[While Decorating The Christmas Tree]

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-

Steve’s dad is the kind of guy who would have a kid with another woman and leave the baby with Steve to take care of. Unknowingly, to his dad, Steve is hiding Eddie Munson in his loft. His dad just dropped the baby off and left. That's when Eddie decided to wake up from his nap. He stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and his hair a mess. He was missing a sock. Steve stood at the counter with a baby on his hip.

"Oh, good, honey, I'm glad you're up. I think it's your turn to take care of our baby," Steve said.

"What the fuck? How long was I asleep for? Am I still awake?" Eddie asked.

"I think someone must have wished really hard because now we have a baby," he said sarcastically, messing with Eddie.

"Oh my God!"

Eddie was panicking. This was his fault. Stupid. He just had to go and imagine Steve with his baby, a baby that looks just like Steve. Of course, magic was real. The Upside Down was real. Eddie wondered if a fairy happened to be passing by when he made his wish.

"I'm sorry, Stevie, this is all my fault!" Eddie exclaimed.

"It's your fault that my dad passed off his child he had with another woman for me to raise?" Steve asked with amusement.

The little girl started making grabby hands at Eddie.

"Oh yeah, that makes more sense. Your dad is a dick, man. Ugh. Also, you cannot fuck with me when I just woke up," Eddie said rubbing sleep from his eye.

"Mama!"

"Oh yeah, you do kind of look like her!" Steve giggled. "He had the decency to leave a picture of her for Rosie."

"Fuck off, Harrington. Look, I'm not your mama, kid," Eddie said.

"Mama?" She looked at him with big, watery eyes and a pouty lip.

"Aww, you hurt her feelings!"

"Ah, hell, come here," Eddie said and took the baby. "I'm sorry, but - "

"Mama!" Rosie exclaimed and started bouncy on his hip. "Mama! Mama! Mama!"

"Okay, question, since she brought it up, where is her mother in all of this?" Eddie asked.

"Abandoned her," Steve replied.

"Damn, kid, doesn't she know how cute you are?" Eddie asked. "Okay, if you're going to call me something, why not Dada? I'm a dude, Rosie."

"Mama!" Rosie said firmly.

"Dada."

"Mama!"

"Dada!"

"Mama!"

"Eddie, you're arguing with a baby," Steve explained.

"Dada!" Rosie said, looking at Steve.

"Oh, well, it looks like you got your wish after all, Eddie," Steve said. "We do have a baby."

"I hate you."

A few days later, the party had been gathered together to meet Rosie. Eddie was bouncing her on his hip, cooing at her.

"Mama!" Rosie grinned happily and grabbed his face.

"Yeah, that's right, I'm your mama!" Eddie said happily.

"Eddie, you're a guy. You can't be her mother," Dustin said.

"Aww, my little Rosie-roo, Uncle Dusty didn't mean that," Eddie scowled at him. "I am your mama."

Eddie blew a raspberry at Dustin, and Rosie followed suite, dimples appearing as she poked her little tongue out. Steve came into the room and Rosie squealed.

"Dada!" Rosie exclaimed.

"Man, I thought for sure that Steve would be the mom in this relationship," Mike said.

"We all did, Mike," Lucas said, slapping him on the back. "We all did."

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)

Y/N: I’m not lazy, I just find it hard to put effort into things I’m not passionate about.

Steve: What are you passionate about?

Y/N: Sleeping.

Emergency Contact

(Steve Rogers x Reader)

All fluff

Word count: 3,081

Summary: After three years together, you finally experience the joy of being Steve’s emergency contact.

Warnings: Mentions of injury, guns, illness, and medicine. Loopy Steve! My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked.Minors DNI.

AN: I love writing Steve fluff, and honestly, I think the world needs more of it!!!! All mistakes are my own, hope you love it! <3

Steve Rogers was a man of many traits, but needy and attention seeking was definitely nowhere on that list. Well, at least that was the case for most of his life.

The Avengers loved teasing him for the way his striking authority and stubborn independence completely crumbled away into a pile of dust the moment you walked into the room. Just the sight of you relaxed his stiff posture and brought a permanent grin to his otherwise expressionless face.

Sure, off duty Steve was all laughs and smiles. Any time he spent with the team that didn't involve boring meetings or adrenaline pumping athletics, his personality was larger than life. But for some reason, you pulled it out of him even when he tried his hardest to stay neutral.

He never accepted help or allowed others to love him the same way he helped and loved everyone around him, unless it was you.

Which made you the very obvious first choice as his emergency contact, and you had been since two months into your relationship with the Captain. It wasn't even something that was discussed or you were informed of. It was an executive decision made by Tony the moment he realized you were pretty much the only person qualified to be there.

Now here you were three years later. Still americas sweetheart, and still the perfect emergency contact. Three years of waiting for an emergency call that never came, well, that was until it did.

Steve, the selfless and heroic bastard he was, snuck onto enemy lines and over a blockade to free over two-hundred hostages.

Did he free them? Yes.

Did he get shot in the head? Yes.

Did it only get worse from there? Yes.

Luckily for him, his helmet bared most of the burden. It did it's job exactly as intended, stopping the bullet and protecting his precious skull and even more precious brain. But after years of wear and bravery it's life came to an end as it inevitably cracked in half.

That resulted in a gnarly concussion after Steve was thrown off a five story building just moments after the helmet met its fate. The doctor explained to you that because the concussion was combined with pretty routine injuries, the serum could only do so much for Steve and that he was temporarily immunocompromised.

Steve sat patiently on the edge of a gurney while you listened to the doctor tell you all about how to take care of him. Your eyes occasionally drifted over to your human golden retriever and you almost wanted to slap him across his perfect concussed head.

He held an ice pack to the back of his head with a proudly smug expression on his face. His suit was tattered and torn, and you could see dark red stains of tacky pooled blood. His arms were scraped and he had deeply pronounced cuts on his temple, lips and nose. Your personal favorite part was that he could barely keep his eyes open, yet after they would slowly close, he would rip them open and blink a few times just to get his vision to focus on you.

After you and the doctor debriefed, you waited until he left the room to address Steve.

"You exhaust me, you big dumb idiot" You quietly scolded him after the door softly clicked into it's closed position. "I've been worried sick about you since I got the phone call almost two hours ago and you're sitting here smiling?!"

"You're so pretty" Hir smile stretched wider as you pulled him into a tight hug. "I missed you"

"I missed you too" You sighed into his hair. It was odd having his head below yours for once, but him sitting and you standing allowed for the unique experience.

Steve could tell that you really had been worried about him. You were practically melting into his arms, holding onto him so tight he thought that maybe he had actually died and came back to life. Even though your tight hold strained every screaming ache in his body, he held back winces and groans to allow you the comfort you needed.

"Please don't scare me like that ever again" Your sternness had quickly turned into worry and sympathy.

"'M sorry, darling. I didn't mean to" Steve slowly rubbed your back in attempts to appease your distress. "You know I'd never do anything that would keep me from coming home to you."

"You almost didn't" She denied his statement. "You were shot in the head and thrown off a building. That doesn't sound like something that would happen to someone just trying to go home"

"That's a normal Tuesday for me" He stated like it was a matter of fact.

"I hate Tuesdays" He could hear the pout in your voice before you pulled away and cradled his cheeks in your hands. "Are you okay?"

"I will be" He reassured you, but the pained expression on his face and the dulled blue in his droopy eyes told you that he definitely wasn't feeling good.

"I'm so happy you're home" You told him, but it came out in a broken whisper that allowed Steve to understand what you were really trying to say.

I'm so happy you made it home alive.

"Thank you for coming to get me" sincerity was laced into every word he spoke.

"Let's get you cleaned up and in bed" She grinned. "Doctor said you're on mandatory bed rest for three days. Are you going to listen, or did the fall make your hard head go soft?"

"I'm pretty sure my brain is a pile of mush right now, maybe three days would do me good" Steve pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

Beyond your wildest expectations, your stubborn hard headed boyfriend actually did listen. He spent three whole days sleeping away in your shared bed, or the living room couch in the compound. It was almost concerning to everyone who passed by to see him so deeply asleep and almost lifeless.

Amongst the words those would use to describe Steve, restless and active were very high up. But now those were tossed out of the window and replaced with needy.

By day four he wouldn't even let you out of his sight, but you didn't really want to leave him either. He spent hours curled up in a little ball with a pained scrunched up face.

His head was pounding, his muscles were sore, and more recently he found himself with a scratchy throat and blocked sinuses.

Having not been sick since the 40's, he was out of practice and strength to deal with it. The whole team accused him of having the 'man flu', exaggerating his symptoms to keep you close. Fake coughing and sneezing for a few extra back rubs, because really, how on earth could a super soldier get sick?

But they all didn't see him how you did. It was really out of the ordinary for him to make himself seem so small. They weren't the ones wrapping his shivering body in heated blankets, massaging his sore lower back, or playing with his hair just to get him to release any sort of misery to lull him to sleep.

Not only was he sick, but you could tell he was dealing with stirred up past trauma. He spent practically his whole life up until the war being unwell, struggling to breath with a body so nimble and weak it felt like it could give out at any moment.

So that's how you ended up here, with two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle using your chest as a pillow while watching Snow White.

Much like you loved to show him stuff he missed while he was in the ice, he loved to show you stuff from his time before the ice. Snow White just happened to be the one Disney film you hadn't seen, and the film that he has fond memories of.

He told you when you first started dating that it came out when he was nineteen years old, and it was the first thing to bring a genuine smile to his face since his mom passed away when he was eighteen. Steve knew with everything in him that she would've loved it.

You were more than happy to lay awake at 2:30am to watch it and play with his hair even if it would make him just the tiniest bit less miserable.

You mindlessly ran your fingers through the short length while he held you tight and snug. He was under so many blankets that you weren't really sure where your bodies started and ended, but you did know that between him and the pile, you were way more than warm. His body was like a furnace, it usually was but this was a whole new extreme.

The medicine he was prescribed was strong enough to tranquilize a horse, but it was a tough match on the super soldier who was desperately trying to stay awake to finish the tale of the seven dwarves. It was equal parts endearing and frustrating that he was fighting off sleep with every ounce of strength he had.

Luckily, this was a battle that he had lost around three in the morning. You waited a few minutes to make sure he was out cold before slipping out from underneath his sweaty body in attempts to take care of yourself too.

You had already accepted the fact that you're sleep schedule was royally fucked up, so you didn't even bat an eye when it came to showering at such an ungodly hour.

The real trouble came when you tried to make yourself a cup of chamomile tea to will yourself to sleep after days in bed with Steve.

Maybe you weren't quite as stealth or quiet as you thought you were being, but there was definitely nothing quiet about the shriek you let out when a warm pair of unsuspecting forearms wrapped around your stomach from behind.

"God, you scared the shit out of me" You complained to your drugged up boyfriend.

He was in nothing but his boxers with a blanket draped around his shoulders. His arms held your back tightly against his front while his head dropped to your shoulder, he wasn't doing much to support his body weight.

"You left me" He complained with the saddest little pout. His sweet voice was raspy and muffled by a very obvious sore throat, it was enough to make you weak in the knees. "Woke up s'sad"

"I'm sorry, baby." You used your free hand to grab his forearm and draw hearts into his skin with your thumb.

"Thassokay, so happy now" He was obviously in a cold medicine induced loopy state. "Needed to see my beautiful girl"

"I think you need some good sleep" you suggested, trying your hardest to finish up so you could get him back in bed.

"No more sleep. I wanna do whatever you're doing" Steve sniffled into your neck before placing tiny kisses along your shoulder. "I haven't seen you in like two weeks"

"Honey, I've been with you for four whole days" You smiled at his drugged thoughts.

"I haven't seen you in six yearssss" he slurred.

"We only met three years ago" a giggle slipped past your lips.

"Nooooo. It's been at least 10. I've known you since two life times ago. Promise" He placed a kiss on your cheek. "Every second without you feels like a lifetime."

"I'll take your word for it" You brought your mug to your lips and took a long sip.

"Why have you been in bed with me for four years, pretty girl?"

"Days" you corrected. "Because you don't feel good, and I'm trying to make you feel better." You placed your mug down on the counter before turning around so you could face him.

"You've been taking care of me for four whole days?!" He questioned.

His eyelids were heavy and his expression was weary. A pretty shade of pink painted his cheeks and the top of his chapped nose while his hair stuck out in a million different directions. The soft stubble growing along his bold jaw and upper lip was coming in and filling out which was a rarity with Steve. He always kept his face cleanly shaved in attempts to keep up with public image and old fashioned habits.

You couldn't even help but to smile at how cute he was, even drugged out of his mind.

"Mhm" You grinned.

"Wow. Woooooooowwww! I'm ssssoo lucky" He threw his head back with a huge smile, the first time he smiled in days. "You must really love me. Like. A lot."

"I do" You confirmed while trying to fix his hair. "I love you a whole bunch"

"Tomorrow I'm going to go buy you flowers" he stated proudly.

"No you're not" You gently denied. "Tomorrow you have to rest so you feel better, remember?"

"But I have to" He wined with a poked out bottom lip in the most pathetic pout you've ever seen.

"Why do you have to?"

"Because my mother always told me that I have to buy pretty flowers for even prettier girls or else they'll run off. I don't want you to leave me." He explained.

"I'd never leave you" You reassured him, trying to take it as seriously as he was. Your thumbs made their way to the very corners of his pouted lips, and stretched them up into a grin. "I promise, I know you love me. I don't need flowers to know that"

"Really? You promise?"

"I promise" You confirmed with a small nod. "You look like you aren't feeling good, do you want to go back to bed now?"

"I feel fine" He denied. "Don'tcha worry your cute little face about me."

You lifted your hand and pressed your palm against his forehead. "But, honey, you're hot. You're practically burning up"

"Why thank you" He smirked.

"I meant your temperature" You chuckled until you realized that his face fell into another pathetic pout.

"I'm ugly?" He asked sadly.

"What? No- baby you're the handsomest man I've ever seen. All I'm trying to tell you is that you have a fever."

"Oh" He perked up. "Yeah, I really don't feel good" His head dropped back into the crook of your neck. "Should probably go to bed, but I don't wanna"

"Why not?"

"Cause I want cuddles from my pretty princess"

"I can give you cuddles in bed" You tried reasoning with him while drawing shapes into his bare back.

"You smell so good" You could feel his smile against your skin. "And you're so pretty. And warm. It's so cold"

"How about we get under the blankets to warm you up?" You desperately tried reasoning with him.

"I have a blanket right here, see? We're sharing it." Steve readjusted then blanket so it was tighter around the two of you. "Why is your hair wet?"

"I took a shower- washed my hair" You told him with a grin. His lack of self support caused his weight to push your back into the counter while his front leaned into yours.

"Without me? That's so mean"

"You were asleep, I didn't want to wake you up"

"But I'm here now" He proudly stated.

"I'm so happy you're here. But do you know where I want to go?" You asked, hoping you could trick him.

"Where do you wanna go? I'll go aaaaanywhere with you. I can even start up the quinjet if you want" He lifted his head to look at your face again.

"I want to go to bed"

"Awww s'my angel so sleepy?" He questioned sweetly with a higher pitched tone as if you were the tiniest puppy he had ever seen. "Let's get you cozy"

He unraveled himself from his spot then grabbed your hand and brought you back into the bedroom. To your surprise, he got into bed with no complaints.

Without saying a word, the two of you found your spots exactly where you were. Bodies becoming one, tangled into endless blankets, his head on your chest, and his weight pushing you deeper into the plush mattress. You pressed play again on Snow White and Steve pressed a little kiss just below your collar bone as a token of appreciation.

One hand on his smooth back, the other forever tangled into his silky blonde hair.

"Do you feel sick too?" Steve practically whispered after almost ten minutes of silence.

"No, honey, I'm feeling okay"

"Okay, I'm so happy you don't feel like this" He squeezed his eyes closed and nestled his cheek into the cotton of your shirt. "I don't want to feel like this anymore"

The statement brought a genuine pain to your chest. Steve was just too cute to handle, and if you could take every drop of illness out of him and bare it yourself, you would do it in a heartbeat.

"I'm so sorry, Stevie. This is the worst of it, okay? Bruce said you should start feeling better within the next day or two" You sealed the statement with a kiss to the top of his head. "If there's anything I can do to make you feel better just let me know and I'll do it, alright?"

"You're the best emergency contact in the whole world. You're granted this position for the rest of my life" He appointed you.

"I'm glad. It's a privilege to take care of you, I love you."

"I love you too"

Another few moments of silence and calm fell onto the room, and his evened out breathing and relaxed muscles lead you to believe that you had successfully lulled the big friendly giant to sleep. You couldn't even help your brain wandering as you had a chance to unapologetically stare at the creature that was your boyfriend.

He really was so beautiful. A sharp jaw, strong nose, and bold cheekbones all softened by a sweet, lopsided smile, baby blue eyes, and a loyal, timeless personality.

"I'm going to go buy you flowers tomorrow" His voice ripped you out of the trance he had put you in to begin with.

"You're a pain in the butt" you couldn't even help but to laugh, and a smirk formed on his face though his eyes remained closed.

"I have a good butt"

"Go to sleep, Rogers."

50 WORDS TO USE INSTEAD OF “SAID”

Do you ever find yourself over-using the word “said” in your writing? Try using these words/phrases instead:

stated

commented

declared

spoke

responded

voiced

noted

uttered

iterated

explained

remarked

acknowledged

mentioned

announced

shouted

expressed

articulated

exclaimed

proclaimed

whispered

babbled

observed

deadpanned

joked

hinted

informed

coaxed

offered

cried

affirmed

vocalized

laughed

ordered

suggested

admitted

verbalized

indicated

confirmed

apologized

muttered

proposed

chatted

lied

rambled

talked

pointed out

blurted out

chimed in

brought up

wondered aloud

(NOTE: Keep in mind that all of these words have slightly different meanings and are associated with different emotions/scenarios.)

I love all the eddie with pets posts but what if eddie has a Guinea pig that just roams free in the trailer? And eddie and Wayne are so protective over it like they get it the best food they can and shampoo it and it’s completely pampered but it always looks like an absolute MESS. the first time Steve comes over he almost has a heart attack because this THING barrels out from behind the couch squeaking at him and headbutts the side of his foot. Before he can react eddie has scooped it up and forces Steve to apologise for scaring dirt. The Guinea pig is called dirt.

Eddie: *sneaking in through Steve’s window*

Steve: *turning in their chair and flicking the light one* You want to tell me where you've been all night?

Eddie: I was with Robin?

Robin: *turning in their chair* Wanna try again?

Keeper, Sketch, and Scratch

A/N: Just wanted some adorable fluff today. I needed it. Maybe we all need it.

“Watch out! You’re gonna get yourself killed?”

Steve jumps back out of the way of the razor-sharp edge, inches from his face.

“I don’t get why—“ he bumps against the wall and makes an impromptu sidestep “—she’s so angry.” Steve less than gracefully trips over your foot and nearly topples the pair of you. If you both go down, you’ll be at the beast's mercy.

“You’re supposed to save me,” you squeal. “You’re normally so good with women.”

Steve throws you a vicious glance before getting stabbed in the foot. “Ah! Oh, come on, you’ve had food. It’s right there,” he wails.

Alpine, Bucky’s new feline, doesn’t care. She knows Steve is a dog guy and smells his fear.

“Stark said she was nice,” Steve cries weakly, snatching his arm away. Alpine stalks him to the corners of the room. It’s hilarious, but she is actually a pretty terrifying little package of fur.

“Then be like Tony and woo her.”

Steve jumps out of the way again. “How? How am I supposed to do that?”

“Oh, right,” you sigh, “you didn’t even really woo me…”

His head snaps up again. “Don’t you start—AH!”

Alpine latches on tooth and nail to Steve’s beautiful forearm. You don’t blame her.

“How does something so small hurt so bad?”

You’re failing to suppress a smile as you notice the wiggle of her furry body turn playful. She thrashes a bit, sinks in, then waits, staring at Steve with big blue eyes.

“Little white devil, that one,” you mutter, half-laughing.

The two fighters have a silent shake down of head bobs and squinting eyes. Alpine releases her jaw. Steve softly hisses when her claws shift, but it’s because Alpine is rubbing her chin along his thumb.

“I see…” You chance a step closer. “She was wooing you, huh? Had to break you in a bit, I think.”

“Plays rough like her pa,” Steve says with a furrowed brow.

“Or Nat, depending on how you look at it.”

He nods as he reaches his other hand under Alpine’s suspended body and tucks her to his chest, tentatively. He must have great faith in the resilience of his tact suit to bring her even closer, but the pretty kitty sinks into the hold with a little yowl.

You laugh.

It takes a few tries to pull away his other arm, and it’s possible Alpine only releases when it’s clear Steve is moving to scratch at her head. The purrs start full force.

You’re impressed, not just by Steve’s gentility but by Alpine’s extreme emotional range. Strategically feral, just like Bucky, which makes probably the most sense but is still funny.

Steve beams. He holds Alpine like a fluffy baby and coos, then quietly whispers, “see? And Aunty said I wasn’t good with women.”

He looks up at you through his long lashes, thinking he’s won with a sassy last word.

Alpine nips at his finger. Fast learner.

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.”