"You Could Turn Hermit And Live Under The Bed, And Steve Would Spend Half His Life On His Stomach Just

"You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you" AHHHHH WTF WHO TOLD HIM HE COULD BE THIS PERFECT????

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he takes the step up into the front door. It gets caught on the latch, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside. 

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?” 

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light. 

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat. 

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside. 

It’s good to be home. 

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated. 

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone. 

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive. 

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways. 

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves. 

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate. 

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m twenty minutes away. 

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast. 

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently. 

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in. 

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness. 

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side. 

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.” 

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything. 

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…”  Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?” 

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.” 

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.” 

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?” 

“She won’t let me eat.” 

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.” 

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, of course. What can I do?” 

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.” 

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for. 

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you. 

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.” 

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.” 

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks. 

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?” 

“Avery’s always nice.” 

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.” 

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.” 

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away. 

“You comfortable enough?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.” 

“But you had fun, right?” 

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.” 

“Exhausted?” you ask. 

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.” 

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.” 

“You did not.” 

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy). 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.” 

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek. 

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.” 

“Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you, too.”

My Aesthetic is Napoleon riding a horse into the wedding

Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you...

The Time Before - Wayne's Time in 'Nam

part 1 here

Photos not mine

997 words

an: hey! I'm so happy that people are enjoying this writing! Originally I was thinking about just making this a drabble/blurb, but with the addition of this, it will hopefully be a series! Thank you so much for your support, it means the world to me!

I had to actually do considerable research for this one, so I hope it's accurate. If there are any war buffs reading this fic (I doubt it, but if you by chance are) please let me know if I got anything wrong!

warnings: mentions of war, mentions of death, PTSD, Vietnam War

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Wayne never planned on fighting in Vietnam. He himself never liked fighting and once he was back in the US he wasn't a fan of the war.

But back when he was freshly 18, starry-eyed, and eager to impress his Pop, he enlisted.

The year was 1958, the war was only three years old, and it seemed so interesting. Fascinating, if you will. A young Wayne packed his things in a gray duffel bag that he then slung over his shoulder. He can still remember what he was wearing when he left home; a red and black plaid button-down that he still wears today, a pair of blue jeans, a pair of cargo boots, and a jacket that was draped over his arm. By the time he returned to the United States, this fashion would be so far out-of-date it made his head spin.

Most of his buddies went with him, wearing practically the same clothes as him, the same combed-back hair, the same hopeful look plastered on all their faces. That look would not be there when they returned (if they returned at all). But none of this was a worry to either Wayne or any of the five guys that went with him; Joey, Billy, Tucker, Jack, and Arthur. Tucker and Wayne had known each other the longest out of any pair in the group: they were next-door neighbors for their entire lives. Growing up in Redmont, Georgia, a town of under 1,000, everyone was practically your neighbor.

Tucker and Wayne were inseparable. Both of their mothers used to say, 'You'd think those boys were sown together at the hip, with all the time they spend together.' It was true; their entire lives were spent with each other. As kids, that meant skipping rocks in the creek and climbing trees. As teenagers, they shotgunned beers that they had stolen from Al, Wayne's older brother (he had a friend who made fake IDs, and good ones at that), jumped fences to irritate the chickens in their coop, stole cigarettes from their fathers' pockets and coats, and generally spent their days causing as much trouble as they could think up.

They all were shipped out to basic training in California first. Some of the guys were split up between different platoons, but they all saw each other often enough. These seemed minor inconveniences to them; they were ready, excited, and filled with energy.

The strictness of the rules and regulations was nothing new to Wayne, either. The high school had the strictest administration, it was said, in the entire state of Georgia and possibly the surrounding states. Their football was compared to basic training, and most of the guys had been on that team in high school, so they were not phased by anything that the Army decided to throw at them.

But once they were shipped out to Vietnam, the excitement quickly subsided. Over time, each man came to learn the price of war. The price that they each had to individually pay.

Wayne spent five years in 'Nam, fighting alongside Tucker. They were rumored to be the most indestructible duo on Vietnamese soil. But five years seemed to be Wayne's unlucky number.

He still has nightmares about the war. He used to say, 'You don't realize the price you have to pay when you're going to war. It's all fine and dandy when you enlist, and even through basic training. You don't think about the fact that in five years' time, you're going to be holding your dead best friend, his head in your lap, eyes wide open and staring right at you, somewhere in the Vietnamese wilderness with shots still coming at you.' Of course, that was when he still talked about the war at all.

After Tucker passed away, Wayne left Vietnam. He was twenty-three by that point and was sick of fighting. The effect of the excitement had worn off long ago, but once Tucker was gone, it felt hopeless. He was homesick, endlessly tired, and was done with combat.

Of the six that shipped out, only four returned; Wayne, Joey, Billy, and Jack. They finally reunited in 1965 after they had all returned to the US, deciding to indulge in the spoils of war. They traveled as a band, a crew, a group, a lineup. You didn't see one without seeing the other three close behind. They were like this for many years afterward until they scattered across the country; Wayne moved to Kansas and soon started to take care of Lisa, Jack married a young girl named Francine and they settled down together in New Hampshire (to have a whopping six children throughout their marriage), Joey stayed single, moved to Kentucky and still visits Wayne often, and Billy moved to Florida and started a family with a nice woman named Becky.

When the infamous 'make love, not war' protests started to pop up around America, Wayne found himself supporting the cause. He had never gone to war because he hated the other side or loved fighting; he had gone because everyone told him to go. Because it was all so new and shiny, and because he wanted to impress Pop. Because all of his friends were going, and because he wanted the glory. But in reality, he always felt bad when he was over there. There was always a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw the destruction that people suffered at his hands. The main reason he stayed was because of Tucker. Tucker made it nostalgic. Fighting with Tucker reminded him of being a teenager and hopping Mr. Luschogi's fence to tip his cows in the middle of the night. It felt mischievous and a little dangerous, and it gave him a huge adrenaline rush. But without Tucker, he didn't get to keep those blinders on. He saw, plain and simple, that he was hurting people. And that was never what Wayne signed up for.

I want to see a movie of Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice but with Jamie Campell Bower as Lestat and Joesph Quinn as Louis