Stop, That Was So Cute!

Eddie and Steve kept catching the other's eye every time Dio, their grey and white cat, kept flopping down with a world-weary sigh that, this time, wasn't due to Eddie being annoying showing affection. The poor thing had formed a habit of seeking out the cool floor vents or worming his way into fridge when it was open, but that behavior never seemed too out of character, considering how his fluffy butt would shoot outside and completely starfish-jump into a fresh mound of snow if given the opportunity. And he was always given a lot.

On a leash, of course.

The first time that had happened, Steve and Eddie doubled over in laughter, hands slapping at arms until the "Did you see that?!" of the moment turned into "Can you see him?!" and they both frantically started digging for him. The snow-chilled but panic-warmed reunion yielded a very unamused Dio held tight against Steve's chest (with a hyperbolic "He's frozen solid!") as Eddie's forehead pressed between Dio's snow-dusted ears with a vow of "Never again" spilled from his chapped lips.

But that was January of last year, and it was now July of this year, and — look. The decision was that the cat needed his fur trimmed past just the regularly-scheduled maintenance of the very necessary Butt Trim. It was the peak of summer, and Dio was obviously uncomfortable in his long fur that was thicker than Eddie's skull, the latter of which was unfortunately to blame for the current situation:

Little Dio, Baby D, Dionysus, Rice-a-Ronnie fighting for his hairy little life on the top of the dryer, wiggling like an eel half out of Eddie's hold, claws raking through fur clippings and skidding against its absolutely gripless surface. The clippers buzzed menacingly from the floor after falling off the dryer.

Eddie tried his best to talk the cat down, cooing little things like "You're gonna look so handsome, Steve's gonna be so impressed. You're gonna be such a cool cat," but Dio the Diabolical didn't want any part of that.

Butt trim? No problem. Starting there probably would have been the better idea, but Eddie — alone, forsaken, and abandoned, thanks to Steve getting called in to work on his off day — had started working at the other end and soon found that the job couldn't be carried out with just one set of hands, committed though they were.

After a well-fought struggle, Eddie finally let Dio go with permission to "be free and angry — for now," and turned the clippers off, but he was not prepared for the sight that fully registered when he found Dio sitting on a stool next to the counter.

After an appropriate gasp, Eddie muttered, "Ohhh my god. Diogenes, what have I done?" from behind his hand, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry.

Dio ignored him, fully in ice-out mode as he groomed his face. He didn't even flinch as Eddie snapped a picture on his phone, but didn't take too kindly to the tone of Eddie's "Why are you so tiny?!" so he hopped down and found another spot in a different room.

Eddie texted the following to Steve:

I made a mistake he won't let me clip anymore. Will I be arrested.

Not even ten seconds later, Eddie received a video call from Robin Buckley, who was absolutely howling in laughter, featuring a horrified Steve in the background, unable to tear his eyes away from his phone.

The rest of the fur trim may or may not have happenedb until a few days later because the sight was just so ridiculously fascinating (and Robin had insisted on experiencing its full glory in person). His fuzzy boots and a fluffy tuft at the end of his tail remained, though.

calling eddie by his name instead of the usual 'babe' or 'baby' and he thinks hes in trouble

you wandered into yours and eddies room, staring down at the assembly instructions of the coffee table you had just bought.

"hey, eddie, i know i said i could do this myself but can you help me real quick?" you asked, not looking up from the paper.

you missed the way he tensed, quickly setting aside his guitar and making his way to you.

"uh... yeah, of course."

"great!" you headed back into the living room of your new home, eyes still scanning the words on the page. "i cant get this tightened down enough, and i dont want it to be all wobbly and uneven."

eddie nodded, uncharacteristically quiet as he mulled over the day in his head. maybe you really did want him to help and he just didnt pick up on the signals? he forgot to put gas in the van and you had to go and do it, but you brought him back a snack from inside, surely you werent mad at him about that? shit, what was the date?

"you okay, love?" you laughed softly, waving your hand in front of his face to snap him back to reality.

"did i... did i do something wrong?" he asked, and the hurt puppy dog look on his face made your heart melt.

"what? no, baby, what makes you say that?" you set the paper down, handing him the little hex key that came with the table. "this one right here."

he didnt look at you, a little embarrassed at being so anxious over such a small thing, instead focusing on tightening the little screw keeping the leg in place.

"you called me eddie."

"...isnt that your name?" you laughed softly, not quite understanding.

"well yeah, but you never call me eddie." he set the key down after tightening it, taking the other screw you handed to him and placing it in the hole, tightening it with his fingers as much as he could before going back to the key.

you thought for a moment, trying to recall the last time you called him by his actual name.

"huh. i guess i dont." you laughed, grabbing his hand to get his attention. "did you think i was mad at you?"

"yes!" he sounded exasperated and you laughed more. "i thought i forgot our anniversary or something, fuck. i was freaking out!"

you snorted through your laughter causing eddie to grin.

"no! jesus, im sorry baby. im not mad, i promise."

he laughed in relief, shaking his head before leaning over the little coffee table to kiss your head.

"im glad. had me scared for a minute."

no words. just this. imagine papa munson. *heart eyes*

Steve Rogers + side profile 

↳ for @captainevans

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.” 

🍂 walk through the orange leaves — blurbs with autumn-themed prompts.

sitting by a bonfire w stevie bc i can just tell already how cute and fluff you’ll make it 🫶🏽

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄.

pairings ; steve harrington x female!reader 

warnings ; female!reader, established relationship, pet names, lumax, steve being a caring and cosy boyfriend, r is tired, cursing, eddie being loud.

word count ; 918

additional notes ; bubba sav, this is dedicated to you <33 you're the best

the radiating warmth of not only the bonfire in front but the length of steve’s chest pressed against your back is enough to send you into a hazy slumber. if it weren’t for his constant moving as he watched everyone.

your head tucked under your boyfriend’s chin, steve’s arms gently encased your frame and had been for the past hour. the small get together at eddie’s ended with only a few of you left. nancy had drove most of the kids home, max staying as she only lived a trailer across and lucas was stuck to her side; steve opting to drive him back later.

eddie was using his hands atop his knees to make some careless noise amongst conversation with robin whilst steve watched fondly as lucas and max bicker, including him every so often with a ‘steve, tell her,’ or ‘stay outta this, steve, don’t listen to this doofus.’

steve couldn’t get involved, too wrapped up in the ambience of your sleepy nature against him. your breath fanned his neck and your hands clutched his jacket tightly, humming every so often when you stirred from threatened sleep.

“fuck you, honest to god, y/n! back me up here!” hands which previously coursed up and down your back with a sickeningly sweet graze freeze when steve glared at eddie munson from his spot. the kids from beside him follow his gaze when steve tries his best to whisper shout, “shut up, holy crap what ever happened to indoor voices with you lot, huh?”

“i know you weren’t the best in school, steve, but it’s basic common sense to know we’re outside right now.”

his glare moves to robin, ready to make another remark when your nose nudges against his jaw with another hum escaping you, stirring to lay your front against his while hands flatten against his chest which is currently alight with love. causing his throat to close and to shut up entirely.

“i’m not asleep, stevie. still here.” your hands move when steve’s chest vibrates with a chuckle, your words saying one thing but your expression saying a hell of the lot more.

your eyes are half-lidded, filled with a sleepiness, your cheeks look oh-so-soft and steve resists the urge to run the back of his finger over so gently like he’d break you. plus the light from the fire doesn’t help how he feels, not when the warm glow makes you look so much sweeter.

“y/n! queen or the beatles?” eddie’s voice interjects and steve leans down to press a long kiss to your head, lips murmuring against yours in the process, “sorry, baby.” you giggle lazily, hugging yourself closer to your boyfriend, knees bending so you essentially look like a koala clung to a tree.

“queen.”

a rapid beat fills your eardrums as eddie slaps his knees to the chorus of ‘we will rock you’ before standing up and leaning towards robin’s face, “told you! nobody beats freddie mercury, man. nobody!”. eddie looks over to you, face hidden in steve’s frame but eddie still speaks, not caring if it’s not really heard, “this is why you’re my favourite, y/n.”

“y/n’s clearly delirious, isn’t thinking straight,” robin starts.

“yeah, she’s like half asleep,” max continues.

you hardly listen to them, the fall air crisp against your back but steve’s quick to keep you warm. the scent of his woody cologne filling your nostrils and working like a charm to make you feel more woozy and tired, entirely safe in his arms.

“y/n deserves extra marshmallows,” eddie announces in retaliation while leaning down to grip the large bag they shared by the fire earlier to throw it in your direction. steve raises his arm to catch the plastic before discarding it to his side while responding, “y/n deserves some well-needed rest.”

you murmur incoherently against steve’s chest and he runs his hand over your head while whispering, “it’s okay, baby. i’ll get you home to bed.” little did steve know you were far more content at the back of eddie’s garden, lame bonfire while pressed against your boyfriend.

“just stay here?” eddie says as if it’s the simplest thing and steve feels you push against his hand, eyes open once again trying to lift yourself up as you start to disagree, “no, no, no. stevie, we can’t.”

everyone watches you ramble tiredly, steve kissing your forehead while his arms wrapped around your lower back comfortingly, “okay, baby—” but you continue as he speaks back, “we can’t stay, gotta drive lucas to basketball practice first thing tomorrow. gotta go home.”

“you’re right,” steve starts, everyone else confused while steve only smiles at you in complete adoration as you both attempt to move from your comfortable position. steve turns to max and lucas, spinning his finger as a signal to ‘wrap things up,’ “c’mon, lucas. let’s get you home, bud.”

everyone makes a move, lucas nervously leaning in to kiss max’s cheek while steve helps swing his jacket over your shoulder before tucking your tired state under his arm. “robin, need a lift?” asks steve, allowing you a few extra peaceful moments to feel the warm fire against your body.

“think i’m staying here.”

“let’s go, bub,” your squeezed while steve kisses your cheek, his affection only making you feel more tired and light-headed, in the best way while you're guided from the warm fire and instead promised to be cuddled to sleep in the comfort of your bed, your boyfriend right by your side like always.

⤸

taglist form . the library . all blurbs

steve harrington; masterlist . blurbs

When Max graduates she throws two caps. One for her and one for Billy, whose early acceptance to Berkely is still sitting in a closed envelope on her desk, postmarked July 23, 1985.

Dustin throws two, too. His own and one that has "86 Baby" painted across the top in dripping red paint. He keeps Eddie's lucky D20 is his pocket all through college.

panic attack

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Summary: When you have a panic attack at one of your movie nights with the party, you ask them to call the one person who can help.

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

Warnings: panic attack, soft,protective!Billy, concerned!party, fluff

a/n: okay, so this one is another from the old account. i wasn’t really sure if i was going to repost this one, just because i’m not as fond of billy as i used to be, but a lovely anon asked me to repost this one so here it is! i made a few edits and billy is definitely very ooc but i hope you enjoy nevertheless <3

NOT MY GIF! CREDIT TO THE OWNER!

You let out an amused snort at something Steve had said as you sat on one of the couches in Mike’s living room. Max and El were tucked under each of your arms, snuggled into your side as they shook against you with laughter. 

You were having your bi-weekly movie night with the party, Steve and Robin. You were currently on your third movie and, surprisingly, everyone was seated and watching the movie instead of running around or arguing like usual. 

You looked around the room, smiling at the people you got to call family, however your smile faltered slightly as you wished your boyfriend could be here too. You and Billy had been dating for a few months, secretly, and contrary to popular belief, he was a real gentleman. He treated you like a princess and he’s been there for you through tough times, especially your frequent panic attacks.

Keep reading

woah

imagine that every time Nat sees Steve in civvies, she nods approvingly, frames his pecs with her hands and says “Specimen”. imagine Steve almost cracking up every fucking time she does it but pointedly refusing to explain the joke to anyone, no matter how much they whine