I love you. I always will. On the bad days and the good ones.

You know that. You know Steve Rogers makes no such promises if he doesn’t mean them, but sometimes it isn’t the same to know something on a rational level and accept it emotionally. On some days, you are full of pain-sharpened thorns and god, you just want to prick something that is beautiful, want to wallow in the self-pity and despise any light that tries to reach your darkness.

“Help you to bed?” he asks, and you don’t want to, but you nod nevertheless.

He lifts you up. It’s spring; he’s been out in simply a button-down and slacks, and you can feel his warmth through the cotton as he holds you against his chest. At least this part was easy. At least you knew that taking care of you wasn’t straining his body.

You’ve done what you can to make the apartment into an oasis of peace, and the bedroom is no exception. The bed is huge, filled with soft sheets and a pile of pillows that can be moved to allow you to rest as comfortably as possible. Steve sets you down on your side and sheds the clothes he’s been outside in before getting into bed next to you. You groan at the feeling of his body, covered only by the boxer briefs, pressing against your back, warm and relaxing like a furnace.

“You’re the best heating pad in the world,” you manage to smile, snuggling deeper into his embrace as your muscles start to relax.

He chuckles against your neck and presses a kiss to the back of your neck. Lying down, as much as you hate to admit, always seems to make a wave of relief flow through your body, muscles relaxing. Steve’s palm smooths over your side, stroking again and again, and the relaxation deepens, seeps into every muscle.

“The oven’s on,” you mumble, as he makes no attempt to move. “The groceries you brought are still in the kitchen.”

In response, he rucks up your dress and places his palm over your stomach, and you can’t help but groan at the relief of the warmth.

“I’m on heating pad duty,” he says. “Those can wait.”

You sigh, despite the smile on your face.

“I really thought I had enough spoons. It was better today, until it wasn’t.”

“It’s okay. It’s not always predictable.”

It’s not. And he knows that’s the worst part of it.

“I wanted you to come home to something nice.”

“I come home to you every day.”

“Flatterer,” you say, but despite the words, you entwine your fingers into his on top of your stomach.

Your wedding rings make a small clink when they touch his. It had been a longer engagement than you had initially planned; you had wanted to make sure he wasn’t marrying you just because of duty, just because he felt like he should, now that he knew you were going to battle with this for the rest of your life. He had countered that with the argument that he had proposed to you even before he had known anything about this, when your illness had still masked itself into bouts of tiredness.

He had convinced you. Your wedding portrait, Steve lifting you up and spinning you around, hangs above your bed, and even on the worst of days, looking at it brings a smile to your face.

Bucky had cried through the entire ceremony.

“Do you want me to get your meds?” Steve asks.

“I already took them; can’t take more right now. Lot of good that did.”

“Hey,” comes the whisper against your neck.

The tears that have barely dried escape your eyes again. Steve feels you tense and kisses the back of your neck again, the hand on you pulling you closer against him.

“I feel so useless,” you say. “Everyone’s so nice to me; I’m everyone’s stupid charity project.”

He has heard all of this before; this conversation comes every time you are going through a rough patch, and every time, his answers are full of patience and love.

God, what have you done to deserve him?

“Or they’re your friends – our friends. They like you. You are more than this, even though it doesn’t feel like that right now. You are plenty of things outside this illness. And I love you, for reasons that have nothing to do with whether or not you’re useful.”

“And you’re the stubborn dumbass who married himself into this mess.”

“I’m definitely both,” he says. “But neither of those have anything to do with the fact that I married you. And the doctor told you to rest, so who’s the stubborn one here?”

“Hypocrite,” you say. “Bucky has certainly told me how good you were at resting up, huh?”

You hear the chagrinned laugh and know the expression on his face. He mumbles something about how he really needs to get Bucky to stop telling stories about his youth to you, if they are just going to be used against him.

“Too late,” you say.

The tiredness is creeping over you again; being up in the middle of a bad flare-up has taken more out of you than you care to admit, and Steve’s closeness has taken all the bitter fight that had remained after the energy had drained out.

“I know it’s hard to rest when it doesn’t feel like rest is making any difference,” he says. “But you still should.”

You want to fight him, but your eyelids are falling closed as his warmth has filled your every crampy muscle and tight tendon.

“I love you,” he whispers into your ear. “Sleep well, beautiful.”

“Loveyatoo,” you mumble in response, the safety of his presence nudging you over the edge of consciousness and into sleep.

An hour later, you wake up to the scent of freshly-baked mud cake floating through the apartment and smile into the room, feeling like you could go for a big slice and a nice cup of coffee, sitting across from Steve and listening to him talk about his day.

Even in a rough patch, it’s not all bad.

Warmth | S. R. | Oneshot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. 

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

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

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

“Come see, pumpkin.”

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

“Daddy it's me!”

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

“It is you, bug.”

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

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

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

“I’m a T-Rex!”

Eddie laughs and gets settled at his table. 

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

*****

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

He sprays down the chair and tugs on more gloves.

He sits on his stool and pats the chair. 

“Come on up Red.”

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

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

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

“You excited, huh? My brave girl.” 

And Eddie’s heart melts. 

He rolls back over and puts on his serious face. 

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

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

“I’m strong!”

He can’t help but smile. 

“You sure are. Look at those muscles!”

He peels off the plastic covering the ink. 

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

She pats her upper arm.

“Here. Just like daddy!”

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

“You ready, Red?”

Her focus face is back and she nods resolutely.

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

“Daddy? Will you hold my hand?”

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

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

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

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

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

She looks up towards him and giggles. 

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

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

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

She looks down at it and squeals. 

“Look daddy! Look!”

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

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

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

“Look dad! Just like Eddie!”

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

This is my first time writing for Steddie, so sorry if it's shit! Based on this post.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No one had ever seen Steve cry, and at this point they weren’t sure it was even something he was capable of. So, as he stood over Eddie’s open casket with the only dry eyes in the room, no one really batted an eye.

It had been 3 weeks since Steve had carried the metalhead’s body out of the Upside Down, with Dustin leaning heavily into a misty eyed Robin and Nancy as he limped alongside them, tears still streaming from his eyes. Steve hadn’t shed a tear then, and he didn’t shed one now. It wasn’t because he didn’t care for Eddie, in fact he probably cared for him far more than he’d admit to even himself, but something just didn’t feel right. It was hard to grieve for someone when it didn’t truly feel like they were gone.

Eddie’s uncle had arranged the funeral to be a quiet affair, hoping to minimize the chances of any angry hicks’ gate crashing. So it was held in a small room at the morgue, with only close friends and family in attendance.

After a short speech from Wayne, everyone filtered through to say their own goodbyes. Mike and Lucas both stood by the casket momentarily, gripping the sides and saying their own quiet goodbyes. Erica didn’t say much, just placed a small black dice beside one of his hands before nodding down at him. Nancy went up with Johnathan and whispered a quiet thank you, letting her hands brush a stray lock of hair from his face. Dustin stood there in silence just staring down at Eddie’s still form before choking out a promise to look after Eddie’s ‘little sheep’. And then it was just Steve and Robin left in the room. Robin tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him with big pleading eyes until he nodded and walked up with her, he stood beside her as she whispered a soft goodbye, eyes then looking to him to do the same.

“Could I… I just need a moment with him, if that’s okay?” he said quietly, smiling gratefully as Robin just squeezed his hand and nodded before also exiting the room.

Eyes doing a quick check around the room to make sure there was nobody left to witness what he was about to say, Steve let his hands rest against the wood of the casket and leant down towards the long-haired man.

“Okay, you listen here you little shit, I know you’re not dead.” Steve whispered; eyes firmly trained now on Eddie’s face. His grip against the wood only getting tighter as the silence stretched on.

“Fuck.” he breathed, hanging his head at the lack of response, before turning to start walking away.

“Yeah, no shit Harrington.” Came the gravelly response from behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

As he slowly turned on his heel, he watched as Eddie pushed himself up into a sitting position, an almost familiar grin on his face had it not been for what looks like two fangs pushing down over his lower lip.

“What the hell, man?” Steve exclaimed, almost storming back over to the casket and taking Eddie’s face in his hands and tilting him from left to right to get a better look.

“Nice to see you too, Stevie.” Eddie murmured; cheeks being squished slightly by Steve’s grip on him.

“How long have you been, well not dead?” Steve huffed; brows furrowed as he let his gaze roam over the other man’s body.

“Honestly man, I have no clue. I woke up a couple of times, but this has been the first time I was actually able to move. Fuck, it really hurts dying y’know.” Eddie groaned, stretching all his limbs out and rolling his shoulders as he let his hands pick at the tight material of the black jacket he was dressed in, “Of course Wayne would take this opportunity to get me in a suit, I love the old man, but shit.”

“Really? I don’t think our biggest problem right now is your style choices, you’ve literally come back from the dead man.” Steve grumbled with a hand nervously running through his hair.

“Ooo, now that’s where you’re wrong Stevie boy, it’s always about the style choices.” Eddie grinned, loosening the tie that was around his neck with a grimace, "Anyway, what's the plan for breaking me out of here? Cus I don't know about you man, but I don't exactly love the thought of being buried alive."

“Look, you’re not meant to be being buried until tomorrow, can you just hang tight for a few hours? I can come by later tonight and sneak you out when there's nobody around” Steve said, hands landing like a disappointed parent on his hips.

“Harrington. You cannot be asking me to, what? Play dead?” Eddie scoffed, the realization slowly showing on his face as he realised that Steve was deadly serious. “Nah man, come on, there’s gotta be a better way than that?”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I don't think there is. You’ll get recognized the second you step out those doors, and I don’t know about you man, but I’m not exactly in the mood for a lynch mob right about now.” Steve said, raising an eyebrow as Eddie visibly deflated.

“Fine. Fine, but you better come back for me Harrington!” Eddie sighed, pointing an accusatory finger at the other man as he lay back down with a huff.

“Always, Munson.” Steve replied, knocking his knuckles against the side of the casket with a soft smile, missing the slight pink that rose in Eddie’s cheeks as he slipped out the room.

My requests are open!

Requests for-

STRANGER THINGS

Eddie Munson

Billy Hargrove

Steve Harrington

TEEN WOLF

Stiles Stilinski

Liam Dunbar

Theo Raeken

Derek Hale

MARVEL

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Loki Odinson

I won't write smut, or boyxboy, sorry if that inconveniences you, I just don't feel comfortable writing that, and I'm not good with it. I will however write up to the moment and after, but not the actual smut

I also don't write for the actor, just the characters

I will write based off of songs, scenes, movies or shows. Pretty much any concept, I can write.

If you request, please give me a few days, up to 2 days to write, edit and publish your request.

Have a blessed day!!!❤️


Tags
𖦹⋆ ༘ ☼ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

𖦹⋆ ༘ ☼ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

𖦹⋆ ༘ ☼ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

# 01 — steve rogers x fem!reader # 02 — cw: none, only cute tooth-rotting fluff! set after ca:tws, established relationship # 03 — wc: 1.09k # 04 — a/n:  *sing-songy voice* i’m backkk *normal voice* so i know i’ve been pretty much mia for the past few months but i think i’m back for good now. which also means, i'm going to be writing and posting whenever i can, so requests are open again, feel free to send them in! 

as for this one-shot (which was originally supposed to be a drabble), i chose stevie to break me back into posting because i love him and he’s steve and i just love fluffy and adorable steve so much. this idea just flowed in as i wrote and i sort of love how it turned out, so i really hope you enjoy! feedback of any sort is always appreciated ♡

𖦹⋆ ༘ ☼ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

steve didn’t usually sleep in. never really had the habit of doing so, and his job with s.h.i.e.l.d. never really allowed him the opportunity either. but it had somehow started happening since he started spending the nights with you. maybe it was the fact that he had finally gotten a free day on the weekend or that he was simply too tired from his last mission. nevertheless, mornings with steve were pretty much one of your favourite ways to begin your days.

so it was pretty weird when you woke up and found steve in bed at 9 a.m., curled up into you and still asleep. the sun streamed in from the window behind him, covering him in sunshine and god, was he beautiful. your breath hitched at the sight of his peaceful expression— no furrows between his eyebrows and no frown twisting his lips— and made the decision to let him sleep in for as long as he wanted and whenever he wanted. you were rather well acquainted with steve’s bad habit for not stopping until he’d run himself completely ragged. sometimes not even then. he could use all the sleep he got.

but you just couldn’t resist pressing your hand to his cheek, thumb gently— just barely caressing the dark bags under his eye. steve hummed lowly but did not seem to stir from his sleep and, pulling your hand away before he could wake, you moved to gently untangle yourself from him. 

breakfasts with steve were also an uncommon occurrence with the unpredictability of his job, but the both of you cherished and made the most of every time you got to do things together. even the mundane ones like this.

but just as you began to move, a strong hand tightened around your waist, pulling you back into a firm chest. “where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?”

goddamit.

your heart lurched at the sound of his voice— deep and rich, rough and tired from his sleep. you couldn’t stop a smile pulling at your lips as you turned back around to face him. “good morning stevie,” you hummed quietly, hand raising to press against his cheek.

steve tightened his arm around your waist until you were pressed up entirely into him, and then pressed his face into the crook of your neck. “good morning my love,” he mumbled, “care to tell me why you were abandoning me in bed like this?”

you huffed a laugh. it wasn’t a long shot to say steve got a bit dramatic sometimes, usually when it was just the two of you and especially when he was fishing for some love. “hush, you big baby. i just wanted to go get breakfast started.”

“breakfast can wait, i wanna stay in bed with you for a bit longer.” he moved his face and brushed his nose against yours, before pecking your lips softly. “please y/n/n?”

the world could’ve been coming to an end, and with the way steve was looking at you— golden hair mussed from sleep, the prettiest blue eyes still sleepy but soft as they gazed upon you, and his lips pulled into a tiny pout— there was no way in hell you would’ve refused him.

“alright darling, we can stay in for as long as you want.”

his hand squeezed your hips in thanks before he pressed his face into her hair. he inhaled, his strong chest rising and falling under her hands, and then he spoke, “i hate that we don't get more of such mornings. i can’t get enough of you like this. when there’s no hurry for me to rush somewhere, when it’s just the two of us.”

you sighed quietly. you knew how much steve hated not being able to spend enough time with you because of his job. he always beat himself up over missed dates, movie nights and the time lost, despite you knowing steve couldn’t help it and never giving him any grief over it. besides, you knew steve would never be able to rest without having done his best to help in any situation. that was one of the traits that simply made him so special. something that made him him. plus, he never missed any chance to make up for it, and damn did he do a good job at it.

“i know, my love.” you moved so you could look him in the eyes, rubbing his hands over his shoulders and biceps. “someday, we will get all the time we want for ourselves. but until then, i don’t mind sharing you with the world a bit longer.”

he smiled softly. “i love you, y'know that?”

you hummed your reply and pressed closer before putting your lips to his in a soft kiss. steve made a soft sound in his chest that had your heart lurching in your chest. his hand skimmed up and down your back, fingers spreading wide over the fabric of the t-shirt you’d stolen from him, before they finally settled on your waist again. his fingers scrunched your t-shirt, pulling you impossibly closer as the kiss grew heated; another sound leaving him, this one louder, as your fingers found his hair, nails scratching gently at his scalp. the sound jolted you out of the trance steve’s touch never failed to put you in. you gasped as you pulled your lips from his and ignoring steve’s unhappy whine, you settled back into the mattress after putting some distance between your faces.

“is this why you’ve been trying to keep me in your bed, captain?” you murmured, swiping your thumb on steve’s lower lip as you looked up at him coyly. if staying in bed is what he wanted, you could at least tease him a bit first.

he groaned quietly, squeezing his eyes shut tightly after eyeing the smirk pulling at your lips. what was he doing playing a game he knew he’d never win?

“i was only hopin’ for some snuggles from my best girl,” he murmured, tucking some hair out of your eyes. “but you know i’d be the last person to say no to more, sweetheart.”

“mhm, i see that with your eagerness.” you laughed finally, leaning up to press kisses across his cheeks. hearing a big, burly man like steve ask for snuggles was just enough to crack your resolve. "you can have your snuggles, stevie."

steve chuckled as he pulled you closer and on top of him, and the sound filled your heart with so much love you could feel it vibrating throughout your entire body.

yeah, mornings with steve were definitely your favourite way to start your days.

𖦹⋆ ༘ ☼ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

taglist @demigoddess-of-ghosts (you filled out my taglist form for steve like months ago, so i have no idea if you still wanna be tagged, but i hope this is fine bae <3)

feel free to comment if anyone else would like to be added!

𖦹⋆ ༘ ☼ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

— © property of couragemydearheart. do not copy or post on any other site without permission.

dear writers who are slower/take more time with their writing or writers who are on hiatus or writers who are trying to find their voice again, i see you and i love you and you are valid

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Formally Awko-taco| 22| I like to write| please request❤️

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