#gift exchange fic

[buddiekinard]

fic: don't love you yet but probably will

written for the @buddietommydaily gift exchange!

written for @brassm

“Whoa, whoa.” Eddie blinks when they walk into the hangar. He hasn’t seen Tommy Kinard in years and now here he is, about to fly them into a fucking hurricane, and apparently he used to be with the 118. There’s a lot of thoughts swirling through Eddie’s mind right now. “Kinard?”

or;

Eddie and Tommy were in the army together, and now here he is, flying them into a hurricane. Also, Eddie's boyfriend is definitely into Tommy. It's fine.

[read on ao3]

[greenroseunderglasswrites]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Janice Rand & Nyota Uhura Characters: Janice Rand, Nyota Uhura, James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Giotto (Star Trek) Additional Tags: Mission Fic Summary:

Yeoman Janice Rand has decided she wants to be an officer.

Rand pinched her lips together but still found herself saying aloud, “This is not how I imagined my first landing party would go.”

“Honey, this isn’t how anyone imagines their landing party will go,” Uhura returned, her busy hands not hesitating as they moved over the wreckage.

[hitlikehammers]

oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part i : you were mine but—

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤🩵

Arguably the sharpest knife in his chest about this whole fucking shitshow?

Eddie thought they were doing good.

Like: so fucking good.

Eddie thought they were on the cusp of…that they were building something.

He’s such an idiot. Such a…

A heartsick fucking idiot.

But if he’s gracious—which he’s not, least of all to himself—when he puts all the pieces together, lines the evidence up and analyzes it, thinks of it in terms of a narrative that he can understand and recognize the flaws in, where he’d rewrite the ending or tweak the rising action so everything slides into place realistically, cause and effect in balance just right: Eddie can see that the way this has all shaken out is fucked up. So, so fucked up.

Because there honestly hadn’t been any signs that they weren’t laying the foundations of something long-term, something lasting; that they weren’t in this deep and rooted, strong and committed and serious in a real, tangible way, and, just…

Forever. Eddie was…he was playing for keeps, here. He thought, he just, he thought—

Fuck.

He just…really believed he wasn’t alone in it all.

Again: idiot.

It’d started so fucking predictably, really, because if there’s one thing that Eddie clocked about Steve Harrington from the get-go of actually getting to know him versus operating on the popular-gorgeous-jock framework he’d distilled the guy down to in his head before 1986: the one consistent thing he’d figured from what he’d heard and what he’d seen put together was that: Steve Harrington?

Bastard’s protective to a fucking fault.

So when he blinked back to the land of the living with Steve goddamn Harrington at his bedside? Standing guard, looking a little haggard—like he cared, at least enough to worry—but still fucking devastatingly pretty, good god-

When he woke up to that, Eddie was surprised and also: not at all surprised.

The way he lit up when he saw Eddie was conscious, like world was less before that moment and something right slid back into place? Eddie…Eddie felt like his body was pretty wholly broken but that fucking cracked something down his middle, decimated parts of him in new ways that hadn’t been already devastated on another plane, were sitting ripe for wholesale ruin.

He’d let Steve blame the breathiness that’d overcome him on coming back from the brink of death, because Steve didn’t need to know the sensations, the emotions, that were running riot through Eddie’s veins.

But then it hadn’t stopped.

Steve standing guard at his side became a constant, like Eddie couldn’t quite comprehend save that it felt like his body was knitting itself around the fact of this more-than-good dude and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that, save kind of just…poke curiously at the new shape of everything he was for it, and once he worked through the fear of the unfamiliar in it?

To kinda…savor it. Roll around in it and relish.

Probably it was gonna be short lived anyway. Probably it was gonna go away when Eddie finally got out of here. Only made sense to soak it up while it lasted.

And it was one of those early days, where Eddie was soaking it up and before anything possible beyond the bubble of middle-space they were existing in inside Eddie’s hospital room was even hinted at. Steve had gone to check on Max while Eddie grappled a bit to look down at himself a little better under the handkerchief that the hospital deemed sufficient as clothing, and he braced for the worst because it felt like the worst and what he did remember at all from the scene of the inter-dimensional mauling definitely aligned with being ‘the worst’: but it was honestly mostly bandages and pain.

Eddie didn’t…on second thought he didn’t know if he was ready to see what was underneath just yet, so he was actually kinda grateful that his hubris about it all didn’t immediately have a chance to floor him, especially when he was alone because he’d thought it’d be easier to stomach if it was just him—but the prospect, the bullet dodged, lodged in his throat and proved him kinda instantly wrong for the sharp cut of bile rising in him, and the violent jump of his pulse right behind it.

His hand had gravitated to his chest, though, like he could keep his heart from cracking his ribs that way, and he noticed that…even the light pressure ached, so he looked down a little more carefully, didn’t think the little fuckers had concentrated their attacks on the center of his chest so he tucked his chin and tried to see what was causing the sting—maybe just like, general area tenderness after playing buffet table to fucking…flying hellspace rodents but—

No. No: even from this weird-ass uncomfortable angle, Eddie could see the outline, coukd make out the dark stain of a bruise.

In the shape of a hand.

And listen, Eddie wasn’t foolish. He knew that everyone busted ass to get him topside and to a hospital. And that probably involved…stuff he didn’t want to really dwell on too long in terms of the nitty-gritty of his own mortality. He was also very much aware that Steve had played a crucial role, even if the man himself didn’t stand up and declare it. The kids didn’t have any sense of a fucking filter, so.

Eddie knew.

But Eddie then started tracing the splay of fingers on his sternum, his heartbeat so fucking heavy under even just the brush of his nails as he followed the outline of the purpling over, and over, and over, imagined what it would take to make that kind of an impression on his skin because Eddie was fucking pale, yeah, he marked quick—but not that dark.

Not that deep.

“Shit.”

Eddie’d startled, snapped his attention to the doorway where Steve had reappeared, looking a little breathless as he took Eddie in, came quick to his side and leaned to look closer at the monitor next to him and oh: Eddie hadn’t realized that the beeping was so loud, so fast. Hadn’t realized his heartbeat had ratcheted up quite so high.

Not that he was surprised.

“Shit, are you okay,” Steve barely breathed, eyes so goddamn big about it as his hands had kinda hovered, as he’d tried to figure out what to do, how to help, because that was what he was always doing; that’s who he was to his core, and Eddie…

“Oh god, let me call the nu—”

“Don’t.”

Eddie’d half-moaned it, god: scratchy but desperate as he reached for Steve’s hand and he…

He suspected he knew exactly how big that hand was; what shape it’d make to a fucking T. But he needed to see

For sure.

“What are you,” Steve’s brow had furrowed in that way Eddie was becoming increasingly aware he wanted to kiss smooth, and he started to ask it as Eddie grabbed to uncurl his grip from the bar at the side of the bed but Steve gave up fighting quick, focused on stopping Eddie from moving at all instead, from stretching the way he was against the precarious threads holding him together as he reached for the neck of his gown again, still loose enough from where he’d pulled the back up, left his ass out against the sheets to bare his breastbone, the mess of the tattoos on his chest more grisly after everything than any horrors he’d gotten inked before but—

This was a different kind of horrifying thing. Not least—maybe most—because it was entirely possible that it was also the most beautiful, sacred thing to ever touch Eddie’s skin. To ever beat through Eddie’s fucking veins.

“You,” Eddie let go of the last breath he could wrestle out before his lungs seized up too tight, because then he was watching it happen, watching Steve’s broad palm as it hovered over the imprint, shivering when Steve’s warmth made contact: eclipsing the bruise near-perfect, just like Eddie knew deep down it fucking would.

His heart took the hint and started shivering under Steve’s hand immediately, like it had something to prove.

“Ed,” Steve’s voice was wispy, choked a little; eyes too bright and Eddie feels like there must be so many kinds of dying, because he’d felt one keenly under that angry red lightning; this was a wholly other thing.

But felt just as keenly life-or-death.

“You,” Eddie whispered, the words, the truth, the feeling of it all too fragile, too precious to disturb, and he wondered if his heart knew Steve had pushed the bruises down around it to save it, if that’s why it was so unbridled and unabashed in hammering against that touch, that touch—

“I think I heard you.”

And Steve? Big eyes framed with those feather lashes, stretched wide and all made of shine and earnest fucking feeling?

“You didn’t…want to lose me?” Eddie’s voice had been so small, so so small because he did think he’d heard that, and the wisps of recollection, of a frantic but resolute voice demanding of him: what he was able to collect and try to tie into a whole matched up when he paired it all with Steve in his head, but what if he was wrong?

What if it was all just fever dreams and wishful thinking on his deathbed, what if Steve had no investment in him beyond keeping the Party safe in its entirety, no exceptions; what if Eddie was fucking wrong and showed too much of his hand with this, with Steve’s palm pressed to his thrashing heart and—

Then Steve was brining his free hand to Eddie’s cheek, fucking…cradling it like it fucking meant something, like he could matter and—

“I couldn’t lose you.”

Oh.

“You,” and so many possible ways to end that thought had swam through Eddie’s head—you barely know me, you can’t possibly care if I live or die, I cannot matter one fucking bit in your universe, so why would it matter but Steve’s hand was warm under his, and Steve didn’t pull away, only leaned in, only stayed close enough that Eddie could feel his breath on his skin and Steve could chart the way Eddie’s heart took to pummelling his already-taxed ribs but it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter because Steve held there, so careful of the pain but nothing short of steady, devoted, a soul-sworn guard of that heart under his hand like it did matter, like Eddie did…

Like Steve ever could—

“Stevie,” Eddie would probably have flushed if the situation had been anything but what it was. If his heart wasn’t racing into Steve’s touch at the chest and just under the jaw where Steve’s thumb pressed almost proprietary, almost like a shield but also like a welcome, like the idea of Eddie’s heart beating into him wasn’t a dealbreaker, and fuck, fuck—

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve breathed out against him, prickling dangerous across his skin and Eddie’s heart leapt a little, fuck; more than a little and Steve felt it, front-row-center, couldn’t not feel it but he just leaned closer still, and Eddie was front-row himself to the catch in Steve’s inhale, undeniable and unapologetic as he murmured low, turning into Eddie’s cheek a little and Eddie maybe resented how it forced him to pull away,until his lips brushed the tip of Eddie’s jawbone and drew a whole ass shudder down his goddamn spine.

“Just know,” Steve gasped there, fucking…panted and hell if it didn’t catch in Eddie’s blood like pure bliss; “just know why.”

And fuck, but Eddie could only press in to the warmth of Steve’s lips where they moved for the words alone, let alone what words; what Eddie thought maybe they meant—

“Me too,” Eddie rasped a little, because fuck him, man; this was something…something else, swelling up in his chest so strong and Steve had to be able to feel it where he still held against him, palm to his galloping pulse at the source, feeling the life he coaxed back into the world.

“Does it have to make sense just yet?” Eddie asked, knew he sounded too hopeful, too desperate, more than he’d earned, than was safe but his heart kept knocking against that hand, so fucking insistent and who was he to deny it, to try and wrestle in into being less when he couldn’t even hide it, when it was evident to the man it was leaping at; for.

“I don’t think so,” Steve mouthed more than spoke where his lips dragged wet across the stubble on Eddie’s cheek.

“Then,” Eddie tipped his head, tried to catch Steve’s eyes, aimed to reason, to convince but the moment he moved, Steve dipped his chin just so to take Eddie’s lips, to kiss so hard, so complete with what felt like it couldn’t even be reasoned as less than all of him, because how could less than all feel like this—

Fucking impossible.

And Eddie couldn’t shy away—as Steve kissed him breathless, left him gasping; Eddie couldn’t shy away from the sense that he was being killed and revived all over again, endless and unbreaking, and it was perfection.

Jesus fuck.

And the kicker was that…weeks passed. A whole month, close to another. And if anything changed it was all for the better, for the more and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, if he was entirely honest. He…the bruise healed, y’know? That brand above his heart but—

He didn’t need it anymore. That was the thing. He didn’t need to see.

He was very fucking aware. Every minute of every day. He was…so aware. It could kill him better than those bats, it was so big and so much, and so quick, but with all that, probably because of all that: Eddie’d never felt anything even remotely like what it meant to shake off sleep and have Steve Harrington kiss you to wakefulness, to hold you for the nightmares as much as the news of small victories on the road to recovery: never wavering.

Never leaving.

When Eddie got the go-ahead to continue his rehab outpatient-style, his original conviction that all of this ended at the latest upon discharge was immediately challenged, because Steve had become so much more than he’d started as, but Eddie still worried. Made himself sick over it.

Felt like an indefensible monster as Steve rubbed his back, brought him soup, tended him like Eddie didn’t cause his own suffering, and all for the terror of losing the very man who was there, without question.

Then he signed himself out, and Steve drove him home.

Save that Eddie recognized where they were headed and…he only knew one person in Loch Nora.

“Your uncle’s still in the motel by the plant,” Steve had explained what Eddie already knew but hadn’t put together when Eddie raised an eyebrow in askance, wholly unsure how to process any of this, any of this; unsure how to hope in the face of what he was seeing, held against what he was wishing.

“Government’s being fucking assholes about setting you up with someplace appropriate,” and something in Steve’s tone had made plain that he was not just very clear on what constituted ‘appropriate’, he was probably actively involved somehow in holding the people in question rightly accountable for appropriate, and nothing less.

And Eddie…he did say he didn’t need a mark you could see on his heart, didn’t he.

“You need the room while you get better,” Steve murmured as he killed the engine, and lifted Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressed his mouth on the knuckles, nuzzling a little, eyes closed and Eddie…Eddie didn’t know what to do.

The only saving grace was that he didn’t have a monitor to rat his ass out when his heart started trying to escape orbit—fuck just his ribs, how pedestrian—this time.

They sat in a living room that looked like it was once absolutely pristine and still was, mostly, but up close Eddie could see little snags on the sofa, could feel the texture of the fabric different under his fingers for scrubbing out a stain. He suspected four infamously unmannered teenagers were the culprits. The remaining stiffness of the cushions was good for the way his body was still working through being gnawed apart, but he was gone far enough to kind of immediately hope he’d see how they wore with love and use and maybe something more once they got there, once Eddie’s body cooperated again, because he…Steve brought him home.

And maybe they didn’t have to stop when Eddie left the hospital. Maybe he didn’t have to lose.

He’d only made it shortly past the best fucking grilled cheese he’d maybe ever tasted, and he didn’t think it was only because it was his first meal without an aftertaste of sterile in too fucking long—but he only lasted a little more than an hour before Steve’d helped him to a guest room on the first floor that’d obviously been reworked for him, from the way he could reach the bed from just inside the door, to the fucking posters that he knew for a fact Steve wouldn’t have had on hand, and Eddie’d giggled a little wetly at the Ozzy one, because he figured the man steadying him at his side would never be anything but intertwined with the Prince of Darkness in his mind, now—but Steve, who’d more than proven he was so far beyond any kind of king, won hands down. By a landslide.

And who could have seen that coming?

“Careful,” Steve chided him gently as he guided Eddie slowly down to the mattress and made to tuck him in, and the word was so warm, so warm but Eddie had to…

He had to reach. Again. He needed Steve, he…needed.

The handprint on top of his heart didn’t need to be a thing he could see, but he needed Steve to…know some level of what he was feeling, of how much was inside him already, and growing, the momentum building and he didn’t want to feed it, didn’t want to let it run if he wasn’t going to have someone to catch it, to run with him but he also didn’t think there was any chance to stop it, now, he didn’t think he could trim it back or tame it from consuming him and he wasn’t sure he’d even want to if he actually had the power because it was the best feeling he’d ever known, even if it was terrifying, even if it could hurt him more than anything he’d ever known and—

“I don’t want to be alone,” was what spilled from his lips with Steve’s hand above his heartbeat as it pumped so goddamn hard it couldn’t be denied, it couldn’t be misconstrued, and he didn’t want to sleep alone, didn’t want to lose what he’d rebuilt himself around all these weeks, he—

“Good,” and Steve leaned down, cradled Eddie’s face and tipped him up to kiss him full, hard, one hand still on his chest because that was the mark, the promise, the fight for all that this was and all it could be like a fucking vow and Eddie melted for it on sight, on contact.

“Because I’m not leaving,” and Steve brushed the tip of his nose back and forth against Eddie’s, his smile like honey in his tone as he pecked Eddie on the lips one more time before stretching his hand to follow him across the bed, to crawl to the other side and slide in next to Eddie, to carefully arrange him against Steve’s body, to wrap around him with so much care, to touch nothing too tender and everything safe to hold as Steve tucked his face against Eddie’s neck and kissed behind his ear as he breathed:

“Never gonna leave you all alone again.”

And Eddie believed him.

Eddie believed him.

And when, weeks later when Eddie was hurting less and moving more, perched in the corner of the couch that was starting to give a little under persistent weight, starting to feel like it was meant to be used and lend comfort; as Eddie was poking at campaign notes for the gremlins, pen caught between his teeth, he only paused when he felt the gravity of a familiar gaze settle on him—not immediately, because he liked just existing in it, feeling its heft, but after enough moments to satisfy him he looked up, met those eyes and felt them in his goddamn soul as he asked:

“What?”

And Steve had just kept on staring, the bare hint of a quirk at the corners of his lips spreading to the full sunrise of his smile.

“You fit, here,” and he’d said it so simply, so…much like a truth, a fact of the universe—Eddie Munson fits, belongs in this place, this space, this home, this life—and then the smile dimmed ever so slightly, cloud cover across the shine as Steve shifted a little, crossed his arms loose but still as a barrier over his chest: “if you want to, I mean—”

And Eddie sat up straighter, and he reached both his hands out to Steve because:

“I want to,” it was all he wanted, really; it wasso far beyond his wildest dreams but it was real, Eddie could see and touch it, taste it, feel it through his blood when it pumped, tracking through his whole body, filling up his heart overfull and magnificent and he as just…

“Sweetheart,” he took Steve’s hands and tugged him down to sit next to Eddie, settled him so close; “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want that.”

He leaned back, wholly prone and never once letting go of Steve’s hands, never once doing anything but keeping them laced together and anchored, locked tight and Steve matched him, followed him as Eddie drew him to his healed-enough chest to settle right at the center, to hear Eddie’s heartbeat for the declaration it was, it already was in its entirety:

“You fit here.”

And he did. They both did. Their worlds had shifted, grew around the shapes they made together and after not-long-at-all, they fit so fucking well that it was bespoke to their cells, they’d never fit anyone else. It was quick and it was heady and it was fucking right.

For months

And then it all went to shit.

Because Steve decided what should have been expected, honestly—that Eddie wasn’t worth the hassle, that he wasn’t right for Steve, that Steve’s staggeringly-expansive capacity for love was wasted to hell on this low-life dipshit who couldn’t even graduate on his third try at high school, who maybe didn’t have a murder charge anymore in the legal system but would never wash it clean from the court of public opinion, who was…trouble. Always trouble.

Not fucking worth it.

It’s just…Eddie never thought Steve would stop wanting him. He maybe went in reticent at first, but Steve had loved so hard out the gate that as soon as he knew he was allowed, and welcome? Eddie didn’t hesitate to meet that love beat for beat.

He just never imagined his love would ever be unwelcome; that that's how his heart would break.

What breaks in the moment, though—the heartbreak is constant, and unfortunately proving to be kinda fucking unending, really—but what breaks now is…possibly the handle on the front door for the way someone’s banging and jiggling it back and forth like the first time it didn’t give against the lock was just a fluke.

He frowns, considers waiting out whoever’s enough of a dick to knock like that but apparently not so witch-hunty to throw a brick through the window—which: Eddie will take progress, he guesses—but when a concerning creak sounds from near the hinges, Eddie thinks of Wayne, and how his uncle doesn’t deserve a broken front door, so.

Heartbroken or not, Eddie has to drag himself to deal with…this.

Then he’s throwing the door open and…this is—

“We need to talk.”

This should have been expected. There’s really only one little asshole who’d assault his door with that much…determination.

“Henderson—” Eddie huffs, because he knows he needs to set a date for them all to get together, he left the campaign they were in kinda dangling on a thread when he didn’t hold the gatherings at St—

Well, when their regularly scheduled venue became too much for Eddie’s heart to handle.

Which: okay, fine, he gets it but like, he can’t care as much as he maybe should when he feels like this, and the kids need to fucking take a chill pill and if they can’t understand, then at least they can just shut the fuck up for at a couple more weeks while Eddie licks his wounds and sees if they decide to finally scab over enough that he doesn’t keep with busting them back open every time he breathes—

“About Steve.”

Eddie’s heart shudders just to hear the name. He’s avoided hearing it for weeks, now; it hurts too much.

He hears it enough in his own head, in his dreams, in his nightmares when he see the worst, in the cadence of his fucking pulse because his heart doesn’t know how not to be Steve’s, kinda feels like it’s not interested in learning, will never be anything other than what it is now, forever, and—

“We need to talk about what you did to Steve.”

Wait.

Wait, what he did to—

What?

❄️

>>> part ii

for @kultiras🖤

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divider credit here

[gia-d]

"Do You Ever Feel A Strange Sadness As Dusk Falls?"

@tashacee, you said you wanted to make me cry at the end of Bringing up Baby, and I saw that and thought "Well two can play at that game."

I bet he sat out there every evening wondering when he would see Twilight and the Chain again.

Happy New Year's Tash! So glad I got you for the gift exchange, I really hope you like this!

[arctrooper69]

Mine

Here's my piece for the wonderful @isaidonyourknees for the @cloneficgiftexchange! So sorry it's a day and a half late! 😂😅

Warnings: Suggestive spice (nothing explicit), unwanted advances, jealousy, angst

--------------------------------------------------

"Leave me alone, Crosshair." The order meant to be snappish slipped out instead with a tired sigh.

"No," came the reply.

You sighed again as you felt him shift and sit down a few feet away. No more words were exchanged - the silence felt both peaceful, yet suffocating.

"Why are you up here pouting?" He finally spoke.

You glanced at him sharply. "I'm not pouting!"

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not!"

He huffed dryly. "Sure looks like it to me."

"Hunter benched me!"

Crosshair shifted and sighed, "It's for your own good."

You scoffed, "And how would you know what's good for me?"

"You're exhausted. You're off your game."

"I'm fine. I feel fine."

He sighed again and you could practically feel him rolling his eyes. "That constant tapping of your foot and the way you're shaking tells me you're trying to run on stims and caf."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "And how would you know?"

He was silent. "Because I've done the same thing."

"So that makes you think you're better than me?"

"No."

You crossed your arms, turning away from him. “I’m still not pouting.”

“Sure.”

You glared at him out of the corner of your eye. “Just go away.” This time the words did deliver the sharp edge you’d wanted before, but now you weren’t sure it was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t know what you wanted.

“Fine, came the equally snappish response. Crosshair stood and headed back down the wooded trail. A sudden disappointment threatened to overtake you and a heat burned in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it back.

“Crosshair wait…” you called out, turning to face him as he paused and turned back.

“What?”

“I…” You stopped. No. Crosshair had better things to do than to deal with emotions that you yourself couldn’t even decipher. “Nevermind.”

For a second he paused, almost as if waiting for you to once again change your mind. He shook his head and turned around once again, disappearing into the woods, leaving you on your own.

Fine. It’s fine. You’d asked for privacy and that’s exactly what he gave you. Yet, it felt lonely nonetheless.

Crosshair was confusing to say the least. One moment it felt like he was trying to make an emotional connection, and the next he acted like he wanted nothing to do with you.

The roar of engines echoed through the trees from the base of the hill as the Marauder soared into the sky and disappeared into the atmosphere.

***

It seemed like forever ago that you'd met the surly sniper on a job. It was forever ago. So much had changed since a heated exchange of angry words led to a moment of heedless passion. One night. A romance ignited by the very intensity that divided you. The same fingers that rested pompously on the trigger of a rifle soon pulled through tangled hair and moved with purpose against your warmth. Tongues once sharp and taunting, now slotted through parted lips with desperate pleas for more.

And then it was over. Back to the cold realities of war. No words were spoken, only awkward avoidances and inverted eyes.

Talk to me, you'd wanted to say. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.

Perhaps that's all it was to him. Maybe you'd given him everything he wanted in that moment. Maybe that's all you were to him - a distraction - a soldier's relief from the stress of a never ending war.

You'd wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come. Then the galaxy changed and as the Republic fell, so did your hopes.

And now after so long, he was back.

***

It was nearing dusk before you finally pushed yourself from the ground and headed back down the path.

Fueled by a growing sense of hunger and the need to be around others, you found yourself walking towards the local cantina.

The music blared from somewhere above, pumping a bass that rattled your bones.

Despite the club-like atmosphere the lighting was dim, illuminating the same bar scene that haunted almost every planet in the galaxy.

The air was thick with the scent of spice and the sound of raucous laughter. You sat at the bar, nursing a drink. Despite the bustle, it still felt lonely.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

Fingers ran across your back as you spun around to face the unfamiliar voice.

A large nikto smiled drunkenly over at you as he leaned against the bar.

“You look lonely. You here alone?”

His breath reeked of alcohol. “You're real pretty,” he slurred, reaching out to grab your arm.

You jerked away, shooting him a glare. "Back off," you growled, voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

The nikto persisted, his grip tightening. "Come on, don't be like that.”

“Dude,” you rolled your eyes, “leave me alone.”

He sighed, seemingly annoyed at your refusal.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone in a place like this. Let me at least walk you home, baby.”

“Don't call me that,” You spat, wrenching your arm from his grip.

His jaw stiffened as he stood up straighter.

“You should be more grateful that I'm even giving you the time of day, bitch!”

Now it was your turn to stand. The nikto grabbed your arm again. Your fingers curling into a fist, ready to strike the stupid smirk from his drunken face.

"She's not yours to touch."

A familiar voice growled from behind as the nikto’s hand was wrenched from your arm with a cry of pain.

Crosshair.

What was he doing back already? You turned to face him standing behind you, expression dark and dangerous. His hand rested on the blaster at his hip, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

The nikto's eyes narrowed. “And who do you think you are, asshole?”

Crosshair glowered, taking a menacing step forward. “I'm the guy who's going to put an extra hole in you if you don't leave immediately.”

The nikto paused, unsure if he was bluffing or not.

Crosshair clicked the safety off, loosening the blaster from its holster.

"I'm not gonna ask you again," he said, voice low and threatening.

The nikto had enough. “Geez, okay fine! I'm leaving!”

Without another word, he turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood silently watching as Crosshair stepped forward, his practiced eyes scanning every inch of you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, “Did he hurt you?”

You let out a shaky breath, “No,” you murmured, “I'm fine.” A smile flitted across your face as you looked up.

Honey brown eyes stared sharp, pierced with concern and something else.

Jealousy?

“Good.” He replied. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something more but couldn't find the courage to do so.

But this time something rose within your own chest, warm and encouraging.

“Crosshair?” The words came timidly despite their bold intent.

He looked sharply, “What?”

“What did you mean by that? ‘She's not yours to touch’?” You asked. His hand, still on your arm, gripped a bit tighter, pulling you close. Something flashed in his eyes. It wasn't the hardness you'd come to expect from him.

“It means you're mine. You've always been mine.”

--------------------------------------------------

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[wandixx]

Christmas in Mount Justice

cartoon version of Young Justice, written instead of sleeping and I'll be honest, I kinda run out of steam at the end, but it'd take me until next year if I didn't push through, so here it is, and hopefully it's not quite visible where I started pushing through it, I hope you'll enjoy

words: 4633

“Since, hopefully, this is the last time we're seeing each other before Christmas–” Black Canary announced, stretching after finished training“ I wish you all merry and healthy and boring Christmas” she finished with a wide warm smile. Danny barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. This goddamn worst time of the year. He checked once more if his mental shields were up. According to M'gann, ghosts were really loud on mind reading wavelengths so he needed to keep them up most of the time. He wasn't an asshole to drown his friend in absolute hatred of Christmas.

“You too Black Canary!” Wally yelled, running like the earth was burning to get cookies M'gann baked “By the way, what are your plans?” he asked upon his return.

Did they really have to keep talking about it? Danny was half considering just dropping through the floor to escape this conversation but chose against it because he really didn't want to answer all the questions it would cause or hear a ‘you can't deal with all unwanted conversations by escaping them’ lecture again any time soon. He could and he would, the Freakshow incident was just one way to prove it.

“B and I have to attend some stuffy rich people party” Robin said with clear displeasure “I still need to plan what mess to stir there. Chandeliers swinging are banned and so is arson so I have to get creative.”

“You actually set something on fire?! That's sick as hell!” the speedster's enthusiasm didn't waver as he threw a few cookies at Danny. It was nice that someone remembered about Danny's slightly enhanced metabolism. They (both Young Justice and Amity squad) still didn't understand it completely but the working hypothesis was that he needed to eat more to make up for ectoplasm he couldn't consume in quantities big enough for his ghost side since it was poisonous to humans and he had to dose it carefully. Being a halfa was rough like that some(most)times. 

“Well, lighter is easy to sneak inside–” Robin explained and honestly Danny never expected to hear Gotham’s feared vigilante go over logistics of arson but he guessed it was his life now, he could use this info to do something about at least one Christmas tree in Amity or share it with Sam. She mentioned some upcoming rich people party too”–and amount of alcohol there is astonishing, really you'd think that people would try to stay sober on event like that but apparently–”

“I'm having dinner with my mom and some family friends–” Artemis interrupted “Can't wait spend God knows how many hours with all of them talking over each other and asking awkward questions” she tried to sound displeased but there was no way she could hide her fondness and wasn't that a wild thing to see. Seriously, he almost choked on a cookie. In theory Danny knew some people genuinely liked Christmes but–

Just like that? Just happy to–

Yeah, he knew but couldn't quite comprehend. Sam was exactly like that, found but trying to seem annoyed to keep up with her goth persona. Tucker was way more open about his delight.

For Danny Christmas was only too loud because everyone was singing badly and too bright because of lights and too stuffy and there was this damned argument about Santa and yelling and fe–

“Oh, me too! We also planned a movie night with Central Rogues, this time it's Cold’s turn. I wish he won't pick Die Hard again…”

Well, Danny guessed movie night with Rogues, that clearly meant an off evening since they wouldn't try to stir things up while watching the movie, sounded like a really nice idea. Personally he would do without people who try to turn him into a pulp every other day but apparently things worked differently in Central.

“King Orin wanted to introduce me to some surface celebrations as well,” Kaldur said with a warm smile and halfa forcefully stopped himself from giving their leader a weird look. Even him?! Betrayal, absolute betrayal! 

“Well, I don't really celebrate so I'm staying here, maybe training a bit, I'm not sure yet,” M'gann announced shyly and it took all his willpower to not hug her for being the only sensible person in the room.

“Yeah, I'm staying too. Apparently I'm not invited to family gatherings” Conner added bitterly. 

“Honestly your not missing much,” Danny muttered “It's just perfectly prepared and measured argument breeding space, believe me”

Wally tried to protest but one pointed glare and it dissolved through power of ‘don't make Conner feel about it any worse than he already does’. Danny felt a little guilty for using it to sooth his own hatred towards Christmas but not too much. He really wanted to reassure his friend and ways he went about it were no one else's business. 

“And what are your plans, Danny?” M'gann asked gently after he didn't continue. He really wished he didn't have to answer but keeping his emotions hidden meant nobody could see that something was up and say ‘you don't have to tell if you don't want to’ or other shit like that.

“Not sure yet. I think I will crash with you here honestly. If we believe this magic book we found, there is a Christmas truce in Zone, so there shouldn't be any ghost attacks and your company is always great,” he smiled sincerely.

“Wouldn't your parents ask questions if you just skipped Christmas, though?” Wally asked a bit cautiously but Danny waved his concern off with a vague ‘eh’ sound.

“Will you show us some Christmas traditions then? As a part of ‘earthly traditions’ course?” M'gann's eyes almost shone with excitement and Conner looked hopeful and it made him feel conflicted. The whole point of crashing in Mount Justice with two aliens was to not touch anything Christmas related with thirty feet long stick but alas M'gann asked nicely and was pretty. These were two big ideals fighting inside of him then and there while he tried to keep his face and outer mind blank enough to not bring any suspicion.

Betrayal to second, no third, power! He wanted to escape this hell of an experience! 

But well, he could shape the experience in a way that's the least painful and M'gann and Conner were really great friends…

“Sure”

He couldn't quite match her enthusiastic grin or even Conner’s bit smaller one.

He was going to regret it, wouldn't he?

***

“Guys, I messed up so bad…” Danny whined,  curling on Sam's enormous bed covered in fluffy blankets and nice pillows.

“What did you do this time?” girl asked with a smirk. Halfa was sometimes mad how well his friends knew him and didn't take his dramatics as seriously as he would like to.

“I wanted to have a sleepover at Team's HQ during Christmas, you know, to escape it. Only ones who will stay are Miss Martian and Superboy, aliens, so I thought it's a good idea. And then they asked me to show them ‘earthly Christmas traditions’ and I AGREED!” he yelled, his hands flying dramatically at the confession.

His friends, little traitors they were, just laughed.

He came to get some help, advice on either doing this introduction well because Danny Fenton was known for a lot of things but half-assing projects he agreed to do wasn't one of them (homework was obligatory without his consents ergo didn't count) or gracefully getting away from mess his idiocy brought onto him, not to be laughed at! He had enough of it at other times.

Though they got to work when they calmed down, making Danny revisit the idea of not talking to them ever again and throwing it out of the window.

“Alright,” Tucker started, preparing his note and planner apps before continuing “what do you want to show them? Gingerbread house?”

“Of course” Danny huffed because as much as he hated Christmas and its traditions, gingerbread house was decent one. Making one at Tucker's place three years ago when he had been introduced to the idea was one of his best memories related to the holiday. Even though it was cut short by trip to the ER because dumbass little Danny had wanted a little gingerbread man he set aside and he had eaten him still all fresh and 350°F hot and got severe burns in his mouth and throat because apparently his instinctual response to burning in his mouth was to swallow instead of to spit.

“Gifts.” Sam raised in a way that meant she was not taking any complaints and Danny didn't really want to argue. His track record with gifts from his parents wasn't too good ever since he had a brief just-like-dad phase and they didn't realize it ended after a month but other people knew how to fix it. The Voyager Lego set he got from Sam the year before still made him smile when his eyes landed on it. 

Tucker noted it down. “What else? Christmas tree?”

Danny winced but nodded. He wasn't too fond of it but it was too big to miss it.

“Ugly sweaters?”

“Superboy would actually develop laser vision if I tried it”

“Movie marathon? I can lend you some DvDs”

“Yeah, it's probably a good idea. Kid Flash mentioned it too.”

“Santa Claus?” Sam asked with a smirk and Danny threw a pillow at her.

“Who is Santa Claus? I never heard of him, must be a Rhode Island thing” he answered with a straight face, not knowing how many times he will have to repeat it.

**

Phantom: hey guys!

Phantom: want a Crisscross Christmas

Phantom: ?

Artemis: The what?

Phantom: oh, you know

Phantom: this thing were we draw aech othres names anf have to buy a gift

Kid Flash: you mena Secret Santa

Kid Flash: ???

Phantom: never heard of that

Phantom: thats a wierd naem

Phantom: but if rules match, call it whatever yoyu wnat

Aqualad: I like this idea

Robin: GIft drop-off on 27th is okay for everyone?

7 people liked this message

Robin: i take that for yes. 50$ budget?

Kid Flash: Robin, Rob, Bob, my best pal. I have 5$ and single slice of bubblegum to my name rn

Kid Flash: No, actually no bubblegum anymore

Kid Flash: 10$ is top I could spend

Phantom: Same

Artemis: Same

Aqualad: Me too

Miss Martian: I'm not sure if me and Superboy have any money, actually

Phantom: See Rob?

Phantom: just be a good samamritanina and give them 10$ instead og flaunting batmans money

***

"Important question. How do one pick a present?"

"You know, it's good if it's something personal, either in a way that it's something they want or need, a gag gift that'd be funny for both of you, or just something that made you think of them"

"Yeah, yeah, I read the mom blogs, none of this actually helps, what am I supposed to get for Artemis?!"

***

"Alright, so. I have a list of things I think you need to learn about Christmas. We're kinda late to the party, so I cut off some stuff because there is no way we would make it in time."

"Sounds about right, what do we start with?"

"Most classic of classics, the Christmas tree, Batman already greenlit it, so it's waiting outside"

***

"So, Christmas tree is evergreen plant, conifer, sometimes only branch or synthetically made model, that, if living, is cut down from Christmas tree nursery, and then put inside the house, usually in the living room or other space that is considered repre-"

"Danny, we live in society, we have basic knowledge on American traditions that is literally everywhere. We don't need it to be spoon fed to us in a voice more robotic way than Red Tornado, literal robot"

"Conner!"

"What?! I'm not wrong"

"Sorry. Let's get to decorating then?"

"If you want to ramble, we'd be more than happy to listen. It's obvious that you took a lot of care to learn everything."

"Speak for yourself"

"Conner!"

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, with what exactly do we plan to decorate it?"

"Oh, this one is easy. I asked around people to donate some stuff, and Batman got us few things after I asked for permission for the tree. He even asked Justice League to drop us some things too."

"That's nice of them"

"Yeah, though I'm a bit worried about gifts from Arrows and Robin, y'know. They all had this type of smile that means either a gag idea, merch or exploding glitter and I'm not sure which option scares me the most"

"Glitter"

"Glitter"

"Yeah, you're right"

***

"Did… um… did Superman bring anything?"

"Yes, actually! He brought pretty big box of stuff and mentioned dropping of some food for Christmas in the morning or the afternoon of the first day. He said he was happy that you got the experience even if he isn't able to be the one to give it to you. I think he is coming around"

It was an interesting thing about Danny. He wasn't all that good with authority figures or frankly adults in general, and he never passed on the chance to tear in Superman for his treatment of Conner, if he saw the man, but in private he was surprisingly pro-Superman and tried to make them "see his perspective" with some pretty convincing arguments. Everyone else was still unimpressed but Danny never gave up.

M'gann still wasn't sure if in these circumstances she found it cute or annoying.

"Bullshit"

"If that's what you want to believe in"

***

"Oh, hello Megan! Red Tornado, would you like to join us in decorating the Christmas tree?"

"This… seems like a decent idea. What is the procedure of it?"

"We already put on the lights, so now we're placing baubles and other hanging decorations, before we finish off with paper chains and these fuzzy boas. We need them evenly spread out on all of the tree, preferably in a way, that things in similar colors aren't right next to each other, alright?"

"Yes, Phantom, instructions are clear"

"Great. Do we want some music in the background? My friends usually play some Christmas songs to get us all in 'the right mood' as he calls it?"

"Good idea, I'll play something."

"Thanks Meg"

"Just hear the sleigh bell jingling…"

"Is this… yeah, it's Carpenters, it's Jazz's favo- oh shit"

"Got it!"

"Nice catch Conner! Red Tornado, sorry I didn't clarify before, we're not decorating the side by the wall."

"Understood"

***

"We have only one last thing left then"

"Yeah?"

"The star at the top. The youngest child of the family usually get the honor. Conner, it's you time to shine~"

"Shut up already"

"How is he supposed to reach the top though? He can't fly"

"Step stool or someone has to hold him up lion king style"

"Lion king- Don't you dare! Keep those hands to yourself! Danny!

***

"So, what's next on your magical list?"

"Gingerbread house. It's a moment for you to shine Meg, because I'm absolute mess in the kitchen and I don't think Conner is much better"

"Actually-"

"blah, blah, blah, absolutely perfect, could be hired at Michelin star restaurant right this instant blah, blah, blah"

"Oh, you little-"

"I believe the arguments are supposed to start at the Christmas table and not before. It seemed to be consensus in my sources. Was I mistaken?"

Conner stopped dead in his tracks, as confused as M'gann at the question.

Danny laughed so hard he fell on the ground.

"Red Tornado, what does that mean?"

"There is no need to spread misinformation until we can get confirmation whether my sources were correct or not"

"Danny? Danny?! What does he mean?! Why are you laughing?!"

Danny just stayed curled on the floor, almost wheezing.

***

"So, we have all of the ingredients, right? Flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves-"

"I think it's still in the cabinet, let me grab it real quick"

"Alright, other than cloves, do we have salt, vegetable shortening, granulated sugar, molasses, an egg- I mean, applesauce? Yeah? Let's hope it'll work. Okay, I think were ready"

"Ginger?"

"What?"

"Do we have ginger ready?"

"I don't think so, I'm pretty sure we've run out about a week ago? Why- oh wait"

"Did we seriously forgot to get ginger to make The Gingerbread House?! It's literally in the name!"

They all just stood in silence for a long moment.

"We're idiots"

"Well said, well said"

"I believe there are better names to describe you in this situation. Unfortunately, I cannot recall them"

"Thanks Red Tornado, that was helpful"

"Maybe we can still buy it?"

"It's 10:34 PM, December 23rd, M'gann, what shop would even be open?"

"Shut up Conner, it's actually not a bad idea. I think I've seen- yes, there is something open until eleven, about five minutes out if I fly"

***

"There was no ginger at the shop, but I got cranberry for later, if needed, and some chips to snack on"

"It's fine, we found unopened pack of powdered ginger in the back of the cabinet"

"That's great! Give me a minute to return this packet I liberated on my way home?"

"Danny!"

***

"Hey, M'gann!"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to invite your uncle to our dinner?"

"That's a great idea Conner, thank you!"

***

"Okay, wait, wait, wait, before you two get weirdly aggressive about it again-"

"We're not that aggressive and it's a serious matter"

"I don't have any ghosts to get of my misplaced aggression out on so I'm funneling it into cake decorating instead"

"M'gann, you literally are trying to choke him right now, Danny, even I know it's concerning and I have less than half a year of learning what is considered normal under my belt. Anyway, before you escalate it again, how about each one of us gets one side of the house and then we work in pairs on the roof?"

"I like that"

"But what about aesthetic integrity!"

"It's quite literally against the point of gingerbread house"

***

"Before we go to sleep, I believe it's a widespread tradition to leave milk and cookies for the Santa Claus on the Christmas Eve evening"

"Huh"

"What is it this time?"

"Nothing really, chill out Conner, I just never heard of that"

It was so clearly a lie it probably couldn't even be called that, but at this point everyone realized, that for some reason bearded man in red was a sore subject, and they stopped trying to learn why. Maybe some day he'd tell them.

***

"Sorry. This person is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."

"Hey Dani, it's Danny. Merry Christmas, please let me know when you get that. I'm celebrating outside of home, safe, with some friends, so if you want, I can give you an address and you can drop by. They're all more than okay with ghost stuff and have a history of accepting someone similar to you without any questions. I'm sure they'd love you. Let me know you're alright and if you want to join us. Sorry I keep calling, I'm at the worrywart stage. Love you, please stay safe."

Danny was doing pretty well with this whole "organizing Christmas". Really. M'gann did kick him out to breathe a bit of fresh air (and wait for the Superman and food he was supposed to bring in) because his hands were shaking too much, but other than that he was fine. Really. He was getting a bit panicky because he didn't hear a word from his sister in the past week and usually she let them know if she knew she would go somewhere where that could happen but she just as often didn't because she spontaneously decided to do something else. Trackers they made her wear showed she was fine.

It didn't really help, he wasn't sure if there was anything less than actually hearing or preferably seeing her that could reassure him.

It wasn't even talking about all of the trouble that was a bit closer to home, because Christmas never meant anything good for him, with or without his parents stirring up the Santa-fight. They weren't there and yet, he still couldn't make himself believe it could be any better this time. For Ancients sake, he made sure there was no Santa Claus in whole Mountain, nothing to remind him of how it always was and his brain still decided to be stupid about it.

So now he was standing in thin hoodie out in Rhode Island winter, in hopes that cold would shock him out of spiraling, trying to keep his breaths even and not fly away because it felt all like a little too much at the moment. he was standing in thin hoodie out in Rhode Island winter, waiting for a man who would awkwardly try to do the whole 'I'm an adult you can trust' routine and then treat him like messenger pigeon to contact the child that actually wanted and needed him. He couldn't entirely blame him but-

"Are you quite alright?"

"I'm fine"

"Are you sure? It's quite cold to be dressed like this and your heartbeat is quite erratic."

"I'm fine as old wine Superman, please say your piece before someone comes to see what took me so long"

"Danny-"

"I'm serious. Leave it alone and just give me the food"

Superman looked a bit conflicted, clearly considering all of the potential pros and cons of digging in further and choose wrong.

"You're worried about Dani"

"You're the last person I want to talk to about her," Danny spat out, anxiety quickly turning into anger.

"Of course, but-"

"Have two civil conversations with your clone before trying to tell me how I should handle mine" As soon as these words left his mouth, Danny regretted them, if only a little, but he kept pushing "I told you about her to explain why I'm willing to vouch for you. It doesn't make you someone I'll confide in. It doesn't make you someone I trust. It doesn't make me approve of the way your handling it. It just means I understand. But you're an adult man and experienced hero with stable job and adult shit figured out and I'm a teenager with home just safe enough for me to stay and family that'd question how third child just showed up. We are not the same."

Superman flinched away at some point during the rant, looking properly humbled. He avoided eye contact and just reached forward to pass him hard plastic case filled with food containers and smaller boxes wrapped up in nice Christmas themed paper.

"Alright kiddo. Get it inside before you turn into a icicle. And tell Conner I wish him Merry Christmas, alright? I mean, I wish it to everyone but…"

Damn, if the "never meet your heroes" person wasn't right.

"You're a coward Superman. Come in and tell him that yourself"

***

Conner lashed out, as expected, but it was far more subdued than it would be just few month before. To his credit, Superman stayed the whole time it went down and only left when boy mostly calmed down and wouldn't feel like he was being ignored. Man even tried to respond to some allegations, though he wasn't really heard. Conner ranted some more after hero left, but overall it went better than Danny thought it would.

Then they had dinner, which went… surprisingly well. Apparently, not having to worry about being attacked by the main dish did wonders to Danny's overall jitters (and didn't everyone get super weird when he mentioned it). Not having people start nonsensical fights also helped. He knew better than to mention that.

Also, turns out that Superman or whoever he got to make them food was freaking amazing cook, thank you very much. Danny wasn't necessarily fasting, not in a way he knew some people did in the period preceding Christmas or at least on Christmas Eve, but the tension of past few days made it hard to eat a lot. It definitely lessened now that the thing was happening and seemingly going well, so he was absolutely ravenous. To be completely honest, as far as he could tell, everyone else matched his enthusiasm.

There was a bit off moment at the beginning, when Martian Manhunter asked him if he shouldn't be with his family during holidays, but Danny quickly and subtly brushed it off and nobody mentioned that afterwards.

He may have overeaten, actually, for once in his live, which he may regret in the morning, but at the moment, it made him quite content.

Then came the gifts, which also went better than he expected. For once there was no need to act like he enjoyed the gift despite already planning on how to get rid of it. Even better, focus was almost fully removed from him, obviously, because it wasn't his first rodeo.

Conner looked so lost and confused with the gift he got from Superman's mom, it was almost heartbreaking. It was beautiful crocheted scarf, black and red, with his symbol on each end, and an apology note explaining that Mrs Martha Kent would give him something more note worthy but she learned about him way to late to make something better. There was also promise of more worthy gift in near future. Danny knew all that because Conner read it out loud, asking everyone to help him make sense of that. There was only so much they could do.

Other than that, he got some nice flannel shirts from M'gann, quite a few sweets. He also got a book from Danny (it was a sin he didn't read "The Martian" before) and concepts of new hero suits for him, that Sam somehow sneaked between the pages. It was certainly a lot to explain without making anyone angry.

M'gann got two different cook books, that unfortunately didn't include Fenton fudge recipe (Dad was really protective over it), some surprisingly obscure merch from "Hello Megan" and more sweets.

Red Tornado got an apron and few tokens of appreciation, that robot quite liked, as far as Danny could tell.

Martian Manhuter, due to how rarely he visited, was the hardest to pick presents for, which resulted in some general little trinkets.

Danny got night sky projector, which was really cool, and potted plant, for some reason, which, while also cool, because plants are cool (Sam would rekill him if he thought otherwise), he knew far too well, would not survive until July. It wasn't only because he could barely take care of himself, let alone whole ass plant (see also, that one time he either drowned or dried three cacti), but also because of the times ghosts (or home security) attacked him in his room. He was thankful anyway. Maybe it could push him into finally getting some contingencies against that, that’d actually work. After all, it was quite a pretty plant.

By the time they moved to the couch to watch “Die Hard” of all things (it was only DVD that Tucker provided that didn’t have Santa Claus as a prominent character, because of course that little traitor would do that), Danny had to admit that this Christmas was… nice. Enjoyable. Pretty amazing actually. Good enough that he could understand people waiting for it the whole year. He couldn’t tell that he joined their ranks, but he certainly could understand them.

It was also downright exhausting and at some point even dynamic fights of John McClane couldn’t keep his eyes open. It was fine though. He was safe, he was warm, almost squeezed against his friends. It was good place to just relax.

It’s been first time in a long time since he felt that on Christmas.

********

I'm not sure if I managed to properly Conner's... whole thing, if he turned out too hostile, let's just say he was still pissed about the whole "wasn't invited to Clark's family gathering" thing and it made him a bit more antsy.

I'm not sure how well I managed to handle it, but I don't want to bash neither Clark nor Conner. They're both victims in this situation and while the way Clark handled it was far from ideal, it's also far from worst he could do and I believe he deserves a bit more grace. In the end, on psychological level he is just human and humans don't always handle being baby trapped perfectly. Maybe I have more understanding towards him because my prefered way of handling conflicts is walking out and locking myself in my room, but idk. Maybe I'm capable of more coherent explanation when it's not 3:44 AM

Ginger shenanigans were inspired by my own Christmas preparation adventures, when I was making bread dough for the Christmas Eve and decided to add rosemary to make it more ✨festive✨ and got really attached to the idea. My mom agreed, then it turned out we didn't have any, then I went to the shop like twenty minutes before it closed at 11PM so at least one guy was there to replenish his alcohol suplies. My mom called to tell me to also buy some powdered garlic and beetroot. Turned out we had rosemary at home. At shop I only found garlic. I also brought energy drink, because I was tired but had more stuff to do and some snacks just because.

Bread turned out pretty good.

I sincerely believe if I was solely responsible of making gingerbread, I would forget to get ginger (or like, to fit with "it's in the name" thing, pepper, because in Polish it's "piernik")

I'm really sorry if the drop in quality by the end is noticable, if this thing stayed unfinished whole another year i'd do something I'd regret later.

[climbthemountain2020]

Okay, this was my big, big contribution to @acotargiftexchange

For the first time ever, I tried my hand at animating, and HOO BUDDY it is HARD. Lol. But I was determined.

@itsybitsybluesy I hope you love this little video that goes with the end of Ch. 4 of What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? You have A+ holiday song choices! <3

[dragonflylady77]

only with you

The secrecy has been lifted, and I can finally reveal the fic I wrote for @billysblueeyes for @harringroveholidayexchange. The brief was some domestic fluff, GBFs, Billy and Max bonding, and some smut. I think I delivered.

Rating: M | 2185 words | domestic fluff, a dash of smut, harringrove parents

Summary:

Billy and Steve are hosting Christmas dinner at their house. Domestic fluff with a sprinkling of smut. And kids.

Read on Ao3

Steve watched Billy sigh and scrunch the piece of paper he’d been scribbling on into a ball.

“Babe…” Steve started as Billy threw the newly formed ball towards the trash can, narrowly missing it.

“Not now, Stevie, I’m concentrating. Need it to be perfect.”

A warm feeling unfurled in Steve’s chest. He walked across the living room to stand behind his husband at the breakfast bar and plastered himself against Billy’s back, hooking his chin over Billy’s shoulder. “It will be.”

Billy grunted as he grabbed another piece of paper and started again, pencil moving quickly across the page, lines and swirls filling the space. 

“You got this.” Steve dropped a kiss on his cheek before moving away. Best to leave Billy in his creative bubble. This stage of tattoo design was usually the most frustrating for him and the added pressure of this particular one was bound to stress him even more. It wasn’t every day that Billy had to come up with a matching tattoo with Max as a surprise Christmas present.

After checking that Noah was still fast asleep in his crib, Steve gathered the dirty laundry and put a load of washing on. It was early enough in the day that he would have time to hang it before their guests arrived. He double checked the guest rooms were ready then went back to the kitchen and made some coffee.

A few more scrunched up balls of paper had joined the growing pile by the trash can. He picked them up, feeling Billy’s gaze on him as he straightened up. He turned around to see Billy staring at him with a smirk.

“See something you like?”

“You know I do, baby,” Billy replied, unfolding himself from the stool he’d been sitting at for over an hour and walking to Steve, stopping when he was standing toe-to-toe with him. Steve went willingly when Billy put both hands on his hips and pulled him closer.

Leaning into the kiss was second nature at this point. Steve hummed softly as he wrapped his arms around Billy’s neck, fingers running through the unruly curls that had escaped his messy bun. Parting his lips when Billy nibbled on his bottom lip, and too focused on the heated way Billy licked into his mouth like he wanted to devour him, Steve let himself be walked backwards until his back was against the wall.

Billy abandoned his mouth to nibble a path down the column of his neck and Steve relished the feel of his husband’s body pressing against his—had since that day Billy had cornered him in the locker room after basketball practice, really. 

Steve’d had enough of the endless taunting and had surprised both of them when he’d grabbed the lapels of Billy’s open shirt and planted one on him... He’d been really late picking up Dustin from school after that and endured a million questions about the hickey on his neck. It had all been worth it, though, when Billy had shown up at his house later that night. They had been together since. 

Billy’s hands pushing on his hips brought him out of his little trip down memory lane and he startled when he realized Billy was on his knees in front of him.

“Billy, babe, your knee…” Steve protested, in a feeble attempt to spare Billy some unnecessary pain on Christmas Day. His knee hadn’t been the same since that fateful night Neil Hargrove had found out about them and taken to Billy with a golf club.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, pretty boy, I’ll pay for it later,” Billy countered as he kept undoing Steve’s pants and pulling them down his thighs. “Some things are more important,” Billy whispered, nuzzling Steve's cock over his boxers, before he moved a hand up under the hem to cup Steve, giving him a squeeze. 

Billy looked up, the blue in his eyes nearly eclipsed by his pupils, and Steve shared the hunger he could see on his husband’s face. Always had, from the first day he’d seen Billy show up in that blue Camaro at Hawkins High. 

Keeping the eye contact, Billy then carefully extracted Steve’s cock out of his boxers and used the precum beading at the tip to help his hand slide better as he got Steve fully hard.

Steve held back a moan, bucking his hips, searching for more.

“So greedy, Stevie… always so greedy,” Billy said with a grin. 

“Shut u—” Steve bit down on his hand to stop from crying out when Billy swallowed him down to the root without another word.

Steve stopped trying to make words, all thoughts that were not BillyBillyBilly fleeing his mind. His free hand found a home in Billy’s hair, hanging on for dear life when Billy did that thing with his tongue that made Steve see stars.

Too soon, way sooner than Steve would have liked, he reached his peak and came down Billy’s throat, remembering just in time to keep quiet. Knees threatening to buckle, he helped Billy up, and was still trying to get his breath back when he heard cries.

“Fuck!”

Billy chuckled. “Impeccable timing, your son.”

“Oh, now he’s my son, is he? I don’t remember doing a DNA test…”

“You can deny it all you want, baby, but he’s got your eyes, and your gorgeous hair.”

“Whatever,” Steve retorted with an eyeroll. “I’ll go get him.” He put his pants back on and gave Billy a quick kiss. “You better get back to your design, they’ll be back soon.”

Billy nodded and Steve headed down the hallway.

“Stevie?”

He stopped and turned to look at Billy, who was standing by the wall still, his curls a messy halo around his face, his shirt kind of askew, his jeans looking kind of tight in the front. “Yeah?”

“You owe me.”

Steve snorted. “I love you, too.”

***

Billy picked up his pencil and tried again. He could see the design in his head but, for once, didn’t seem to be able to get it onto the page. He knew moving to the iPad, like he usually did when working on a design for a client, would not help. Not for this particular one.

He heard Noah’s cries stop as Steve’s soothing voice carried from the nursery. His pretty boy seemed to be a natural at this being a parent thing, to the surprise of exactly no one. 

Some days, Billy still found it hard to believe that he was a dad. It wasn’t something he’d ever even remotely considered, too scared he would turn into his father. But Steve’s gentle loving, and a few years of therapy, had convinced him to give it a go. And now, he wouldn’t change it for anything. Steve and their kids were his whole world. 

The jingle of a key in the front door ten minutes later pulled him out of his creative bubble and he turned around to see some of his favorite people enter. Maisie ran at him with a happy screech and wrapped her arms around his neck when he picked her up. Robin and Heather followed at a slower pace, carrying a mountain of bags.

“I didn’t realize you ladies were buying everything at the store today,” Billy said with a smirk that earned him a sneaky middle finger behind his daughter’s back.

“Papa! Did you know, Auntie Hank said I should get Daddy ice cream from Scoops for his Christmas present and that’s just silly, because it would melt!”

Putting his five-year-old daughter down, Billy turned to his best friend. “How about we don’t bring up traumatizing memories for Christmas, Hank? Please?”

“Sorry, Billy,” Robin answered for Heather. She put down the half-dozen bags she was holding and collapsed into a chair. “We walked past the vendor with the samples and things were said. Now, where is my godson? I need cuddles.”

“You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid,” came Steve’s voice from the hallway. “Unless you want to help me with his bath.”

“Oooh, yes, I’m coming!” Robin left the room, Maisie hot on her heel.

Billy chuckled when he heard the little girl asking to jump in the bath with her brother and turned to Heather. “Hey, you.”

“Hey back. Did you get it done?” Heather walked over to the breakfast bar and sat on a stool, looking over the pieces of paper.

Sitting next to her, Billy let out a sigh before bumping shoulders with her. “Not gonna lie, Hank, I’m struggling.”

“Oh, come on, Blue. She’s your sister, surely you can come up with something.”

“That’s the thing though, it can’t be just anything. It needs to be special. And perfect.”

“It will be. Maybe you just need to freestyle it, like you did for us,” Heather said, her finger tracing the lines of the Hawkins Lifeguard tattoo they’d both got on their arm.

“Maybe.” Billy wondered if maybe she was right. 

“What time are they getting here?”

Billy checked his phone and found a text from Max letting him know they had just parked outside. “Right now, apparently. I’ll go see if they need help.”

Leaving Heather to unpack the bags, Billy grabbed his keys and headed out.

Excited voices welcomed him in the driveway.

“Uncle Billy! Uncle Billy!”

“Hi, guys!” He grinned as his nephews crowded him and they did their special hand shake. He had been told in no uncertain terms at their last birthday that seven years old was too old for cuddles.

“Uncle Billy! The plane was late because of the snow. We had to sit in our seats for aaaaages and Wyatt cried like a baby.”

“Did not.” Wyatt glared at his brother, fists at his sides.

“You so did. I saw you.”

“Arlo William Sinclair, what did I tell you about being an A-hole to your brother?” Max warned her son before stopping in front of Billy and dropping the bags she was carrying. “Hey, Billy.”

Billy wrapped his arms around his sister and pulled her close while Lucas called the boys back to the car to get their backpacks. Max held him tightly, her cheek pressed against his neck. Billy whispered, so the boys wouldn’t hear. “Good to see you, shitbird.” 

“It’s been too long. I can’t wait to finally meet that son of yours.”

“Well,” Billy started, letting go of her, “if you guys moved to Cali like I’d been telling you since the twins were born…”

“We’re trying, I promise. I need to finish this enormous project at work, we’re so close to being done, after three freaking years… then I’ll talk to my boss.”

“Okay. Noah is in the bath, which means your niece will be in there too. Stevie and Robin are supervising.”

Max groaned. “Oh, god. That means your bathroom will be flooded, I hope you know that. And there won’t be any hot water left for me to wash the plane off.”

“There’s cold beer in the fridge, and enough food to sink a small ship in the meantime.”

“Lead the way, Hargrove.” Max laughed when Billy pinned her with a glare.

He’d taken Steve’s last name when they’d got married, letting go of the last piece of his father that was still in his life, and Max knew it.

“Whatever, Maxine.” He picked up the bags she’d dropped at his feet and high-tailed it to the door before she would swat him on the arm.

Arlo and Wyatt followed him, saying “Maxiiiiiiiiiiine” louder and louder, to their mother’s annoyance.

***

Steve looked around the living room where most of the people he loved were gathered. They’d had a delicious, yet unconventional, Christmas Eve dinner, made up of various random dishes everyone had contributed to. Afterwards, they had opened presents and Max had absolutely loved the idea for their matching tattoo, like Steve had said all along.

Now, after Christmas mince tarts and ice cream, Heather and Robin were chatting animatedly with Max and Lucas on the sectional couch while Maisie, Arlo and Wyatt were lying on cushions in front of the tree, looking rather blissed out, and Billy…

Feeling someone next to him, Steve turned his face and found his husband, who was cradling their sleeping infant son against his chest.

“You okay, pretty boy?” Billy asked, his hand moving slowly up and down Noah’s back.

“Yeah, I was… I don’t know… looking at our family, thinking how happy I am that they’re all here, at our house.”

“We did good.”

“Yeah, babe, we sure did,” Steve replied, putting one arm around Billy’s waist and looking down at their son.

“Bet you didn’t think we’d be married with kids before your thirtieth birthday when you dragged me into the locker room all those years ago.”

Steve scoffed. “Excuse you, you’re the one who shoved me first. I merely… acted on impulse.”

“Right… so your immediate reaction when a guy pushes you is to shove your tongue down his throat? Is that what you’re saying? Did that happen a lot to you in high school, King Steve?”

Steve smiled.

“Only with you, baby.”

[anywhere-with-you-event]

Reveals - Day 2!

Clocks fell back (for many of us!) and now it's time for the second day of reveals!

Below you'll find a handful of the lovely works in the Anywhere With You 2024 collection. Click, read, kudos, comment, and share with your friends!

We also encourage you to comment on and reblog these reveal posts with your guesses about who may have written what. Everyone's got a signature style even if the creators are still anonymous - let's see if you recognize any! Creators, remember not to confirm or deny any guesses until after the creator reveal post goes up on Nov 6th.

That's it for reminders so...here's round two!

Crystal Heart for magicmelinoe | 34.2k | NR

Without a Summer for princebutt | 13.6k | T

What Goes Up Must Come Down for milowren | 7.1k | E

Change Your Ticket (Maybe I Miss You) for reeseofmind | 5.5k | E

omg they were roommates for luainthewild | 5.2k | T

Bake a Sugar Cake for LouiKazooie | 4.1k | T

let you love me for mae | 4k | G

Comments Make the Heart Grow Fonder for Muddbloodpotter05 | 3.4k | T

i'd rather tangle with him for cricketnationrise | 3.2k | T

Don’t sleep with the customers for High-Seas-Swan | 2.3k | G

[podfic] rest your weary head for acheinmybones | T

[lemonwrap]

Mistletoe Mishaps

This is a gift for @tetradfreaker for the 2024 Ghoap Holiday exchange, hosted by the wonderful @forsaire!! I hope you like it :)

Read it on Ao3

Ghost doesn’t really do parties. 

Soap knows this because Ghost hasn’t attended a single Christmas party in the three years Soap has known him. …Actually, now that Soap’s thinking about it, Ghost hasn’t shown up to most of the various celebrations thrown and usually made an Irish exit when he had the chance. 

Having grown up in a big family with three sisters and a plethora of other relatives, Soap is used to every celebration being made into big events packed with people. It’s the typical kind of ‘party’ thrown on base—food, unfortunately nonalcoholic drinks, cheap decorations, and about fifty people gathered in the mess hall. It’s also exactly the kind of event Ghost would prefer not to attend, so Soap can’t be blamed for being surprised when he spots his lieutenant’s hulking figure in the tinsel-strung doorway.

“Lt, you made it!” Soap grins, abandoning Gaz and a few other soldiers to give Ghost a friendly punch on the arm. “Good to see ye this year.”

“Nice sweater,” Ghost deadpans, glancing at the garish red and green reindeer sweater that Soap is donning. “Dressed for the occasion, I see.”

“Nice mask,” Soap remarks. “Wasn’t Halloween a few months ago?”

At the quip, the corners of Ghost’s eyes crinkle in a smile, and Soap’s stomach definitely doesn’t do a little flip at the sight. 

“I’d rather have a Halloween party than this,” Ghost comments. 

“Why’d you show, then?” Soap asks. “Get visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past?”

“Just Price,” Ghost says. “You know how he is around the holidays.”

“Aye,” Soap says, thinking of their captain’s insistence on ‘team bonding’ whenever Christmas rolls around. “Want a cookie? Dawn brought some.”

“Have they got sprinkles?” Ghost asks. 

“Of course,” Soap replies.

“Good man,” Ghost says in that same approving tone he uses on ops, and Soap hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they suddenly feel. 

…Okay, so maybe Soap has a bit of a crush. Whatever. Despite what Soap’s pastor growing up would have said, it’s not a crime to like looking at Ghost’s biceps or his deep, dark brown eyes and his long, blonde lashes, the only visible part of his face. Or his ass. Can’t forget that ass. 

Most of the tables have been pushed out of the way, so it’s easy for them to weave through the partygoers and to the front of the room, where a table filled with drinks, cookies, and other treats sits. A fake Christmas tree only three or so feet tall is set on it near the edge, adorned with a handful of ornaments. Most of the food is okay, but Laswell’s wife, Dawn, has a knack for baking and brought what Soap considers to be cookies just as good as his mum’s. Dawn herself is nowhere to be found, probably off with Laswell, but a few of her revered sugar cookies still remain on a plate.

“Got here in the nick of time,” Soap says and takes a cookie, round with red frosting. Ghost nabs the cookie with the most sprinkles, a green one shaped like a Christmas tree, and lifts up his mask to take a bite. The half Glasgow smile that runs from the corner of Ghost’s mouth and travels up until it’s hidden by his mask catches Soap’s attention like it always does, pale and long since healed. Soap likes watching how it curves on the occasion he can get Ghost to smile and has imagined how it would feel against his lips a few too many times. 

“Gonna eat that or just stand there?” Ghost asks, pointing at Soap’s cookie.

“Huh?” Soap says. Upon realizing that he’s been standing there and watching Ghost eat like an idiot, Soap hurries to eat his cookie. It’s pretty good, but he’s more distracted than usual by the man of his dreams. Sue him, but Soap knows what he wants for Christmas this year.

“Why are Christmas trees bad at sewing?” Ghost asks out of nowhere, his mouth quirking up but not smiling yet.

“I dinnae ken, you tell me,” Soap replies.

“‘Cause they always drop their needles,” Ghost says, and Soap chuckles a little. He’s liked Ghost’s horrible jokes since day one.

“Alright, what does a gingerbread man put on his bed?” Soap asks.

“A cookie sheet. I’ve heard that one, Soap.”

“Bastard. Alright, what do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire? Frostbite.”

That one gets Ghost to truly smile, just a small thing, and Soap treasures it. They quickly fall into their usual routine, telling shit jokes and borderline flirting with each other, like they have been for nearly three years at this point. 

Ever since Las Almas, Ghost has always matched Soap in every way, from being his equal in a spar to their endless back and forth bantering. Ghost was only trying to keep him calm and get both of them out of the city alive, but their talks continued long after Las Almas, with Ghost’s deep, gravelly voice haunting both Soap’s dreams and his waking moments. 

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Soap gets the feeling Ghost isn’t opposed to going a little further than over-the-comms flirting. They just need to find the right moment.

So when Soap watches over Ghost’s shoulder as a mischievous soldier pins a mistletoe right over the doorway leading in and out of the mess hall, he has a brilliant idea. 

The mistletoe! All he has to do is get Ghost under it, and a kiss should naturally follow. Genius, really. 

It’s a few minutes before Soap can manage to subtly herd Ghost towards the doorway. He’s pleased with his progress until Corporal Hodges approaches, smiling.

“Lieutenant Riley! MacTavish!” he says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at a Christmas party before, sir.”

“You haven’t,” Ghost says, already getting that bored expression he has when he’s not interested in talking to someone. Soap knows the feeling.

Amazingly, Soap doesn’t find Hodges annoying because he’s American. It’s actually because he’s a kiss-ass and tries to butter up his superiors, Ghost included. Ghost cuts it short every time, including today, in which he not-so-discreetly moves away from Hodges only thirty seconds after the corporal started talking. Unfortunately, that also means that Ghost moves away from the mistletoe hanging nearby, and Soap groans internally when Ghost strays far enough that Soap can’t guide him back without arousing suspicion. 

To Soap’s dismay, that pattern continues. Every time he tries to even get Ghost close to the mistletoe, his plan is somehow foiled. First it was Hodges. Then Ghost goes off to talk to Price. After that, Soap nearly has Ghost where he wants him, and then a private taps Soap to get his attention and asks him when his next demolitions demonstration will be. Soap would usually be thrilled to talk about demolitions, but he’s a little preoccupied, damnit!

“It’s hopeless,” he finds himself lamenting to Gaz after Ghost walks right under the mistletoe twice without pausing on the way to and from the restroom.

“Maybe he didn’t see it,” Gaz suggests, taking a sip of his soda.

“There’s no way he didnae see it, Gaz!” Soap exclaims, nearly spilling his own soda on Gaz when he throws his hands up in exasperation, “Look at the size of ‘im, his head nearly touches it!”

Soap is beginning to come to the conclusion that he will not be getting a kiss from Ghost tonight.

The final nail in the coffin is when two soldiers steal a brief peck under the mistletoe amidst the oohs and whoops of their peers, with Ghost being entirely unaffected by the display from where he’s standing next to Soap. Soap is pretty sure the universe is just messing with him at this point.

Ghost isn’t even looking directly at him. Having given up on the mistletoe being his chance, Soap indulges himself by silently gazing at his lieutenant instead. Ghost is as beautiful as ever, even surrounded by half-assed Christmas decorations and holding a plastic cup of soda. Not a supermodel or conventionally pretty, no, not with his scars and face shape that gives off the impression of a very ordinary-looking man, but Soap has spent enough time trying to put Ghost’s likeness down on paper to be certain that Ghost is all he could ever want or need.

“Did you want to come back with me?” Ghost says, turning his head to look at him.

“Um, what?” Soap fumbles, mind blanking and trying to look like he hasn’t been staring longingly at Ghost for the umpteenth time tonight. 

“I’ve got a gift for you,” Ghost explains, seemingly unaware of Soap’s hopeless pining. “Meant to bring it with me, but I forgot it in my room.”

“A gift?” Soap asks, and hopes Ghost doesn’t see the flush that must be on his face at the idea of Ghost getting him a gift.

“I can show you,” Ghost says. 

Soap doesn’t even bother to look up at that useless sprig of leaves as he hurries to catch up with his lieutenant, trying not to be disheartened by the whole thing. The mistletoe was decidedly not as brilliant of an idea as Soap had originally thought, but he’d like to think he has the balls to make a move anyway. The night’s not over. 

“So, is it a book?” Soap asks. The hallway is still brightly lit, not having reached lights out yet, so Soap can easily see how Ghost’s eyes shine with humor.

“No,” Ghost says. 

“Okay, a sketchbook.”

“Still no.”

“Matching pajamas.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Something very obscure that took you months to find.”

“You’ll see,” Ghost says, sounding amused. 

They stop in front of Ghost’s door at the end of the hallway before Soap knows it. He’s not expecting Ghost to turn around, pull that damned mistletoe out of his jacket pocket, and hold it over their heads. Stunned, Soap doesn’t make his move even when Ghost pulls his balaclava off, and oh, he’s just as stunning as Soap imagined, all dark brown eyes, scars, and blonde hair staticky from the balaclava, and—and then Ghost’s lips touch his.

It shouldn’t be anything special. Ghost’s mouth tastes like too-sweet icing, his lips are a bit chapped, and the hallway lighting isn’t exactly romantic, but Soap has died and gone to heaven, because Simon fucking Riley is kissing him. 

It’s over so much quicker than Soap would’ve liked, but it’s worth it when they part and he sees Ghost’s pale cheeks flushed pink and his eyes locked right on Soap.

“Not bad,” Ghost comments, sounding a bit winded, and his scarred lips curve into a smile—just how Soap likes.

“How’d you know?” Soap blurts out. “About the mistletoe.”

“It got kinda obvious after the third try.”

“Seriously?!”

————

“Thank god,” Gaz says to Price when the two finally leave the room, Ghost discreetly plucking the mistletoe from the top of the doorway and stuffing it in his pocket. “The puppy dog eyes were starting to get painful.”

[lady-bluebird-luv]

Happy @acotargiftexchange, @shadowisles-writes!

“Happy birthday, my prince.” Feyre dropped into a bow just shallow enough to be insolent. She rose and inclined her head to the dais. “My lady. High Lord.” “Lady Archeron,” Rhys purred, masking his shock with wicked delight. “What a surprise.” He dropped his gaze to her trophy. “I don’t suppose you brought me a present for the festivities?” Feyre’s eyes were walls of blue ice, but Rhys saw a mischievous fire sparking far behind her mask. “Your birthday gift is my attendance.” The crowd shifted uneasily. “But,” Feyre added, with a smile that made even Rhys’s skin prickle, “consider this an apology for arriving late.”

I had so much fun tailoring a feysand fic for you, and I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for letting me pick your brain these past few months - I have a lot of treats for you lined up in the coming chapters!

And a huge shoutout to the exchange mods - this is my first exchange for this fandom, and it's been a great experience because of all the work you've done to make sure it runs smoothly.

Read it on AO3.

Word Count: 5,357 (1/4 chapters)

Rating: Explicit (eventual smut, violence)

Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, background ships

[c-e-d-dreamer]

'Tis the Damn Season - Part One

A/N: Surprise, bestie! Did you guess t'was I as your Secret Santa? @xxvalkyriesxx 😉 I hope you're ready for angst and pain this holiday season, just as you ordered up! There will be plenty of yearning and idiots in love to be found here, and we'll even keep to the Nessian Formula(tm). @acotargiftexchange

Read on AO3 // Next Part

One Year Ago

“I need to talk to you.”

He watched as she paused halfway to zipping up her boot, watched as a frown tug down her lips and a little crease formed between her eyebrows where they dipped close together. He hated when that look took over her face. He wished he could erase it with a drag of his thumb across her bottom lip. He wished he could draw back out that soft smile and maybe even a fond roll of her blue eyes.

But the pressure that began building between his ribs after he got the text that morning threatened to twist even tighter around his lungs.

“Can’t it wait?” Nesta sighed, standing back up and stepping into his space. “Tonight is going to be hard enough.”

“I know,” Cassian whispered, his hands settling easily at her waist. Where they always belong, if you asked him.

“I just… I need to know you’ll have my back. That it will be you and me tonight.”

Cassian tilted his head down enough that his forehead rested against her own, letting his eyes fall closed. He focused on the feel of Nesta’s body against his own, beneath his hands. He focused on the sweet, familiar scent of her perfume. And when he opened his eyes again, he focused on every shade of blue and gray that make up her own. Memorized it. Kept it all tucked close to his heart.

“You and me, Nes. Always.”

~ * * * ~

Today

Cassian takes a deep breath in, letting the air out again with a soft sigh that seems to rattle through his lungs. His fingers flex against the steering wheel, and he drops his head down to rest against his knuckles. He knows that he can’t hide out in his truck forever, knows that despite the desire prickling in the back of his mind, he can’t just turn around and drive back home.

His family would see through any sort of feigned sickness in an instant. He’s always been a terrible liar; not that the truth of that counted for much when it mattered most. And being the owner of his gym means that using work as an excuse holds even less weight. There is truly no escaping what awaits him inside the cabin, and it’s time for him to face the music.

Even if he has no idea what he’ll say.

He’s certainly mulled it over, even dared to rehearse how the conversation might go in his mind. Those thoughts often come to him late at night. In the dark and the safety of his bedroom, he’ll roll over in his bed, hand sliding against the cool sheets. With his eyes closed, he can imagine a too familiar scent still clinging to the fabric, warm smooth skin beneath his palm. He can imagine soft spoken words shared in the breaths between.

He can imagine whispered apologies.

Sighing again, Cassian finally pushes open the door and slides out of his truck. He grabs his duffel bag and swings it easily over his shoulder, following the large paving stones up to the cabin’s front door. It’s reminiscent of standing on another front porch, just a year ago, the memory still burning bright in the back of Cassian’s mind, the wound still prickling across his skin like a nasty scar time can’t heal. He can feel darkness twining between his ribs and sinking claws into his lungs, into his still bruised heart, and he has to close his eyes and swallow hard against the ache.

As soon as she pressed the bell, the sound echoing through the house around them, Cassian squeezed her hand tighter. Desperate to keep her right here, right by his side. The pressure was enough to draw her attention to him, the confusion clear in the tilt of her head, the slight dip of her brow.

“You and me. Right?”

Something must have shown on his face, her frown only growing. “Of course. You and me.”

“Promise?”

“Cassian!”

Cassian opens his eyes again and is greeted by a pair of bright blue ones. With a wide, easy smile, Feyre steps back from the now open door, allowing Cassian to step inside. He does his best to plaster on a grin of his own, stepping into the front entryway, noting the garland and ribbon already decorating the space.

“How was the drive?” Feyre asks, closing the door behind him.

“Not too bad. I beat the fresh snow that seems to be blowing in, at least.”

Laughter echoes from deeper within the cabin, drifting toward the entryway like a warm, summer breeze. In an instant, Cassian’s eyes drift over Feyre’s shoulder and toward that sound, his ears perking up. But it’s not quite right, not quite the soft melody that still haunts his dreams.

“She’s not here yet,” Feyre tells him quietly.

“Who?”

Feyre settles him with an unimpressed look, clearly seeing right through the drawling question. She crosses her arms and raises a brow, the twist of her lips so familiar and yet so different. It takes everything within Cassian not to flinch or fidget beneath her scrutiny, but Feyre merely shakes her head, something like fond annoyance coloring the gesture, as she turns her attention toward the large central staircase of the cabin.

“We have you in the room all the way at the end of the hall. Hope that’s alright.”

“Always.”

Cassian leans in, pressing a smacking kiss to Feyre’s cheek, before bounding up the stairs, desperate to steal at least a few moments of peace before facing the masses. The room at the end of the hall is simple, wood paneling along the walls and a double bed in the center of the space. He tosses his duffel bag atop the blankets, walking around the bed and to the windows. It offers him a view of the front of the cabin, the driveway, but there’s no sign of a red Chevy Malibu yet.

”Really? This is your car?” Cassian asked, tapping the hood of the car with his palm.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she huffed, shoving his hand off her car.

“Oh, come on. I’ve never seen anyone under the age of sixty driving a Malibu.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be rednecks driving beat up pickup trucks.”

Cassian laughed easily at the jab, his grin only growing when he noticed the spark that seemed to flare through the icy blues of her eyes. Gods, she was beautiful, especially like this.Cassian’s being an idiot, that’s what he’d name this look. Her lips pinched together, and he knew he had her, knew she was trying her best to hold back a smile of her own. And mother save him, he wanted to make her smile.

He wanted so many things. With her.

So he pressed a solemn, dramatic hand to his chest. “Redneck? Really? I think you owe me an apology now, sweetheart.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“How’s drinks sound? Tomorrow night?”

Cassian squeezes his eyes shut against the memory, against the memory of watching that same red Chevy Malibu drive away from him for the last time. Already, he can feel a lump threatening to form in his throat. He presses and rubs the heel of his hand against his sternum, against the ache sinking in with icy claws, against his bruised and battered heart.

He can hear footsteps and voices coming down the hall, and he dares to creep closer toward the bedroom door. There’s a low chuckle, a deep murmur of a voice that Cassian doesn’t quite recognize, but the sound that follows is all too familiar. It’s little more than a quiet snort of breath, but the grin it draws across Cassian’s face is practically second nature, the skip of his heart practically reflexive.

He still remembers the first time he heard that sound, still remembers the first time he was the cause of it. He’d chased it, desperate to hear it again and again, desperate to bottle it up and get drunk off its sweetness. He still remembers when that sound had morphed into something more, into a true laugh that was unabashed and unguarded, light and melodic and the most beautiful song Cassian had ever heard.

“I think it’s this room.”

Cassian jumps back just in time to avoid getting a full face of wood. The door to his guest bedroom for the weekend swings open with little warning, and a red haired man stands in the doorway looking just as surprised as Cassian feels, one eyebrow arching high above the man’s amber eyes. It takes a few blinks before recognition dawns on Cassian. Even with the paler skin, the resemblance is clear, the matching shade of red unmistakable despite the strands being shorter.

Lucien’s half-brother. The eldest Vanserra.

“Or… not…” Eris remarks awkwardly, turning his head to the left and making a face.

Cassian shifts his own attention in the same direction and comes face to face with a pair of icy blue eyes that he used to know like the back of his hand. They seem to flare as soon as Cassian’s gaze connects with them, just the sight of that flickering flame sparking an answering fire in his veins. But this isn’t one of their games, another round of their back and forth. There’s no fond amusement in her expression, not even a whisper of the softness he so loved to draw out. Instead, there’s nothing but tension hiding in those blue eyes, in the pinch of her lips.

Only a sadness that seems to cling to the corners.

It’s too reminiscent of the last time he saw her, too much of a punch straight to the gut all over again.

The ground was cold and hard beneath his feet, frozen grass crunching with every step as he chased after her. “Nesta, wait!”

His long legs, the long stride of his gait, made it easy to catch her right before she could reach her car parked along the road, but Cassian almost wished he hadn’t when Nesta whirled back around on him. The blues of her eyes blazed, but it wasn’t only rage crystallizing amongst the ice there, but pain.

Betrayal.

Her shoulders hitched up toward her ears, her spine pin straight as though she was preparing for battle. With her lips pinched into a scowl, the look reminded him too much of when he very first met her, and he hated it. Hated that it was directed at him. Hated that he was the reason all the softness and peace she had found, that he had spent so long drawing out, was gone again in the blink of an eye.

“Nesta,” Cassian pleaded softly, his heart lurching right from his chest and into her awaiting palms.

“I can’t believe you,” Nesta seethed, shaking her head. “You were Rhysand’s brother this whole time? This whole time you knew who I was?”

“I didn’t at first, I swear.”

“What, did they send you to check up on me? Did you report back with my every move? Everything I told you? Was it fodder for your little family dinner parties?”

“No! I would never do that,” Cassian promised. He took a step closer to her, hands reaching, but Nesta was quick to yank her own hands out of his reach, to step back further away from him. The reflex sent cracks cutting deeper still through Cassian’s chest.

“Gods, I knew you were too good to be true. How does it feel? Knowing you’ve been with Feyre’s awful big sister?” Nesta let out a cold, humorless laugh, crossing her arms across her body as though holding herself together with the gesture. When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper. “I trusted you. I told you everything. I–”

Nesta didn’t finish the thought. She merely shook her head again and turned away from him completely, digging out the keys to her car and unlocking the door. He was losing her. She hadn’t even driven away yet, and already the distance between them was a yawning void, and Cassian was desperate to cross it, desperate to grasp onto those fraying ends and draw her back into him. To make her understand.

So he rushed forward, catching the car door before she could close it. “Nesta, please. Let’s just talk, okay? I know you. I know you’re thinking all the worst case scenarios, and I need you to know it was never like any of that. Everything we had, everything I feel, it was all real. We’re real.”

“Cassian–”

“I know I messed up. I know I’m an idiot. But let me fix this. We can fix this.”

“Cassian,” Nesta sighed, not quite meeting his gaze. “Let go of the door. I’m leaving.”

Cassian’s fingers flexed, a lump pressing in against his throat and threatening to suffocate him. “Just for now or… or is this it for us?” The silence that hung in the space between them felt like answer enough, that lump quickly turning into a stone that sunk deep into Cassian’s gut. “I love you, okay? I at least need you to know that. Because I do know you, and I know you think no one ever can or that you don’t deserve it. I know how your mind is going to spin this. But I do. So much. No matter what.”

Cassian held his breath as he waited. Waited for her to say something. Waited for her to at least look at him. But instead, Nesta tugged on the door again, Cassian’s grip going lax beneath the pressure.

“Goodbye, Cassian.”

“Cassian.”

Just his name falling past her lips again has a shiver skittering down Cassian’s spine. Although perhaps it feels more like a bucket of ice water. His heart skips a beat in his chest, lungs squeezing taught enough to steal his breath. She looks just as beautiful as Cassian remembers, even with the clipped, awkward tone and those closed off blue eyes.

Her hair is braided and twisted back in her usual updo, and Cassian’s fingers twitch with the urge to drag through those golden brown strands. He wonders if she still keeps her pins in the exact same places, if he could tug them all free until those strands fall softly and beautifully down her back and around her shoulders. He always loved when she wore her hair down. Always loved to see her so beautifully undone, that she trusted him enough to let down her armor.

“Nesta,” Cassian breathes, swallowing hard around the lump pressing against his throat. “It’s good to see you.”

Despite his words, her expression doesn’t change, and she doesn’t offer any sort of response. Clearly, she doesn’t share the sentiment. Cassian supposes that he deserves that, but it stings nonetheless. As the silence continues to stretch between them, the tension in the room only seems to rise, prickling across Cassian’s skin like nails.

“Well, sorry to have barged into your room,” Eris offers, clearing his throat and readjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder. “Come on, babes.”

He turns on his heel, striding out of Cassian’s guest room and across the hall. Nesta is quick to follow behind him, and Cassian can do nothing but watch her walk away from him yet again, Eris’s words still echoing in his ears and clanging through his mind. Babe.

He never thought to ask Feyre if Nesta might be bringing someone to the cabin for the weekend. If she might be seeing someone new. He supposes he has no right to really be surprised. It has been a year after all. But the disappointment still claws Cassian’s already bruised heart to ribbons. Maybe he really is a fool, imagining what could happen, what he hoped might happen on the entire drive up the mountain.

What might happen when he finally saw Nesta again after all this time. What might happen if they finally got a chance to properly talk. How he finally might make things up to her the way she deserves. How she might finally forgive him.

But instead she’s here, with Eris, and the only thing Cassian is sure of is that it’s going to be a very very long weekend.

—

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[hitlikehammers]

oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part ii: you shined a light on your home

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤💚

<<< part one

Eddie will not pretend he doesn’t squeak when Dustin bustles past him into the house—a wholly appropriate ranch on the edge of town, with two whole separate bedrooms, no one on the couch anymore, plus a little side room that Eddie thinks probably wasn’t meant as a guest room but can definitely fit about three sleeping bags, four at a push—but yeah, he should have expected Dustin to shove his way into Eddie’s home whether Eddie invited it or not.

He doesn’t have to like it. Or approve of it. Or tolerate it without complaint; without pushing back.

“Hend—” he tries to sound stern, tries to project hand-on-hips-authority like St—

Like some people do. Sometimes. So Eddie’s heard.

“Implied consent!” Dustin cuts him off, voice carrying from at least the living room already, Jesus fuck, this kid; his tone.

Eddie’s glaring hard enough to almost definitely bore a hole through this shithead’s skull, or maybe make him spontaneously combust. If Supergirl was the one glaring, it’d be a done deal.

“You didn’t shut the door, thereby participating in the creation of an entrance,” Dustin’s rambling on and Christ, but he’s such a pompous little fuck sometimes.

“Which is great, and super smart of you,” Dustin tells him earnestly, actually, and wow: if that isn’t condescending, holy fuck; “because the quicker we can address the problem, the quicker it can be solved,” and then he’s turning of his heel and fucking…clapping his hands to together like Eddie’s in goddamn kindergarten.

“So!” Dustin barks with a weird enthusiasm. “Now we can talk about what you did to Steve, and how you’re gonna fix it.”

Eddie blinds at him for a couple couple seconds before throwing his hands up and half-kinda snarling, half-kinda whining:

“What the fuck, man?”

And honestly, Eddie’s torn just now between hurt and angry, indignant and bleeding out a little, because he doesn’t like Dustin accusing him blindly, here, and while he’s long grown past thinking the hero worship was unfounded—honestly, if he’s going to have to think about the man explicitly instead of as the understood ‘you’ that the constant ache of him and his absence has settled as in Eddie’s universe: he thinks what he clocked as hero worship in the beginning probably could have used some bulking up, because…the genuine article was so much more than even the stories Eddie’d refused to believe at the start.

But, back it up: Eddie…Eddie can accept Dustin coming to Steve’s defense—encouraged it, even. But, like, Dustin has stood up for Eddie, too, and just…Eddie didn’t do anything, he’s spent enough cold nights with his arms stretched missing what they’d learned so well to wrap around and hold so close, mourning what’s not there and hell yes, he’s run down every little detail he can think of, where he might have been the one to drive Steve away without ever, ever meaning to, and it boils down the same every time: there’s nothing.

He wishes there was. Because then yeah, like Dustin’s saying—there’d be something to fix. Something to do, to try and salvage what Eddie is entirely aware was very probably the love of his fucking life.

But there isn’t.

“Clearly something is wrong between the two of you,” Dustin gestures broadly in the air, extravagant for no reason but then also it kinda fits entirely because this entire heartbreak of an affair is basically the most devastating thing that’s ever tried to take Eddie down, and he was basically dead in another dimension that one time, so.

That’s saying something, is what he’s getting at.

“And like, I’ve watched when Steve’s been the one to fuck up, man, so like, I can recognize the signs and,” Dustin shakes his head, looks not exactly apologetic but not entirely all-in guns-blazing about pinning the blame on Eddie alone. At least not without giving him a fair shake to explain first.

Which he’d do, if he had any fucking idea what caused them to crash and burn when they’d been the most solid thing Eddie had ever seen, let alone been a part of; got to feel for himself.

“I know Steve,” Dustin says carefully, kinda slow, almost reluctant, which Eddie doesn’t really get until the next part comes out, a little choked, like tears muscled down:

“I’ve never seen him like this.”

Well. Fuck.

Fuck.

“It’s the holidays, man,” Eddie tries to make it sound casual, or at the very least genuine, like his pulse hasn’t jumped for the idea that Steve’s…not okay. Not fucking thriving like he deserves, now that Eddie’s out of the way of what makes him as happy as he should always be. “Sometimes people are just a little down in the dumps, it’s not unheard of,” and he thinks that lands okay, those are all true things, no one needs to know the way his heart’s thumping like a rabbit as his head goes to all sorts of horrible possibilities, and he shouldn’t let himself slide down those pathways anymore, it’s not his business, Steve isn’t—

“He’s not just sad,” Dustin shakes his head; “he’s not,” and he trails off and Eddie’s heartbeat stutters then jackhammers wild for the way Dustin’s face crumples over a fucking interminable stretch of moments that drives every horror possible through fragile arteries not prepared for how much it hurts, laced with the acids at the base of Eddie’s throat and rising, banged around with every beat and—

“I don’t think he’s sleeping,” Dustin says, so quiet, hard to tell if there are actual tears of just the threat of them. “I don’t think he’s eating,” and he takes a shaky breath that gets mirrored in Eddie’s blood, sniffles as he adds on, kinda desperate, fraying at the seams: “Robin can’t even…”

He stops, breathes a couple of times and collects himself—too good at that. Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t even try to do that, for his part. He’s not…strong, like these kids. Like the rest of this little rag-tag-trauma family unit. Eddie isn’t built that impermeable. S’why he’s always had to put on a show, scare people off before they get close enough to see the obvious.

Until…Steve.

And the proof of Eddie’s weaknesses are front and centre right now, so. Case in point.

“I met him right after he and Nancy broke up,” Dustin’s saying after he takes the time to regroup, huffing a breath and furrowing his brows at nothing, until: “after she did the,” and he circles his wrist around again and oh. Oh.

Bullshit.

Eddie’s brow furrows, too, at that.

“I didn’t know it at the time, obviously, and not like I was really paying attention anyway,” Dustin screws up his face a little, like he’s angry at a lot of people for what he’s remembering, and he’s not exempt from his own list; “but you said it yourself, you thought they were meant to be,” Dustin points at him in the sort of way that presses down on Eddie’s shoulders, makes him feel queasy and just…small.

“Unmitigated love, or whatever,” Dustin half-sneers and he doesn’t think that was the word he used but fuck if Eddie’s not transported back to those woods, to those first inklings that his heart was gonna leap and know it couldn’t stick the landing, would less crack and more like splatter, a messy ruin on the sidewalk for trying, for reaching when there was nothing to hook with a grip—

Except there had been, in the end. He hadn’t known it then—just reveled in the way it felt to brush arms against that man, to lean close enough to feel his heat in the frigid deadspace that was the hellscape they were trekking through.

But the end, as it has come anyway, did in fact leave him a fucking spatter-scape on the concrete, exactly the same as he’d feared at the start.

But Dustin fucking Henderson hadn’t been there when Eddie was making eyes at Mr. Former High School Royalty, so—

“How the fuck do you—”

“Doesn’t matter how,” Dustin waves him off like he’s a fucking idiot for asking a question that’s beneath his concern for the topic at hand. “Youthought that,” he rocks forward in emphasis and okay, fine, yeah. Eddie had thought that.

It’d taken a long fucking while for Eddie to stop thinking it; he’s tried not to wonder, now, if he was foolish to ever stop thinking it.

But: no. Of all the reasons Steve got sick of him, he doesn’t think it was because Steve decided to want Nancy. He remembers every word Steve told him about that time, and how Eddie knew it was downplayed for how much Steve took the brunt of her rejection, for how generous Steve was in hindsight to remember how it went down; how genuinely worrisome it was to know Steve actually saw himself as deserving what he’d gotten.

Still. Back in the Upside Down, Eddie had thought it. Told him to get it back. Couldn’t fathom her not seeing the error of her ways even before he comprehended just how egregious her errors ran the first time, just how little even unambiguous signs of love might still fail to deserve Steve Harrington.

But before he knew: he had thought he understood well enough to judge.

Just more reasons for Eddie Munson to quality as an unmitigated idiot.

“So when he lost that,” Dustin’s picking back up again, has got his explaining cap on, trying to map a diagram or some shit, save that it’s Steve and it feels…insufficient in every way, insulting at that, to think Steve could ever be made…simple like that. Cut and dry.

Eddie bristles at it. Maybe he doesn’t have the right anymore, but: Dustin sure as fuck does, and needs to do better.

“He was still okay enough, after that, to fucking join a quest for demodogs and get beat to hell by a psychopath,” Dustin’s saying with the kind of gravity all of a sudden that feels up to reshaping the world; “all just to protect some kids he didn’t even know.”

Eddie can feel where this is headed, can see the lead up to where Dustin’s going to drop them.

He wishes like hell that he couldn’t.

“So if he’s like this, now,” and Dustin sounds…fucking distraught, like all the posturing of pressuring Eddie to reveal what the hell had gone wrong, what he’d done to destroy them, to lose his Steve: the anger and the bafflement was all secondary.

The kid’s fucking scared.

And this kid? Who’s stared down certain death, who’s jumped after Eddie’s stupid ass when the end was imminent, no question?

That…that ratchets Eddie’s pulse up, considerably. For what it has to…mean.

“I have never,” and Dustin’s voice is kind of raspy, kind of too strained and Eddie…Eddie thinks it’d be shitty of him to say that Dustin only sounds like he’s struggling with a fraction of what Eddie’s starting to feel head-on, the bone-deep trembling worry for the unspoken details that must comprise the current state of Steve, piled on top of the wholesale grief and the mourning of both what Eddie’d had, and what he’d been hoping he’d be allowed, be able to keep.

It’d be shitty to say that. So he won’t.

Say it.

“Eddie, I have never seen him like this.”

And it’s all Eddie can do not to whimper, or moan pathetically because the hurt in those words is visceral, and it’s not supposed to be there because Eddie was the problem, he was what was hurting Steve and he’s out of the equation. So what’s causing this much anxiousness, this much concern? How could something have gone to shit so quickly, in just the weeks they’ve been apart—what’s wrong with his Stevie?

(And maybe Steve isn’t his anymore but by god, Eddie is Steve’s, will be to the day he dies, he thinks—no, he knows; no matter where he goes or who he becomes, a part of his heart will belong to Steve for always, whether it’s wanted or not. So that’s his Steve. Where is heart lives. Where is love burns, even as a nuisance. He can’t stop it. He can’t put it out.

It’s with his Steve, and no other.)

“And like,” and Eddie pulls himself enough out of his wallowing, his fretting, the aching in his fucking veins to focus on Dustin as he eyes Eddie up blatantly, the squints a little:

“You don’t look like you’re doing the best, either.”

Okay. Rude.

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie tries to drawl annoyingly, fails miserably; aim to bat his eyes at an attempt at levity that he knows falls flat as hell.

He doesn’t know if he was even trying for it more for Dustin’s sake, or his own.

“Fuck off, man,” Dustin rolls his eyes; “I’m serious,” then he’s gets that grave tone about him again and Eddie hates that these kids have to even know how to be that serious about anything—least of all him, and his…whatever you call the ruins of your everything, when it comes to—

“You might not be hurting like Steve is,” Dustin tells him plain, doesn’t pull punches; “like you’re joyful in comparison,” and okay, ouch—

“But that’s not a healthy bar to clear.”

And Dustin’s eyes are a little narrowed around the call-out, the judgement on so many levels but they’re also…open somehow. Trying to be receptive, and welcoming.

Trying to be a good friend—for Steve and Eddie alike.

“Henderson,” Eddie shakes his head even before his voice strains; “he,” and all the fight goes out of him, drained dry better than the bats ever managed to leave him which is for the best, really, because what he says next, what he admits next is as good as slicing as artery, the way it flays him open to speak into the world:

“He doesn’t want me around.”

He doesn’t want you—

“Oh, right,” Dustin snarks at him with a glare; “definitely doesn’t wilt whenever you come up, doesn’t leave the room or anything,” then it’s Dustinwho wilts a little, somewhere between a pout and concern:

“When we actually get to see him at all.”

“That would be a prime example,” Eddie notes with a kind of…devastated intent, shoving the stabbing sense of worry at the core of him out of the way to make his point: “of what someone does when they don’t want a person around,” and Eddie is right, he’s absolutely right because that’s just natural, that’s a normal reaction and here is clear proof that—

“Not Steve.”

Dustin cuts Eddie’s mental conviction off at its knees with the sheer amount of feeling, of certainty in his tone, like he knows this one thing beyond all the doubt in the world.

It’s that certainty that sours worst in Eddie’s gut.

“If Steve doesn’t want something, he ignores it,” Dustin says, insistent and so fucking sad; “I think it goes back to his parents, like,” Dustin shrugs, and Eddie feels bile at the back of his throat.

“If you’re unwanted, you’re neglected, treated like you don’t exist,” and not for the first time, Eddie kinda-sorta regrets that the murder charges didn’t stick, because then he’d be tarred and feathered appropriately to just go ahead and off the fuckers that made Steve ever wonder if he was somehow anything less than the best person, the most deserving of everything.

“Because that hurts worse,” Dustin says, low, like he gets it. Like he hates it.

“Being invisible hurts the worst.”

Death would be too easy for those fucking assholes who taught Steve that, just because their own hearts were hateful. Eddie…Eddie wants to run to his Stevie and just, fucking, hold him. Make sure he remembers that it doesn’t matter if Eddie’s near or far, his or never close again: he’ll always matter to Eddie. He’ll never, ever be invisible.

“I,” Eddie licks his lips when the silence stretches too long, and Dustin doesn’t seem inclined to fill it this time. “He,” and Eddie’s mouth is too dry, throat still too tight; “we’ve been—”

“You’re together.”

Eddie freezes, heart doing a kind of hard brake thing that shakes him from the ribs on out, and Eddie may not have know where the hell he was going, how he was going to summarize then sanitize what it feels like to give all that you are and be found wanting in the end—but he hadn’t once considered fucking saying…that.

“What?” Eddie chokes, half-assed at best. It’s shock more than it’s denial, save that it should have been past tense, even if Eddie’s whole fucking soul is still with Steve, but he doesn’t think he knows or even fully wants to reel it back.

Ever.

But while they hadn’t hid anything more than in plain sight? They…no one was ever told they’d been dating, and, he, they—

“If even I can see it,” Dustin says, not unkindly exactly but…definitely blunt: “that kinda means it’s an open secret.”

Eddie coughs around the tight shock squeezing at his throat:

“Those aren’t your words,” he manages, because—they aren’t.

And Dustin looks briefly like he sucked on a lemon, knows he can’t fight the obvious.

“Max,” he sighs, admitting from where he’s borrowing uncharacteristic insight; “she told me I was the last to know.”

Any other day, about any other thing, Eddie would feel a much bigger sense of petty vindication in Dustin’s forced humbling.

As it stands? Eddie’s chest hurts too much to fit any kind of twisted delight of the kind getting any sort of foothold in him.

“Right,” he breathes out in an airy, useless kind of sound, doesn’t know where it’s going, doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He feels…actually?

Dying felt less tumultuous than what’s starting to churn through his veins right now, no fucking lie.

“You guys could have told us,” Dustin prods, a little sad, disappointed—hurt that he was left out.

“I,” Eddie’s mouth works around a lot of thoughts, a lot of half-formed feelings because what would it have been like to hold Steve where the people they loved could see, just because they could? To sit in his lap when he got tired, when the scars ached a little from doing too much for too long with the kids. To warm his hands just under the hem of a sweater. To just, just—

“Doesn’t matter now,” is what Eddie lands on, because it’s the honest conclusion of all his wishful wondering; bitter in his voice as much as it is in his chest. “It’s over.”

Fuck. Fuck, has he even said that out loud, yet? Can’t have—it hits too much like whiplash. Like the world ending.

“Doesn’t sound over,” Dustin volleys back like it’s simple; “is it over, for you?”

He asks it, like it’s enough to love with all that you are when it’s got nowhere to go anymore. Like he can strong-arm that kind of feeling through will alone. That one side can make a relationship on their own.

“It sure as hell doesn’t look like it’s over for him,” Dustin stares him down, now, something shifting in his demeanor that screams that he’s done playing games.

“What did you say?” Dustin asks him, something a little pleading in it, but Eddie’s throat won’t work, he can’t fucking speak and Dustin reads it as avoidance, instead of like Eddie’s heart is trying to rip out past his fucking trachea.

“What did he say?” but Dustin doesn’t sound even remotely convinced for his own self that this is on Steve. That it could be on Steve. And…again. Dustin hasn’t been shy about supporting one of them over the other when necessary.

“I,” and how is Eddie even supposed to breach explaining the chain of events that he can parse, leading to where things stand now? Sorry buddy, your ineffably physical and endlessly affectionate brother-slash-babysitter started refusing my kisses and sleeping on the edge of the bed so he barely touched me when he used to be a goddamn octopus to my sloth, grabbing and never letting go until he did, entirely, which is to say nothing of the sex, fuck, did you know your taxi driver is loud as shit in bed, but then all of a sudden if we even had sex he was suddenly silent and if there’s ever a blow to your ego, it’s to fuck your boyfriend and get nothing in response save sometimes tears he doesn’t acknowledge in the aftermath, that really makes a guy feel special.

Yeah, he’s not going to say that. He doesn’t even know how to get across how Steve pulled away, slow and all at once at the same time, overnight as much as it felt like it happened in pieces. But he stiffened when Eddie so much as brushed against him. He barely talked to Eddie. He was always taking extra shifts at work. He didn’t want to be around Eddie. He didn’t want Eddie, outgrew him in the course of weeks, maybe months if Eddie just hadn’t noticed in the beginning, but, it just…they were amazing, one minute. Perfect.

And then they…weren’t.

“He, I mean, it,” and Eddie grabs at his hair and hides behind it, because all of that’s true, all of what he saw and felt and lost in his relationship with Steve before it stopped: it’s accurate.

But then there’s…everything Dustin’s saying. And…Steve was pulling away from him, turning away from him, but did he…was he seeing Robin, or only at work? Was he seeing the rest of the Party?

“He was,” Eddie tries to find a throughway to follow but he’s too distracted because…was Steve sleeping before Eddie stopped coming to bed at all, because everything he tried wasn’t enough, because it was breaking him to keep lying there and not just be ignored, but be actively avoided? Was he…had Steve not been eating regularly, before Eddie left—

Wait.

Eddie…Eddie didn’t leave. He went to Wayne’s, the home that wasn’t the one Steve grew up in, when he needed to get more clothes. It was getting too cold, and since he’d basically moved in with Steve right out of the hospital and never really moved out, he’d been migrating what had survived the old trailer little by little as needed and so he’d…he’d gone to get things.

He’d broken down when his uncle asked him what was wrong, said he looked like someone ran over his cat.

More like his heart, but. Same idea.

And then he’d…he’d been scared. He’d called the house to try and ask Steve when he wanted Eddie to come back, because he’d wondered after telling Wayne everything—and hearing him talk about what it was like coming back from war for some of his buddies—if Steve just needed some space: but the line had rang and rang and rang. Didn’t even grab the machine.

And Eddie had…Eddie had cried so fucking hard he could have sworn he’d busted something in his eye. But…but…

never gonna leave you all alone again

He gasps to himself when the words run lightning quick through his head, and his heart clenches fucking hard.

Did…did Eddie, did he go and…and leave Steve…

Did he leave his Stevie alone?

No. No, it was, Eddie never wanted to keep his distance.

Eddie doesn’t stay awake to all hours staring the the ceiling while his body reels at what it knows it’s missing because he wants to. He doesn’t jolt awake lamenting that emptiness because he likes it, whenever his consciousness drifts in fitful bursts that he doesn’t feel like he deserves, because while he’d maybe been slinking back to lick his wounds when he went to Wayne’s, he would never have even thought to do this own his own, to be estranged.

Though all of those things aren’t without the parasitic leech of a thought on the side: he told you to leave with everything but words, and only that because he stopped taking at all.

But…but Eddie can’t live with Steve hurting. And maybe Steve doesn’t want him, doesn’t love him like that anymore. But Eddie thought of him as his friend, even if they never had a space between where they were just friends and not everything.

And it sounds like maybe Steve could use a friend. Maybe he doesn’t want Eddie for that either, but. Eddie’s kinda in agony at just the thought of the picture Dustin’s been painting.

“It’s Christmas,” Dustin takes that unspoken cue to pipe back up; “like, I just,” and he ends on a note of straight-up entreaty, damn close to pleading:

“Fix it, man.”

And Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t think he’s wanted, in general. Certainly not to be the one who fixes…anything.

But a nice chunk of his heart is with this man who is apparently hurting, and Eddie’s soul-certain love is fixed on him, probably for the rest of fucking time, so.

He’s sitting here being unwanted already.

Won’t hurt to try; can’t possibly end up worse.

❄️

>>> part iii

for @kultiras🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @sadisticaltarts @bumblebeecuttlefishes @shrimply-a-menace @wheneverfeasible @1-tehe-1 @themoonagainstmers @dreamercec @ravenfrog @live-laugh-love-dietrich @stealthysteveharrington @tinyplanet95 @theohohmoment @samsoble @tinyloonyteacups @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @pretend-theres-a-name-here @dragoon-ze-great @warlordess @notaqueenakhaleesi @pukner

divider credit here

[secondratefiction]

Happy Accidents - Hunter x Reader

Life Day Fic Exchange 2024 @cloneficgiftexchange

Written for @dragonrider9905

(( A little note before hand - the mando'a word 'tracyn'sal' is used as a term of endearment. While it literally means flame colored, the significance of orange to Mandalorians is that it symbolizes a lust for life and (as i read it) essentially bravery- basically, I'm using it as a way for him to call her Fearless))

—

You were currently sitting in the middle of a forest you had no idea how to get out of. On a planet you couldn’t even remember the name of. You were feeling like the biggest idiot in the galaxy… the whole reason you were even out here to begin with was that you’d taken a hit to your pride and then run off instead of inducting the embarrassment of having to face it…

—

Hunter was brooding beside you and glaring daggers at the boy across the way talking to Omega. A job had brought you all to a small out of the way planet at the same time the village you were in was holding their annual Life Day festival. It was supposed to be an opportunity for everyone to stop and just relax for a little bit… Unfortunately, Hunter was doing the exact opposite…

“Stop it.” You chastised lightly, sitting down a cross from him and setting a mug of some kind of hot spiced punch the locals were serving in front of him, “She’s having  fun, let her enjoy herself.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about…” He grumbled, huffing and shifting in his seat agitatedly

“Hunter… she’s not going anywhere you won’t be able to find her.” You said sipping your own drink and trying not to laugh too obviously, “It’s a festival, try to relax… just a little…”

Hunter grumbled some more, slightly harangued at being called out, but still keeping a sharp eye on his daughter as he turned his cup around in his hands, “I just don’t understand why she’s so… interested in him…”

You laughed softly earning yourself a glare from him, “Hunter… she’s getting her first taste of love at first sight. It’s normal… it’s a right of passage.”

Hunter scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Love at first sight doesn’t exist.”

“Of course it does,” You say off-handed, wistfully, “How else do I explain the feeling I got when I first saw you?”

Hunter seemed to choke violently and freeze solid simultaneously, coughing to clear his throat as he looked back at you bewildered, “You… you love me?”

It was your turn to be mortified and panicked, unable to look at him all of the sudden, “Apparently not, according to you.”

Hunter was quiet for several moments, the silence eating away at you as the reality of what you'd let slip set in, the queasy feeling of embarrassment began to settle heavily in your stomach. Enough so that when he did finally speak, just the sound of his voice was enough to send you bolting from the celebration and into the forest, trying to out run both him, and the nauseous feeling in your gut.

—

Normally, trying to out run Hunter was a fool’s errand, but by some stroke of luck you had managed to put quite a good bit of distance between yourself and the village. Whether that was because he was still in shock or had decided to just let you go, you weren't sure; but you had run off blindly into the woods until you had run out of steam.

Which had seemed like a good idea at the time… but now that you were out here, lost, with no idea where you were or where to go, you were beginning to curse your impulsivity.

About the time that you’d decided to stop wallowing and try to find your way to somewhere more hospitable, you could sense something moving in the trees behind you. You cursed quietly, drawing the knife from your boot and trying to listen extra closely to your environment like Hunter had taught you to.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but you were praying it was something manageable and not something that was going to easily take you out, like a Nexu…

The branches ruffled to your left and you lunged. The next few minutes were a bit of an adrenaline-fuelled blur, all you were really aware of was putting all the training Hunter had given you to the test, and having it blocked and parried at every turn.

It felt like forever, but in reality it only took a few minutes for you to end up flat on your back, hunter panting slightly as he knelt over you, pinning you down as he took the knife from you as gently as possible.

“Well, I have to hand it to you tracyn'sal,” He said moving to sit beside you, slipping the knife into the side of his own boot, “You’re getting better… you’ve been holding out on me.”

You bit your lip as you sat up, staring pointedly at the ground between your feet. Your head shot up to look at him however, when Hunter quietly cursed. You gasped softly when you realised you’d actually managed to cut him in the struggle.

It was superficial at best, a tiny little knick on his neck by the corner of his jaw, but it was still bleeding something awful for such a small wound. Hunter however was smiling proudly as he pressed his fingers to it.

“You really could be dangerous if you wanted to, cyare.”

You shook your head, turning away and moving to get up, only for him to grab your arm.

“Stop,” He said gently, but firmly, as he turned your chin back towards him, “Being stubborn. I’ve already had to chase you down once tonight, and that is more than enough.”

You reluctantly looked up at him, the burning sense of embarrassment starting to come creeping up the back of your neck again.

“I’m sorry for running off like that…” You muttered quietly, “And I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

Hunter hummed softly, laughing under his breath as he pulled you into his side with an arm wrapped around your shoulders, “It’s fine tracyn'sal… but, maybe next time… you should try harder.”

You scoffed indignantly, pulling back to shove at his chest, the smile on your face undercutting any attempt to try and act annoyed with him, “Shut up!”

He let out another warm laugh, catching your hands and gently pressing his forehead to yours, “Stop. Behave yourself.”

Hunter stayed like that for several moments, and you felt yourself begging to relax, tension slowly ebbing out of your shoulders as you leaned into him slightly. With a quiet sigh he moved to stand up, offering you a hand to pull you back to your feet as well.

“C’mon ner tracyn’sal, let me get you back… before that boy gets any ideas…”

[firefeufuego]

i don’t know why i like you (but i do) - (e): chapter two of four

read | listen

To be fair to him, the first thing Lily notices about James Potter is that he’s fucking fit. Like a baby duckling imprinting on its mother, her body will never quite forget the way it first felt at seeing his beautiful face on top of his big, dumb body.

A continued gift for @isahorcrux

[justabigoldnerd]

Folks and Comrades!! I present to you covers I made for each of the works submitted for the "The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Gift Exchange 2024"!!!

I did this of my own accord, anyone who wants to repost theirs is more than welcome to, I hope you guys enjoy, love you all!!!

"When The Winds Begin To Sing"

By JustABigOldNerd on Ao3 (Me)

"Living with a Lingering Soul"

By phoenix_fire34 on Ao3 ( @mybelovedillya )

"Habituation"

By Saathi1013 on Ao3 ( @saathi1013 )

"find me inside myself"

By sunsetdawn20 on Ao3 (if anyone knows their Tumblr, if they have one, please let me know!)

"care-worn"

By takingoffmyshoes on Ao3 ( @takingoffmyshoes )

"Everyone Hides (Some of the Time)"

By chamel on Ao3 ( @cha-melodius )

"the investigators from U.N.C.L.E."

By escapismandsharpobjects on Ao3 ( @set-phasers-to-whump )

"Purim Night"

By Griselda_Gimpel on Ao3 ( @griseldagimpel )

"Life Debt"

By Elisexyz on Ao3 ( @heytheredeann )

"We made universes out of bitten lips and broken hands"

By Elisexyz on Ao3 ( @heytheredeann )

Because Tumblr only allows 10 images, the last three will be in the next post!!!