I love the KBD universe 🩵🩵. It’s so soft and comforting. Idk how you always write such gentle slice of life moments that stay soft even when there’s moments of conflict.
I was rereading the series, and in one scene Steve asks reader if they wanna make out, but Avery comes in before they can. Can I request a scene where they do get to make out (nothing super spicy) and spend that time with each other? I know it’s got to be difficult with four kids.
kisses before dinner —you and Steve languish in some rare alone time. mom!reader, 1k
"Hello," you whisper.
He looks up in surprise, eyebrows lifted. That surprise quickly melds to a soft-boned happiness as you sit in his lap —he's splayed sideways on the armchair, and you have to sit sort of sideways on him to meet his eyes.
"Everybody's sleeping," you say, brushing a stray strand of hair from his eyes as the TV light paints him a blur of multicolour. "Even Wren."
He looks up. "How'd you do that?"
You told him to relax for a bit before bath time. He must've gotten distracted by the TV, which he doesn't often get to watch lately, and so you hadn't really minded. Full time childcare is exhausting. It comes to something when you're nearly happy to go to work, though coming home every night is still what you wait for, and it's thanks to him that you can drive home in excitement.
"I'm multi-talented." You nestle your way under his chin, his arms curling around you as though they have a job to do. Firm. Immediate. "Wren went down like a miracle. I only had to rub her back."
"Avery?" Steve asks.
Avery's under the weather, so you let her skip bath time and tucked her in, sending her to sleep with little more than a forehead kiss. Beth was similarly eager for bed, knocking out after half of a story, her hand insistently in yours. Dove, in contrast, took three times as long to settle, but was convinced by the pad of your pinky finger as it traced up and down the bridge of her nose.
"Tactile creatures, your girls," you murmur.
"Where do they get it from?" he asks as he begins to stroke a quarter circle into your back. "Tokyo Olympics called again. Team USA needs you on their roster."
He's declaring you impressive for such a feat as tonight's solo bed time. "The answer's still no. I don't think anyone wants to see me in a leotard."
"I do," he says, kissing the top of your head. His lips soft, his voice the same, he hugs you closer still. "I so do. You look nice in everything."
You could fall asleep like this, in his arms, his lap, your face drifting down his chest as you curl into his warmth. There's nowhere else you'd rather be (besides possibly bed, but even then you'd need it to be with him). "Thanks, Steve."
"You're welcome."
The room is quiet. The house stirs and rain lashes the darkened windows every now and then with the indecisive winds, whistling through tree branches far away. You shiver at the sound and Steve sets your goosebumps right with bigger strokes of his hand, a familiar up and down pressed into your back. Pressure to distract the senses.
"Thanks for doing bed time."
You wave it away. It's nice to be appreciated, but in the face of everything he does you don't want any thank yous tonight. "I just wanted to spend some time with you."
"Yeah?" he asks, sinking lower into the armchair, the majority of your weight following down onto his abdomen rather than his legs.
"I really…" missed isn't the right word. You missed him while you were at work, and time spent with him and the girls is just as worthy and sweet as time alone, but that doesn't mean you can't want both. "I've been thinking about you."
Steve doesn't flinch at your odd wording, the opposite. He knuckles trail loosely to the small of your back, a smugness to the curve of his lips as he smiles, and says, "I've been thinking about you."
Steve usually looks handsome. You've seen him bedraggled, dishevelled, and exhausted, of course, but he puts a majesty into nearly everything he does. He can take a plate down from one of the kitchen cabinets or hike one of your sweethearts onto his hip and you'll remark to yourself about how pretty he looks. This isn't taking into consideration how attractive you find his heart (that list is endless —compassion, dedication, loyalty, etc). The stuff you love about Steve goes on and on and on.
You curl a hand behind his head and card through his hair, not sure what to say. His eyes meet yours. "They don't have a word for how much I love you, H."
His voice rasps with a low pleasure, "I could think of a bunch for you. Only if you want. I'm smart like that."
Your lips twitch. "Please," you say, giving his scalp a playful scratch.
"Endlessly," he begins. "Eternally. Overflowingly." He leans forward to touch your noses together. "Fuck," —he laughs as he searches for another— "started so strong. Uh… infinitely. A whole fucking lot?"
"Loads."
You both laugh, the heat of the others breath like a phantom of a kiss between you.
"Loads," he agrees. "Wickedly."
"Deviously?"
"Ambitiously. A shit ton."
You kiss him gingerly, not worried he won't kiss back but wanting to stay in this moment for as long as you can. "Love you loads," you say against his lips.
With your eyes closed you can't see his expression, but you can guess at what he's doing. Steve likely has his brows sewn together, a grimace on his lips that might suggest the opposite of what he's feeling.
He acts like kissing you is the only thing that he could ever need, that this intermission is painful but absolutely necessary. "I love you," he says. He whispers your name, raising his hand to cup your cheek. His marriage finger rubs a mindless little shape into the soft skin under your eye. "I love you."
You wrap your arms around his neck and hook him closer, smiling into a second and much less ginger kiss.
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