#the lil hair sticking into his forehead 🥹

[julianalvarez9]

JULIAN ALVAREZ - Tottenham Hotspur vs Manchester City - February 05, 2023. (Photo by Chloe Knott)

[evansbby]

Pretty please give us a lil something like a drabble of Steve and Omega with Steve Jr??? Maybe cuddling their floofy baby? Please🥹

Oh I love this idea! I debated posting this drabble bc it’s so out of character for Steve… but he’s drunk so I think it’s alright! Enjoy!

Warnings: inebriation, alcohol mention, daddy kink, a/b/o dynamics, fluff

The strong whiff of beer, whiskey and cigarettes hits you almost immediately when the door opens. You instinctively clutch Steve Junior close to your chest, cowering back as the foreboding, 6’6 frame of your alpha stumbles into the room.

“Baby,” Steve slurs, grabbing you and pulling you into him with so much force that he knocks himself back, taking you with him. Both of you crash land on his bed, you on top of him with his arms locked around you as he rubs his nose against yours, “Whoops. Hi.”

You swallow, wrinkling your nose at the strong scent of alcohol radiating off of him, not to mention how dilated his pupils are. Steve had gone to some frat party with his friends (he’d told you to come too but you’d luckily managed to persuade him that you had too much work — which wasn’t even a lie). Clearly, he’d had quite a bit to drink (and smoke, based on his smell).

“You’re drunk.” You say it almost cautiously, a feeling of dread spreading in your chest. Distant memories surface, the smell of alcohol reeking off your mother’s boyfriends, the anger and fear that followed.

“And you’re cute.” Steve echoes you, kissing your nose and the side of your mouth before his glazed eyes shift to Steve Junior who you’re still clutching protectively, “Oh look, it’s your little friend. What’s his name again?”

“It’s Steve Junior.” You answer softly, the fear within you slowly being replaced by curiosity, “You’re the one who named him, Steve.”

“That’s right, Steve Junior.” He snatches the stuffie from you, the motion clunky yet still strong, and you’re too distracted by his drunken demeanour and how different it is from when he’s sober, that you don’t even notice it.

“Hey little guy,” Steve prods Steve Junior in his furry little tummy with his pointer finger, “You been taking care of your mommy while I’ve been gone?”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat, your heart doing somersaults because this is so weird. Always, in your head you’d categorised alcohol as synonymous with anger and violence. But Steve’s being the complete opposite — relaxed, less stoic, less strict than normal. It’s almost fascinating to watch.

“He says yes!” Steve announces loudly despite the fact that you’re literally two inches away from him. His hand meanders down to give your ass a squeeze, “He says mommy’s been a good girl today.”

He gives you your stuffie back, and you hug the little fur-ball close to your chest, loving how Steve’s alpha scent sticks to Steve Junior’s fur. Meanwhile, Steve grabs your face, raining kisses all over your cheeks, nose and forehead. He’s never been this affectionate with you before, and you don’t know whether any moment he’s going to shift gears…

“Have you been good today, omega?”

You nod quickly, “Y-Yes daddy— I mean Steve. Did all your laundry and ironed your clothes for tomorrow too. I also made some pasta if you’re hungry, it’s in the fridge.” That is, if Bucky or Sam haven’t eaten it, you think to yourself sourly. They’re always eating the food you make — which you wouldn’t even mind if only they weren’t so mean to you all the time.

Steve strokes your hair softly, blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on you, “My perfect baby omega,” he croons softly, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say anything so softly, “So perfect for me…” He looks down at Steve Junior seriously, “What do you think, bud? Isn’t mommy perfect?”

Steve Junior’s coal black eyes stare coolly back at Steve, unwavering and unblinking, but Steve nods drunkenly anyways, his own blue eyes suddenly widening in glee, “Ha! You hear that? He just told me that he thinks you’re fucking sexy.”

It’s a ridiculous conversation, but you can’t help but indulge both him and yourself. And it’s so crazy how, for the first time in a long time, you feel kind of lighthearted. Your mouth drops open, “He didn’t say that! He’s my baby.”

The mischievous glint in Steve’s eye is almost instantaneous, and he flips the two of you over, pinning you against the mattress, his hard crotch grinding into you, “Want me to give you a real baby?”

You swallow, “I… uh —”

“You’d be even sexier when you’re pregnant.” He continues, and you have no idea what to say when he says things like this. Not that you’re able to say anything at all because the feel of him steadily humping against you has you going weak in the knees and dry in the throat.

“Wouldn’t she, Steve Junior? Wouldn’t mommy be even sexier when she’s pregnant?” He makes the stuffie nod his head, “See? Even our baby agrees.”

Despite the subject matter, you can’t help the butterflies that flutter in your chest at Steve’s light tone, the way he’s talking to your stuffie, the way he said “our baby.” Sober Steve is many things, but silly and playful is not really one of them…

Steve yawns, burying his face in your neck and taking a deep whiff, his body almost immediately relaxing on top of you, “Mmm, can’t wait to knock you up. My perfect little wife…”

He falls asleep like that, on top of you with his arms wrapped around you and face firmly in the nape of your neck, with Steve Junior sandwiched between your bodies. Shyly, hesitantly, you reach up to card your fingers through his blond hair. He looks peaceful and so much less intimidating when he’s asleep.

Maybe he’ll be nice like this all the time now! The omega inside you screeches happily. And you can imagine it: his softness, the laidback jokes, the sweetness, the way he’d spoken to Steve Junior. You can’t help but get giddy, falling asleep holding onto both your alpha and your stuffie, hope swirling in your chest.

A girl could dream, right?

***

The end! What do we think? Oh boy… this makes Steve Junior’s fate all the sadder🫣

[okmissgirl]

Absolutely Normal Nonsense

Lil' brainless ficlets about Chrissy and her himbo Edward.

(heavily inspired by this, because I'm telling you, this woman's whole life is Chrissy-coded 🥹)

<- Last Nonsense Next Nonsense ->

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💄Makeup 💋

Chrissy likes rising in the wee hours of the morning, when the sun hasn’t broken the horizon and her home sits in a content quiet.

 Her husband still finds her habit strange — not sleeping in is something he can scarcely wrap his head around, even now — and on a day like today he’s inclined to make her stay in bed. Implore her with wandering kisses, skillful hands, and a husky voice to stay awhile, sweetheart… just relax for me. And usually she would. Usually his touch makes the urgency and alertness that thrums in her brain slow down to a quiet, melt into nothing as he wakes her up in his own way, but… today’s not that day. 

Chrissy must get ready — take a warm shower, brush her teeth, turn her wet hair soft and bouncy, and do her makeup.

And she needs her special partner in crime for that last one. 

Wrapped up in a bathrobe and sporting a headfu of rollers, Chrissy moves through the halls. She doesn’t even have to whisper when she cracks open the nursery door — excited huffs and gurgles meet her ear before she can sweep inside, and when she does, her youngest baby girl is gripping her crib’s slats in tiny fists and bouncing on her mattress. Three daughters in, and Chrissy’s never found a way to describe the feeling, never found a way to tire of it either. The joy that spreads from her chest like a balm when she picks up her squealing girl has no end — not when the baby, bouncing in her arms with a gummy smile and bright eyes, smacks her lips  —

Mama, mama, mama

Chrissy can’t help but laugh as she mirrors it back.

Emmy, Emmy, Emmy

Her happy little baby. Her precious Amelia. 

They make quiet conversation as Chrissy takes her daughter to the attached bathroom to wash her down, bathing her in warm soapy water until it's time to dry up, and brush her wisps of dark hair. She rubs the baby’s pudgy arms with lotion, fits her into a fresh diaper and clean onesie, and blows raspberries into her tummy, just to hear Emmy’s giggle-filled huffs that accompany her happy squirms. Chrissy fastens her tried and true baby sling on— a godsend that Wayne had brought her — and slides her daughter inside. Then she quietly pads over to her own bedroom and slips into the master bath.

They make a sort of game of it, she and her daughter. 

Chrissy takes the cream first — a floral concoction with a whiff of baby powder, oddly enough — and dots her face with it, that is, until Emmy begins to reach up with curious hands. A little smear of cream swiped on her plump cheeks quiets her right down, and Chrissy will gently rub it in as the child babbles between the occasional sneeze and snuff. 

Primer and concealer come next, and Chrissy can’t hold back her amusement whenever her daughter swipes at the makeup tubes in her hands, hellbent making them tumble into the sink, an impish grin that matches Eddie’s gracing her lips. But try as she might, Emmy’s playfulness only makes Chrissy gasp "Emmy! That goes on Mommy’s face!" above her baby’s giggles.

Their little war will continue until Chrissy whips out a bottle of foundation. Emmy knows she has a job to do. She wraps her tight fist around the cap and pulls with all her might, jumping a bit when the cap pops off in her hand. Chrissy whispers a Thank you, Em into her forehead. Emmy just buries another gummy smile into her mother’s chest. 

And so goes their little routine — Chrissy swiping makeup across her cheeks and brows as Emmy watches her with wide, wandering eyes. Without fail the little munchkin will try her damndest to stick every makeup sponge or mascara stick in her mouth, but Chrissy always has clean sponges, sticks, and a gentle reminder of "no, we don’t eat that!" to thwart her efforts. But perhaps Chrissy’s favorite activity by far — which just happens to beat out Emmy’s very focused attempts at applying lip balm, and Chrissy’s own addiction to leaving bright red kisses on her daughter’s face ��  is this: 

Curling her lashes. 

A hum rises in the air as Amelia quietly gazes up at her mother. Chrissy cradles her daughter's head and locks on to her deep amber eyes. She rocks her baby back and forth to a gentle rhythm — a song that starts with a whisper of you are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Each lash is pressed smoothly while her infant looks on, and when Chrissy’s done, she brushes Emmy’s button nose with her own, relishing in the happy coos of her precious baby. 

After a final pop of her lips — when her eyeliner is perfect, her lipstick bright, and blush soft on her cheeks — Chrissy releases the rollers holding her hair in place, and gives a final shake of her strawberry curls, each swish tickling Emmy’s happy face. With the softest kiss of Chrissy lips on her baby's head, their routine is complete.

And right on time too — her husband trudges through the master bath’s sliding door with two 4 year olds riding his feet. As soon as they spot her, the twins come running to Chrissy, latching themselves onto her legs, shouting over each other to announce that Mommy, mommy, mommy—

“We made you a surprise!!” 

“You have to come to the kitchen right now —”

“You gotta come right now, because —”

“— because we made it with Daddy!”

“ and it’s pancakes and — and I got to flip one myself!”

“And I got to flip one too!”

Their rambles echo against the bathroom walls as Eddie gives her an exhausted grin, coming over with tired kisses for their tiny Emmy-baby and his wife. Just as he’s got Chrissy in his grasp his impatient girls exclaim that "Daddy burnt some of the pancakes, but we didn’t burn any, so you gotta come now! Now, now, now!” and there is no stopping the adorable hellions from pulling their parents out of the room. 

That morning is filled with big smiles and sticky fingers as Chrissy's daughter's eagerly dig into misshapen pancakes, cheesy eggs, and crispy bacon, all while diligently reading the homemade cards they made for her. Chrissy’s hands are free to eat, listen, and read along with them as Emmy stands on Eddie’s lap, secure within his grasp. She looks content enough munching on the small bits of pancake her father gives her, and shouting along with her sisters’ excitement. 

There’s no language on earth that could ever describe the happiness that Chrissy’s heart holds. No way to put it into words at all, not when years ago, she could've never dreamed of such a thing. 

So when her family shouts “Happy Mother’s Day!” with grins that could rival the sun, Chrissy can’t help but agree, because finally, finally… 

It truly is. 

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Whatever the day, wherever you are, Happy Mother's Day to you and yours bb 💋❤️