No Words. Just This. Imagine Papa Munson. *heart Eyes*

Steve: [Gently taps table]

Robin: [Taps back]

Eddie: What are they doing?

Nancy: Morse code.

Steve: [Aggressively taps table]

Robin: [Slams hands down] YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

Drabble Birthday Ask!

Reader finally 'catches' the thing Steve's been hiding... it's that he's tired. He's tired, and he thinks it's non-inspiring or embarrassing or a burden, and he has been acting weird to cover for that.

Steeeeeeb!!!! Yes of course some TLC for Stevie. Excellent. Would recommend. 11 out of 10. Always give him the peace and safety! (Don't hate me though; it's just a bit of established relationship fluff!)

I am uncharacteristically skipping the part where you confront Steve about this. Yes, that's right. Remain calm. Ro has passed up the opportunity to write an argument. Hold your applause. WC idk but probably 2k or less (bit of a surprise at the end, too 🤭)

It's so easy.

It's just so damn easy to lose track, to keep going, to repeat. One more conversation. One more chore. One more hour. One more day. One more.

More. Constantly more.

Steve is very good at giving more. He is consistent, constant, incessant, but you can see now that despite his unending strength, your husband can't hide that drawn, fragile look behind his eyes any longer.

Sometimes, that's life.

"Actually, scratch that shit," Tony says with a flagrant point to your face as you chat. "Life is always like that. I know what Big Guy needs, don't you worry. Consider it sorted."

This speed-date style convo tumbles through a ten-second-savoring of tea. You got one cryptic sentence about 'how you're doing' in before Tony perfectly translates your meaning.

For once, more is unnecessary. He knows.

Stark, however, doesn't even have a moment to finish the turn up of his lips in a smile before his watch is pinged.

His eyes focus to the inside of his glasses. "Go for the World's Most Fashionable Hero," he deadpans, wandering off with his mug clasped like a lifeline in his hands.

Yeah, you know that feeling. Wit's End must be as contagious as pinkeye 'round these parts.

Steve's been silent for the last hour of the car ride. He checks the address. He checks the map. He checks the road. That's it.

Music he usually hates has been playing for fifty-one minutes and counting. No reaction.

Clearly, you were right to ask Stark for help.

The gravel drive up to the cabin is bumpy, and Steve apologizes for having to go so slowly.

"Almost there. I think it's--yeah, there. Okay, we're here." Your husband flips the key back and out of the ignition, a stunted sigh forcing it's way past his tight shoulders, immediately opening the door and heading for the trunk. "I'll get the bags. You get the--"

"Steve? Will you come with me for a sec?"

He looks at you--really sets his eyes on you--for the first time since loading the car.

"What's wrong?"

You crunch up to the short staircase to the long porch. "Just come up here, please."

It takes another wave of your hand in encouragement before Steve abandons the small duffels and totes. He's not used to leaving a man behind. He's got a mission. He's supposed to finish the job. Always one more thing.

More. Constantly more. That's Steve's life, and he does it without complaint. Never, ever complaining, even when he should.

His heavy, tired feet fall hollowly on the wood.

"We're starting now," you chirp, excited to surprise him.

Steve tips his bodyweight to lean on the banister, crossing his ankles before crossing his arms, his head down while sneaking a squint-and-blink to try and bounce his energy back.

"Sure, what's first on the list?"

"Oh, no," you correct. "The list is mine. Those are my activities for the weekend. You are here."

His brow furrows. "What? You're gonna--"

"Steve." You gently hold onto his arms. "I mean, you have nothing to do. Not a single thing. And I don't care where you do it, but you will be doing nothing all weekend. Sleep in the bed, on the couch, on the dingy over there, hell, right here on the porch swing. It doesn't matter. It's your rest, but you must rest."

"What about--"

"Nope."

"Or if--"

"Uh-uh, definitely not."

Steve looks slightly panicked. "Dinner?" he tries in a last-ditch effort to be useful every minute of every day.

"There is a bag of stuff that I will be dumping into a crockpot and walking away from, so, no, you can't do that either."

He's still not sure, eyes glassy and flickering about.

"There's fruit for breakfast, veggies and dip for snacks, and we don't have to even turn on the stove unless we want to. Now--" you release him "--I'm putting stuff away and--"

Steve opens his mouth to argue.

"--and not one word out of you. Not one, sweets. Go. Be free. Sleep. Stare at the water, or a wall, or the ceiling for all I care, but you have nothing else to do today. Okay?"

His eye twitches, a half-hearted glare melting into a challenge in his tight jaw.

"Okay???" you prod.

His hands fling out in defeat. "You told me not to say a word," he whines, automatically making his way back down the stairs.

"No bags," you scold.

He whips around, almost muttering.

"No bags." You rush down and past him toward the car. "And I will bring you looser clothes to sleep in."

"You--"

"AH!"

"But--"

"What did I just say, Rogers?"

Now he just looks petulant, a familiar mood in your household.

You stubbornly point to the cabin. "Go on. Git!"

He watches you bring in the mindfully-light bags you packed up for the trip, pouting and scowling in equal measure.

Steve has to show off at least once by snatching up a bit of potato that rolled across the counter in the transfer of dinner.

Instead of thanking him, you shove a t-shirt and thin sweats at his chest.

He fakes an oof of surprise and traps you for a quick kiss before going to change. He does leave you alone for the rest of setting up.

Steve is dead asleep on the deep, two-seater porch swing when you head to the little work shed, his knees bent so he faces in, his forehead buried in cushion to block out daylight, already snoring softly.

You have to hold your hands to your chest so as not to touch him. Tears of joy prick your eyes seeing him relax so quickly.

Steve can follow orders when he wants to, you think with a smile.

In the garden shed, Pepper has all the cool crafting things, and you putz around with some wood pieces and paints for a couple of hours. You walk the perimeter of the cabin to find some nice wildflowers for a table centerpiece, mixing delicate stems of blue buds with expansive wisps of white and little pops of yellow. You attempt to figure out the dingy but decide against going on the water alone yet. Maybe tomorrow.

At no point does Steve move.

When you walk up to the house, fist full of flowers, he's out cold, softly swaying in the breeze as the gusts pick up in the afternoon.

You snack and listen to music in your headphones, doze in the bed after the sun warmed you a little too much, and then wake to the smell of stew.

The beep of the crockpot wakes him.

Bedhead and pillow mishmarks on his cheek look great on Steve Rogers.

Without argument, he washes his hands and sits at the reclaimed wood table.

Steve says only two things:

"Thank you" when you set a large bowl in front of him, and "can you pass the salt?" after he taste-tests the meal.

He reads a book until falling asleep for the night with you, curled with his knees bent again.

He does well.

He keeps resting, multiple times with his book open on his chest, barely to halfway after hours and hours of holding on to the browning paperback pages.

He rests in the bed. He rests on the couch. He rests (again) on the porch swing. Finally, he rests in your lap while you both float on the lake in the dingy.

He rests with you by his side. He rests with you in his arms. He rests even when you leave to do something else. It's exactly what you wanted, what he needed, and how it should be.

Steve mumbles a fair few things, but the most important thing is that none of it is important enough to articulate. He doesn't have to talk. He doesn't have to be heard. He doesn't have to be understood.

He only has to rest, and he's following orders well. He's completing his mission.

It is truly fascinating how close you can feel without words--okay, so you two aren't completely non-verbal for the weekend, but there are no long conversations. After being married for a while, those are not entirely necessary. You know each other too well for all that; Steve simply feels the stigma of being weak and tired from his youth.

He holds himself to a different, impossible standard. He thinks of it as pushing the limits of his serum, as offering everything he has to others, as respecting those he cares for by shouldering burdens. You think it's stupid.

It is the only stupid thing Steve Rogers does.

Now, after days of resting, you're pretty sure Steve knows he was being stupid.

You hope he knows he can ask for help or a break whenever he wants, before he needs it this badly.

To your great delight, Steve gathers up his things that were left around the house, but he leaves the actual packing to you. This is very helpful in keeping the final surprise.

He's watching the water, sitting up in the porch swing for once with an arm thrown over the back, an easy, calm smile stretched across his face, the first you've seen in months if you're being honest.

Steve gestures for you to join him, but you bite your lip and check the gravel drive.

Exactly on schedule, an engine revs and wheels crackle over the gravel.

You wink at your husband just as excited shouts ring out from Tony's fancy car.

"Papa! Papa! Look what Morgan and I found at the beach!"

"I made you a seashell necklace, Momma. You, too, Pops."

Your children race up the porch steps and jump into the space below Steve's arm.

His smile is still easy, but perhaps a little more excited than calm.

More. Constantly more.

But it's not all tiring...

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay

@rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

Noodle - [E.M x Fem! Reader]

a/n: omg Anna writing an ‘x reader’ ???? shocker. anyways this is based on my frustrated dream of getting a ferret. i did some research but because it’s 1 am and i should be sleeping cause i have classes tomorrow— i wrote this instead. if any ferret owners read this, please correct me if i’m wrong on anything regarding caring for those little babies <3 i know the name is basic but honestly, i love it so much and i think Noodle deserves his own series alongside his parents.

warnings: none!! pure fluff

enjoy !!

also enjoy this, because all i can see is Eddie playing with Noodle <3

You sat on your living room couch dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a loose shirt you had stolen from your older brother, a blanket draped over your lap with your furry friend sleeping soundly underneath it. *The Princess Bride* softly played in the background as you fought the urge to join your pet in Morpheus’ arms when you heard the front door open.

“Babe, are you home?” your boyfriend, Eddie called.

“Living room!” you called back, unable to get up to greet him as you didn’t want to disturb your precious child’s sleep.

Eddie walked into the living room, finding you sat down with mentioned blanket over your legs. His face contracted in confusion as it was quite warm outside for anyone to be wrapped in a blanket.

“Hey, darling.” he greeted, settling himself behind the couch as he leaned down to give you a soft and tender kiss on your lips, his curls lightly tickling your face.

“Hi,” you responded while giggling into your shared kiss.

He pulled away, leaving one final kiss on your nose before leaping over the couch and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“May I ask why you’re covered up when you could easily make sunny-side ups on the sidewalk?” he asks, running his hands through your hair and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Well,” you started, unsure of whether to lift the veil of secrets and abruptly and ever so rudely wake up your self proclaimed fur-baby or makeup some random excuse. You opted for the latter and carefully removed the blanket from your lap, revealing the curled up figure of your ferret still sound asleep.

“What’s that?” Eddie asks, taken aback from the sudden revelation of your pet.

You had no idea why you never told him about Noodle — your sable ferret. But nevertheless you were glad that he got to meet your furry companion.

“This little guy,” you say as Noodle stirs awake and sneezes, “is my precious fur-baby, Noddle the ferret.” you proudly announce, placing one hand under the ferret’s chest, the other lifting and supporting its hind legs and bringing him towards you for security.

Eddie seemed to study the little furball for a couple seconds before looking back up at you.

“He’s cute, when did you get ‘im?”

“A couple months ago at the pet store, it was like love at first sight, except this is my beloved son.” you explain as Noodle gets out of your hold and onto his back on your lap, demanding attention which you immediately give to him, and he of course starts dooking.

Eddie smiles at the little sounds coming out of Noodle, but also because you look so content with your newfound friend.

“D-Do you think I could pet him, or hold him?” your boyfriend asks shyly

“Gotta earn his trust first. There’s a bag of treats on the dining table, go get it,” you instruct, he nods and lifts himself off the couch to acquire the bag of treats made up of cooked egg, bits of chicken, lamb, and turkey.

He comes back with the bag in hand, Noodle’s attention immediately being diverted to the familiar rustling of his favorite snacks.

“Alright, get one out of the bag,”

Eddie does as he’s told, setting the bag on the coffee table in front of him, treat on the other hand.

“Bend down to his level and speak softly, you don’t wanna scare him.”

He nods and kneels down on the floor to Noodle’s level on your lap, who looks at him curiously.

“Hey bud, y’know I think you’re pretty metal, despite your cute face and all,” he coos softly, slowly reaching his hand out to offer the treat, “Want a snack? Promise I don’t bite.”

You chuckle a little bit at his efforts to befriend your ferret, who was still in the process of deciding whether Eddie was worthy of his trust or not. Noodle first sniffs around the treat, his fingers, then his hands.

Final verdict: Noodle trusts Eddie.

The fluffy animal takes the treat from Eddie’s fingers, rewarding the human by allowing him to pet him. Eddie’s calloused fingers gently roam Noddle’s long and soft body as he finishes his treat. You watch in amusement how your boyfriend was able to bond with your let almost immediately.

Noodle takes it up a notch and also allows Eddie to lightly tickle his stomach, and he once again starts dooking, the metalhead’s giggles marching up with those of his furry friend.

“You know, I think Noodle needs a dad. He’s got me, his mom, of course. But mayyybe you’d like to join us?”

Eddie smiles as he stands up, taking his seat next to you once again while also entertaining Noodle.

“If Noodle allows me to, I’ll definitely be his dad.”

“Good, cause I’m planning on adopting another ferret.”

I'm just gonna go cry in the corner now...

Steve carries Eddie’s body through the gate, blood soaking his clothes where silent tears fail to wash it away. It feels like Eddie’s blood is going to seep into is body and stay there under his skin like a tattoo. A reminder for all eternity that happy endings were only ever an invention by people who didn’t know anything about life.

“He’s losing so much blood,” Robin keeps wheezing behind him, breathless with the weight of it all, and Steve wants to say something, wants to comfort her that it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t hurt him, he won’t need the blood anymore. But the words get stuck in his throat as more tears fall.

Eddie’s hand is cold in his, and it will forever haunt him. Still, he’s not ready to let go when they reach the remnants of the trailer, when his knees give out and he collapses onto the soiled mattress. But whatever stains they were, they’re history now underneath all that blood.

History is the thing with the bloodstained beds and lost, abandoned homes, is it not? History is the part where everything gets ripped from you and you’re meant to keep standing. Keep fighting.

History, right now, looks a lot like a future unwritten, with Eddie’s hand in his, cold and unfeeling.

Steve still doesn’t say a word.

The world has larger problems than his failed attempts at grief. Ripped apart at its seams, wilting and rotting and overcome with death and decay, Hawkins needs Steve Harrington to once again show a strength he shouldn’t have to possess.

He helps. Donates clothes, offers his home, his kitchen, his bedrooms to everyone in need. Donates his time, his smile, his thoughts to the people who have the fortune and the privilege to think nothing of him.

Funerals are a daily occasion — with or without the bodies — and so Steve doesn’t even think about it when Dustin approaches him about Eddie.

“He shouldn’t be put on public display like that,” Dustin says and Steve marvels, for a second, that he still has his voice. “He deserves more than a freakshow, and they’re so busy, but they said they could… They could come and—and prepare him. The body. Bring him over. Have a proper service for him, those who knew, those who cared about. Could we do it at your place? Please?”

His eyes sting as he nods and pulls Dustin into a hug that leaves his shirt wet. It’s fine. All his clothes have the memory of tear stains on them, and tear stains are better than blood; a kinder version of history.

It’s a week after… a week since… It’s been a week, when they finally have the funeral for Eddie. Steve doesn’t mean to be there, he shouldn’t be, he can’t be, not when he still scrubs at his skin where Eddie’s blood used to be and he wants to get it out of there because he knows it’s inside him, he knows it’s in there; he knows because he’s hurting all over. Everything, everything hurts. And he can’t wash it away, the memory, the stains, the part where past and future became history and present became nothing but pain. He can’t—

He can’t.

Eddie refused to run and it’s all Steve wants to do anymore. It’s not fair. It’s not.

He shuts himself away from the world in his room and tries to scratch it away, the memory of the blood. He wants to scream and to shout and to talk and to apologise, but he can’t, because there are no words.

And then Dustin is talking, and Steve stops tearing at his skin to listen. He can’t hear the words but he can hear the pain, he can hear the way Dustin is stronger than him, always has been, and he opens the door. Slips down the stairs slowly until he sees it. The open coffin with Eddie’s body, his hair glowing in the light of the afternoon sun.

“He was the coolest, kindest, bravest guy I know,” Dustin says, but Steve doesn’t want to hear it, so he stops listening as he reaches the foot of the stairs and keeps walking, closer to Eddie, always closer, always so, so close.

And he misses the touch, misses those dark brown eyes that were so kind, and he wants to see them again. They’re closed. They shouldn’t be closed; the world has to see. Has to see the kindness in those eyes, the beauty, the wonderful things they’d think of.

Silence falls around him but Steve doesn’t care, doesn’t really notice; not when those eyes are closed, not when he reaches out to open them as a way to right all the wrongs in the world now.

But then his eyes fall to Eddie’s bare throat, and everything is wrong once more, no chance to right it, because—

“Where’s his pick? He needs-Eddie needs his plectrum to play. He can’t play without his pick, he can’t— The bats will get him, please, you have to… He needs his pick.”

And Steve falls apart as he finds his words again, words that rip into his very soul, tearing at the fabric of the world itself and turning it upside down. There are hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him away from the coffin, but he clings to it even as his knees start to give out while sobs wreck through his body.

“It’s okay, boy,” someone tells him, and Steve falls back into Hoppers chest, strong arms holding him up instead of pulling him away from Eddie. “It’s okay.”

He’s shaking his head, vision blurry now, and maybe there’s a bit of irony in the way that Steve and Eddie will both have had their last visions of each other be blurred with tears.

“It’s not, it’s not okay,” he insists, trying to shake off the hands holding him up. He wants to fall apart; wants to break; wants to be gone. Don’t hold me together, let me shatter. “You— You all wanted me to talk. You wanted me to!”

He’s gasping for breath again, hiccuping through the tears and the words and the weakness.

“I’m talking. Eddie, I love you. I wanna love you, and now I’m gonna, forever, but I don’t want the sad kind of forever. I want… Please, please he needs his pick, he can’t play without it.”

And then he’s on the floor, sobbing, and the words are gone again. Robin, Dustin and Hopper go down with him, but even they can’t put him together now.

“Steve,” Dustin says, voice hoarse with the weight of his own tears. “It’s here, see? I’ve got his pick, it’s safe. Do you wanna give it to him? Make sure he has it forever?”

He does. But he can’t bring himself to let go. Wayne comes up and places a scratched up piece of plastic on Eddie’s chest.

“He used to leave ‘em all ‘round the trailer. I always keep ‘em with me the days. Found this one under the couch before we… He’ll have it now, see? He can play again, our boy can play again.”

Steve falls apart until he doesn’t remember what piece of himself goes where. But it’s fine. Eddie will play again.

@thefreakandthehair technically you didn’t do this, but you sure didn’t discourage me from writing this (inspired by the My Girl funeral scene)

hi! i don’t know if you take requests/fic suggestions (if not feel free to ignore), but i love your writing (where the heart is ruined me in the best way!!) and thought you would write this idea super well. basically i saw this instagram reel (and watched it on repeat like 10 times) where a dad tells a waiter that his daughter thinks he’s cute and i thought it could be a cute meet-cute-scenario for eddie (or steve if you write for him)! that’s pretty much it lol, i hope you’re having a good day!

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CmXJ1_zL9F7/?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

This may just be the cutest request I've ever gotten. I enjoyed writing this so so so much. I have to thank @munson-blurbs for suggesting I make the reader Hopper's daughter and adding another layer of hilarity to it for me. Fun fact, this scenario happened to my brother once. Only he was like, 11, so nothing was going to come from it and it was just purely my dad trying to embarrass him lol. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this!

Words 2.2k

“Hey, welcome to Breadstix. My name is Eddie and I’ll be your waiter.”

You look up from your menu and do a double take at the beautiful man standing there. He’s tall and thin, his black t-shirt showing off his tiny waist and the light jeans showcasing the length of his legs. He has brown curly hair tucked in a bun at the nape of his neck, with a few loose frizzy pieces framing his face. The tattoos that are scattered along his arms catch your attention; your eyes being particularly drawn to the colony of bats taking flight on his forearm. But it’s when you look into his eyes that you get lightheaded and forget your own name, let alone what you were going to order for dinner. 

Going out for a family dinner with your dad and sister was never something that was particularly exciting, but it just got a hell of a whole lot better. 

“The special today is the brown sugar pork chops with a sweet potato on the side.”

“Huh,” your dad hums, eyes scanning over the menu once more. “That sounds good. I’ll take the special and a coke.”

Eddie takes down the pen that’s tucked behind his ear and scribbles down on the pad in his hand. He looks at your sister next and she gives him a sweet smile.

“For you?” Eddie asks.

“I’ll have the mushroom and Swiss burger, please,” El says. “And a water.” 

He jots that down as well then turns to you. When his eyes land on you, your mouth goes dry. Eddie shoots you a smile and you swear your stomach is too full of butterflies to eat any food. 

“And what can I get for you?” Eddie asks.

A cold shower? A date? An orgasm? 

“Um, I’ll have the spaghetti and meatballs. A-And a Diet Coke,” you manage to get out.

“Ah, my favorite,” Eddie says with a wink that nearly kills you as he writes your order down. “I’ll put those right in for you.”

He walks away from the table, and you feel your body deflate, letting out a breath and finally relaxing. You drop your head down on the table to hide the smile spread across your lips.

“What’s with you?” your dad asks.

“Hmm?” You lift your head up and look at him. El is giggling in her seat next to you, clearly knowing why you’re acting strange and bubbly.

“What’s with this sudden…mood change?” Your dad waves his hand around in front of your face, gesturing to your dopey expression. 

“I know,” El snickers and you reach over to playfully shove her. Your dad leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the two of you. He raises his eyebrows at you girls as you nudge one another back and forth with your elbows.

“Well shit, someone slipped something into your Wheaties this morning,” he says.

But your dad isn’t dumb. As chief of police, things rarely escaped his notice. He’s just waiting to see if you’ll cop to it or not.

“No, it’s just…” You trail off, shaking your head.

“It’s what?” 

A red flush comes to your face and El covers her mouth as she lets out another giggle.

“He’s so cute.”

“Who?” Hopper asks, just flat out playing dumb now. 

“The waiter!” you say in exasperation.

“Eddie.” El says his name, leaning in towards you and wiggling her eyebrows. 

“Ah,” your dad says with a laugh. “That’s your type, huh?”

“Dad!” you admonish, face becoming even redder. 

He lifts his hands in surrender as El dissolves into laughter. Before, you wouldn’t have described yourself as having a “type” but after seeing Eddie, you can’t imagine having a type that didn’t look like him. It was hard to pick out one thing that turned you on about him the most. The package of Eddie as a whole was so overwhelming that you could practically feel the sharp stab of Cupid’s arrow jammed in your back.

You spot Eddie approaching with the drinks, so you swat at El to get her to behave. She bites her lip and stares down at the scuffed wooden table in front of her, so she doesn’t lose it again.

“Here we go. Water, coke, and a Diet Coke. Your dinner should be coming out soon,” Eddie says. “Everything okay here?”

You’re praying your dad keeps his mouth shut as you smile and nod your head at Eddie. When he gives you a smile in return, El covers a laugh by pretending to cough into her hand. You’d throttle her when you got home. Hopper seems to pay Eddie no more mind than he would any other waitstaff that his oldest daughter didn’t find absolutely beautiful.

After Eddie leaves again, conversation thankfully steers away from your romantic inclinations and into the topic of ridiculous calls that came in at the station today. El also tells you about a school project that’s coming up and tells your dad she needs to get a book for her next book report at the library. It’d be easy to think that your father forgot all about your attraction to your waiter, but when Eddie comes to deliver your meals, it’s obvious he didn’t. Sometimes the universe just liked to pull the rug out from underneath you.

“Alright,” Eddie says. He’s balancing the large tray carrying your plates on one hand, muscles rippling under the skin of his arm as he holds it up. The only thing that tears your eyes away from his bicep is when he places your dish down in front of you. “Anything else I can get you guys?”

“I think we’re all set,” your dad says. Eddie nods and tucks the tray under his arm. As he goes to turn away from the table, Hopper lifts his hand and swivels towards Eddie. “Oh, one thing.”

Eddie licks his lips as he spins back towards the table, a friendly smile on his face. “What can I get you?”

“Oh no, nothing,” your dad says with a shake of his head. “It’s just that my daughter here thinks you’re very cute.” He reaches over and pats you on the back so there’s no mistaking which one of his children he’s talking about. 

“Dad!” 

El bursts out into laughter as you raise your hands to cover your face, wanting to die on the spot. The heat in your cheeks is enough to make sweat break out along your hairline, only made worse by how fast your heart is pounding. The adrenaline rush flooding your veins is real. Being a high school student, you’ve been embarrassed plenty of times before in your life, but you think this takes the cake. Having the police chief as a father also came with its own moments of teasing and joking, but this seemed extreme even for him. Somewhere deep inside, you find the courage to peek at Eddie from between your fingers. There’s a shy smile on his face as he looks at you, his own cheeks dusted in a light bit of pink. 

“Well, that’s very sweet,” Eddie finally says, resting his hand over his heart. He opens his mouth again, but nothing comes out and you realize that not only did your dad put you on the spot, but Eddie as well. “I’m flattered.”

Slowly your hands fall from your face and into your lap. Peering up at Eddie from under your eyelashes, he dips his gaze quickly before meeting yours again. The smile on his pretty mouth makes you feel as if there’s an animal jumping and banging around inside your heart, trying to break free. 

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you,” Eddie says before walking away.

Part of you feels a bit disheartened. But what did you expect? Eddie to ask you on a date because your father told him you’re attracted to him? Right in the middle of his shift? God, your dad better give him a big tip on the check. 

“You’re the worst,” you mumble as you twirl some spaghetti onto your fork. But there’s a fond smile on your face as you shoot a glare at the chief.

Eddie comes by twice more while you’re eating to see if everything is okay, and both times you can barely meet his gaze. El thinks it’s all hilarious and has a grin on her face for the rest of dinner. 

Once everyone is finished and your and El’s leftovers are boxed up, Eddie comes over with the bill. You expect him to put it down on the table right in front of your father, but he walks around him to come up behind you and reaches over our shoulder to lay the check down right in front of you.

“I figured you’d be taking care of this,” he says. You can’t see him from where he’s standing behind you, but El catches sight of the smirk on his face and her expression lights up in glee. 

It’s hard to concentrate on anything with Eddie standing so close to you that you can smell the trace of cigarettes under a spicy cologne wafting over you. When he speaks, the scent of mint is added into the mix, so you assume he’s chewing a stick of gum and you’ve never been more jealous of a piece of candy in your life. 

When Eddie walks away, you have to fight the urge to reach out and grab onto him and make him stay. El moving the check in front of you snaps your attention back to the task staring you in the face. You give El’s hand a light smack so she drops the slip of paper. You’re able to snatch it up and hold it up to your face so El can’t read it from where she’s sitting. 

I hope your dad is currently unarmed since I’d like to say that I think his older daughter is very beautiful. And inquire if she might like to go on a date with me? 555-0527 xoxo - Eddie

Your wide eyes can’t believe what you’re reading. It takes a minute for it to click in your brain what you’re actually looking at. The smile spreads across your lips next, making your cheeks ache from the intensity of your grin. 

When the paper gets plucked from your fingers you whine and furrow your brow at your father. 

“What, you going to pay?” he asks as he digs for his money in his wallet. 

“No. But I was reading that,” you say.

“Well hang on, I gotta know how much to leave don’t I? You can kiss his phone number once I’m done.”

The blush flares up on your face at his words. You weren’t going to actually kiss the paper. But the fact that said paper could lead to a kiss is what’s got you so wound up. Hopper slaps some bills down on the table and hands you the precious check back. You securely fold it and clutch it in your hands, afraid to let it out of your sight for even a moment. El grabs the takeaway boxes and the three of you head towards the door. As you take one last look over your shoulder into the restaurant, you see Eddie coming out of the kitchen. His eyes lock with yours and he gives you that smile you swear could stop time. 

“Maybe I should embarrass you more often, huh?” Hopper says from behind you. 

“No!” you and El answer in unison. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, glancing back at your family. 

“We’ll be outside,” your dad says.

“Have fun,” El adds with a smirk before she follows your dad out the door. 

Taking a deep breath to relax your system, you start to walk over towards Eddie. 

“Hey,” he says once you’re standing in front of him.

“Hi. Look, I’m sorry if you felt embarrassed or put on the spot. He can be a bit much sometimes.”

“No, no,” Eddie assures you with a shake of his head. “First thing I thought when I walked over to your table tonight was how beautiful you are. The Chief kind of did me a favor, actually.” 

“Oh. Well, I’m glad then,” you say, face glowing from his compliment. 

“I take it you got my note?” Eddie asks, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. 

“I did,” you say, still clutching it in your hands. “And I, uh, would like to go on a date with you. So, I’ll definitely call.”

“I get off work at nine,” he tells you. 

“You’ll hear from me soon after that then,” you say with a shy shrug of the shoulders. 

“I’m really looking forward to it, uh…”

He trails off and you realize it’s because he doesn’t know your name. You introduce yourself to him and extend your hand. Instead of shaking it, like you expected, he takes your hand in his and leans in to press his lips against your knuckles. You’re pretty sure you’re going to spontaneously combust. Or have an aneurysm. Or just flat out melt into a puddle on the floor. 

“I’ll talk to you tonight then,” Eddie says.

“Tonight,” you repeat, slowly backing away from him. You don’t want to go, but you know your dad will come in and say something even more embarrassing than he already did if you make him wait too long. 

“Bye, Eddie.”

“Bye, beautiful.”

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 | 𝐣𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: at london comic con, naptime for joe’s son interferes with joe’s panel. luckily, joe has a fix for the situation. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dad!joseph quinn x um!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: fluff fluff fluff ab dad joe bc lcc is giving so much kid content it’s driving me wild, joe’s son’s name is anthony 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: listen, @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown and i have this longstanding au going where you and joe have a son and i NEEDED to write it, especially with all the pictures of babies and kids that we’re getting this weekend :)

By now, everyone on Twitter knew that Joe had brought you and his son to London Comic Con. You and Joe had been spotted entering the convention center on Saturday, tiny 4-year old Anthony in tow, and everyone was waiting for some sort of content with the three of you. Joe didn’t share too much about Anthony online, only the spare picture to his new Instagram every so often, updating his eight million followers on Anthony’s antics, but little Anthony was known and beloved. 

So far, the day had gone well. You stood off to the side and entertained Anthony as Joe took pictures with fans, stopping during every break to get the snuggles and kisses in— Anthony required many Daddy snuggles and kisses, and every twenty minutes, two minutes were allotted for Joe to kiss Anthony’s head, inquire about what he was watching (the answer was always Bluey), and promise more time in the future. You hated how hectic the convention was and how quickly-paced it was, but that was the nature of the event. It was fun to watch your husband interact with all of his fans, and some even spotted you and sent waves and coos towards you and Anthony. 

Eventually, time for Joe’s lunch break came, and he held Anthony in his lap as they both ate their sandwiches that you had made (the upside of a con in London meant no hotel rooms, and your boys got to sleep in their own beds), peanut butter dotted on Anthony’s little mouth as he babbled away at Joe. “So big, Dada!” he exclaimed, stretching his hands wide. 

“Yeah, lots of people, aren’t there?” Joe chuckled, smoothing down Anthony’s thin curls. Anthony resembled Joe to a tee, some baby photos that Joe’s mother had showed you a dead ringer for your son, and Anthony’s big brown eyes widened as he nodded. 

“And they’re all here to see you,” you told him, and Joe scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “I think they’re here to see you.” 

“Me?” you asked. 

“Yeah, my fans love you,” Joe told you. “Everybody today has told me to say hello to you and Anthony. And some people asked about Wes too, actually.” 

You smiled and leaned forward to kiss Joe’s cheek, and your husband blushed under your lips. “I’m so proud of you, Joey,” you told him softly. “You’ve worked so hard for so long, and now… It’s all happening.” 

“And I get to do it with you,” Joe said with a watery smile, and he looked down at Anthony in his lap, still watching Bluey on your phone. “Both of you.” He ruffled up Anthony’s hair and smoothed them down again, an anxious habit that he had picked up recently, and Anthony looked up from your phone and smiled a big, toothy grin at his father. 

“It’s almost naptime,” you said, looking down at your watch, and both of your boys whined and grumbled in protest. Anthony usually didn’t make a fuss over naptime and gladly settled in bed with his blankie and fell asleep for at least an hour, but you knew that the energy and excitement from the con would interrupt his schedule. You had anticipated this, and you pouted as you tugged your son up into your arms. “I know, baby, I know,” you told him. “But you’ll get all sleepy and cranky later if you don’t nap.” 

“B-But Dada!” Anthony said, and he wriggled in your arms, reaching out for Joe. You willingly transferred your son into his father’s arms, and Joe kissed Anthony’s wiggly little head as Anthony added, “Wanna stay with ‘ou, Dada.” 

“I want you to stay with me too,” Joe said, his bottom lip pouting out. “But you need to nap, and I have stuff I’ve gotta do.”

“What?” Anthony asked. 

“Well, I have a panel in a few minutes,” Joe told Anthony. “People ask me all sorts of things, and I answer them. It’s usually very fun. But I can’t bring you, bud.” 

“I mean…” you started slowly. “You could. Just hold him in your lap and let him sleep while you answer the questions. If you want, that is. Or I can just take him back home to nap and we can come get you at the end of the day.” 

“I can hold him,” Joe said, rubbing Anthony’s back. “We’re just gonna cuddle while you nap, aren’t we?”

“Cuddle?” Anthony asked, and Joe nodded. “Okay. Blankie?” 

You nodded carefully and slung off your backpack, opening it and searching through all of your stuff, Joe’s phone and wallet and keys and snacks and all of Anthony’s various accessories, and you finally extracted his fluffy blue blankie. It certainly had been fluffy at one point but, after four years, the fluff had been matted down and it was a little off-color, no matter how many times you washed it. But it was Anthony’s favorite blankie, the only one he slept with, and Anthony cuddled it up to his chest instantly as soon as he got it in his hands. “Thank you, Mummy,” Anthony mumbled, nestling his head under Joe’s chin, and your heart skipped. 

“Of course, baby,” you told him. “Are my boys ready for the panel?” 

“Anthony’s first panel,” Joe chuckled. “We’re ready.” 

Joe carried Anthony (and his blankie) to the stage, smiling and waving at fans as he passed them, and he seemed calm and cool. It was only once you got backstage, in the wings of the stage, that he started to seem nervous. “Is this a bad idea?” Joe asked. Anthony had his head rested on Joe’s shoulder, his brown eyes flagging with after-lunch sleepiness, and he yawned and cuddled up closer into Joe’s chest. “I-I mean, is it unprofessional?” 

“He’s your son, darling,” you told him, adjusting Joe’s jacket to lay right and settling his curls right. “Everyone will understand. And anyway, it’s super cute, and nobody will care if it's unprofessional if it’s cute.” 

Joe nodded, and he rubbed Anthony’s back as his name was announced by the moderator, and you watched Joe walk out onstage, holding his microphone in one hand as he held Anthony in his arms. Instantly, the auditorium was met with coos and aws and cheers, and Joe waved at everyone before he sat down on the small sofa that was provided for him. He mumbled something to Anthony and kissed his head, and your son turned to look at everyone. He waved for a moment, just long enough for everyone to cheer back at him, and he turned back and buried himself in Joe’s chest. 

The crowd died down, and Joe brought the microphone to his mouth. “It’s naptime,” he said, his voice echoing around the room, and he added, “We’ve got our blankie, I think Ant’s gonna suck his thumb, and he’ll be asleep in no time. But I’m excited, let’s begin.” 

Everything Anthony did was met with applause and aws, every moment and wiggle and cuddle into Joe’s warm chest. Joe answered every question with poise and humility, laughing when someone said to say hi to Wes, and Anthony mumbled something that was half-caught by the mic. “Unca Wes?” he mumbled, and Joe frowned, shaking his head. 

“No, no, Uncle Wes isn’t here right now,” he said softly. “But we can see him when we’re done here... It cracks me up that you guys know who Wes is.” 

True to his word, Anthony popped his thumb in his mouth and was asleep within twenty minutes, and Joe noticed it. “Oh, bless him,” he said. “And we’re asleep here. If we’re very quiet… maybe he’ll stay asleep…” Joe paused for a second and kissed Anthony’s head, and the boy didn’t stir, and Joe said, “Yeah, and he’s knocked out. He can sleep through anything at this point. He gets that from me.” Joe laughed a little, making sure that Anthony stayed asleep, and he said, “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

That happened often. Joe would be too distracted watching Anthony sleep and have to have the question asked again, and he flushed and mumbled, “I’m sorry, you guys, he’s just… Parents will understand, he’s only this little for so long. Sorry, I’m sorry, what was the question again?” 

Finally, the time for the end of the panel came, and the last question took Joe a second to respond: “What are you most proud of in your life?” 

“Well,” he started. “I’m proud of myself for a lot, if I can say that without coming off as a douchebag. But my own accomplishments pale in comparison to my wife, she… She’s amazing. I’m constantly in awe of her and all that she’s done for me, all of the late nights she spends with our son while I work, supporting me and loving me and… But this little guy. He blows my mind every day. Even as he’s sitting here, napping, he’s so much more than I ever could have imagined my son to be. I never anticipated being a father, and now I am, and even though it’s been four years, I’m still not used to him and I don’t think I ever will be. He is so smart and beautiful and… Yeah. I’m proud of Anthony. He’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

You smiled and, as soon as Joe came offstage, you pulled him into a kiss. You felt Joe’s hands twitch underneath Anthony, obviously wanting to embrace you as he kissed you, and you pulled Anthony into your arms to allow Joe to hold you tenderly as he kissed your lips. He sighed into the kiss and touched his forehead to yours, and he mumbled, “I love you so much. Thank you for sticking around.” 

“Of course,” you told him. “I love you too, darling.” 

“I wonder if my mum can take Ant tonight,” Joe mumbled, pulling you back into another kiss. “I need some time with you.” 

“You have more con tomorrow,” you said. “Is tonight good for that?” 

“Any night is a good night for that,” Joe chuckled, and you smiled at his naughty cheek. “I think it’s time Ant has a little sister.” 

“You think so?” you asked. “Whatever you say, Mr. Quinn.” 

“And I do say, Mrs. Quinn,” Joe said. “Let me call Mum and see if she can take the little monster. He was so good for me, he just slept the whole time.” 

“He’s not a monster,” you said with a smile, bouncing Anthony as he yawned and started to wake up. His thumb was popped in his mouth and you carefully pulled it out, and Anthony whined and sucked the corner of his blankie into his mouth. “He’s the most special little boy in the world.”

“He sure is,” Joe said, and his big eyes were full of love as he looked at the two of you, his wife and son. “The best boy ever.” 

Steve had always wanted a dog. He wanted to cuddle on the couch, tug of war with old socks, and play catch in the yard. Most of all, he wanted a friend that would love him unconditionally.

So when he and Eddie got their first rundown house on the edge of Hawkins, he wanted to get a dog. They had a yard, savings in the bank, and plenty of time to spare between Eddie’s gigs and Steve’s school. He wanted a dog.

Eddie, though, wanted a cat. He was never a huge dog-lover. He didn’t really like the way dogs seemed so attached to their humans, they were too needy. He wanted a cat that kept to itself 23 hours of the day before finding its favorite person for minimal scritches and pets before disappearing once again to be a cat.

They were at an impasse. Neither one was backing down and after a two day silence streak, they reached a compromise. They would get a dog. Eddie could be reasoned with on the condition that they got a golden retriever because if he got a dog, you better believe it was going to be Steve’s twin.

With his acceptance, Steve brought home a puppy and named her Cinnamon. In a need to wreak havoc however, Eddie called her Van Halen and she only ever answered to that.

Years later when Van Halen was fully trained, Steve got his revenge. Eddie brought home a cat named Ozzy and Steve saw his chance. He called her exclusively Cuddlebug and from then on, she only answered to that.

It was so much worth it, seeing the grimace and full-body sigh Eddie took whenever he called her name. He learned the hard way that Steve holds a mean grudge (and usually gets payback in unexpected ways).

im just gonna leave these here…..

IM INTERNALLY SCREAMING 😩😩😍😍

Can someone please write more Tyler Hoechlin fanfics?

From SEBASTIAN STAN's IG Stories June 2022.