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sp0o0kylights · 11 months ago

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"Valentines Day is a capitalistic scam made to sell chocolate and flowers!" Eddie Munson bellowed, leaping to the top of a cafeteria table not even ten minutes into lunch.

"Do you think he was born like this, or just dropped on his head as a baby?" Heather asked, rolling her eyes as the super senior began waving his arms around, getting way too into his annual “anti-valentines day” rant.

Steve, who'd tuned out the dramatics in favor of trying to figure out how he could ditch school, only heard her because she’d begun running her foot up his leg.

Directly in front of Patrick.

As if half the school didn’t know he planned on asking her out after school.

Long over being a part of these kinds of games, Steve kicked out, forcing Heather’s leg off his.

He did it harder than he intended and immediately winced, as if he hadn’t meant to do it at all. Aimed a sad little look at her, softening his eyes in the way he knew ladies loved while murmuring a quiet "sorry.”

A pudding cup was offered as an additional apology--which Heather, thankfully, accepted.

Crisis averted, Steve used the movement of handing the cup over to get his legs well out of Heather's range. He had other things to think about today, and getting drawn into whatever drama Heather was trying to brew wasn’t on the list.

Particularly given the basketball team as a unit had started snubbing him out.

"Newsflash ladies! Your man isn't taking you to some shitty restaurant because he loves you, he's doing it because he hopes you'll give it to him in your car!" Munson continued, voice growing impossibly louder.

A crude gesture followed, involving hip thrusts and hand jabs.

Several of the cheerleaders shot him disgusted looks as he did it.

"Definitely dropped on his head." Carol said, glaring at Munson as his little group of freaks and geeks cheered him. "More than once."

Steve hummed an agreement, more on automatic than from actually listening. He knew how to look like he was paying attention, even if his head was deep in possible escape plans.

If he dipped at the last minute to the bathroom on the way to fifth period, Tommy wouldn't have time to stop him and he could make a break for his car…

That just left making up a plausible enough excuse as to why thee Steve Harrington, whose single status was the current hot topic of the school, left school early on Valentines Day.

("Candy, sex, the overwhelming affection of all the ladies." Tommy drawled out that morning, practically preening. "Valentine's Day is the best holiday man. Just look at all this!"

He waved a hand at his locker, which was absolutely covered in paper hearts.

"The rally squad put hearts on the lockers of everyone on the basketball team, Tommy." Carol argued, rolling her eyes. "Steve’s is practically buried in them.”

Tommy opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with something else teasing and rude, but Carol’s elbow caught him in the gut first.

“If you keep acting like this you're not getting any sex." She warned.

"Aww baby, don't be like that. You know you're the only one for me." Tommy teased, with a wink that prompted Carol to smack him on the shoulder.

Laughing, he added: "Besides we can't fight or we'll miss our favorite game. Which poor gal thinks this year is the year Steve will take her out on a date!"

Carol allowed Tommy to put an arm over her shoulder, the two of them turning knowing grins on their friend as a singular unit.

Even if Steve hadn’t felt like their friend in a hot minute.

Not in the way he used to.

"I do love watching them stutter through their little confessions.” Carol admitted, like this wasn’t something they’d loved doing since middle school. “I wonder if anyone will ever top Cindy Komer."

Steve almost wasn't fast enough to cover his wince--that particular incident had been painful for him and Cindy.

Steve still had no idea what he'd said to make the then-freshman cry.

He thought he'd been nice about turning her down, but judging by Carol constantly quoting what he'd said, Steve had a feeling he'd accidentally been an asshole again.

Not that anyone ever thought it was accidental.

“Steve? Hel~lo? Are you listening?” Carol said, snapping to get his attention and God did Steve hate that.

Never realized just how much until Nancy but after she’d pointed out that Carol treated him and Tommy both like her dogs, well.

It was hard not to notice--and be a bit resentful.

“God you keep doing this, you’re turning into such a space case.” Carol continued, the edge back in her voice. The same one she’d been using for a while, like Steve was on her last nerve. “Please tell me you’re not still mooning over Nancy fucking Wheeler.”

“No.” He snapped, only to know instantly that was the wrong move, and try to fix it before Carol blew up. “No--I’ve just already had to fend someone off today. Like first thing--I was barely out of my car.”

There, that should keep Carol and Tommy both off his back for being “angry” and it wasn’t even a lie. He really had been asked out earlier, though the girl had been gracious about his rejection.

Of course, this kind of instant redirection came with a price--and in this case, it was being absolutely hounded for more information.

“Oh shit who!? Was it that Buckley girl?” Carol perked up immediately, like a hunting dog scenting prey. “I swear she stares holes in your head, she’s so weird…” )

"This isn't about romance! It's about showing who has the most cash, gets the most sex! It's a pathetic social ritual you're all falling for!” Munson yelled, jolting Steve back into the present. “I bet none of you even enjoy it!”

"Tell that to all the girls Steve’s dated!” One of the younger basketball guys hollered, prompting a wave of laughter from the rest of the cafeteria. “They seem to enjoy it plenty!”

Steve couldn’t see who had said it, and should have felt the normal wave of smug warmth that the team had his back.

Except his team had already proven they didn’t.

Were in fact, siding more and more with Hargrove, just as Tommy was.

They were rapidly approaching a watershed moment. Steve could feel it, the same way he’d always been able to tell when a crowd was about to turn.

He was losing, but was still on top of Hawkins social spaces enough, had caught it early enough, that he could turn everyone’s favor--if he wanted.

Emphasis on ‘if.’

Munson spun to face his table, hair whipping to smack him in the face. The guy had clearly been trying to grow it out, but right now he looked like one of those poodles Carol's mom loved so much.

So said Carol, anyway.

"You sure about that?" Munson challenged, a crazed grin breaking across his face. "Rumor has it King Steve lost his groove ever since Wheeler dumped him!"

Steve grimaced, though he was secretly thankful Munson went with "dumped" instead of "cheated on" (or any of the other vile words Billy had flung around, spreading across the school in the sick, crawling way rumors moved.

Hargrove had been positively brutal about the whole Jonathan and Nancy thing, and the only reason he wasn't here now to spin this whole situation against Steve was because the guy always vanished at lunch.)

Tommy's face morphed into an affronted snarl, hands slapping down on the table. He turned expectantly to Steve, waiting for "The King" to get up and "handle" Munson.

Like Steve even cared about this dumb high school shit anymore.

It took him a moment to realize Steve wasn’t planning on doing anything. Was in fact, going to remain perfectly quiet, other than an eyeroll and half-assed middle finger in Munson’s direction.

Tommy let out a disgusted scoff in his direction and then decided to handle things himself.

(Like that had ever been a good idea.)

“Shut up, Freak. The only game you have is in the prison showers.” He snapped, half rising from the table. “Isn’t that why you keep your hair long? So all the boys will actually fuck you?!”

Whistles and yells lit the air, though Steve didn’t miss how the girls at the table looked taken aback at the sheer vitriol in Tommy’s voice.

Even Carol looked startled, eyes sliding to meet Steve’s as if to confirm she hadn’t just imagined it.

The three of them had always been good at this kind of mindless high school banter, but this over the top, crude shit?

It wasn’t Tommy’s style.

It was Hargrove’s.

(That was its own growing issue.

The way Tommy was gravitating towards Billy.

How Carol kept expecting Steve to act like he used to.

That she blamed his “outbursts” on Nancy, snidely mentioning that Steve had better have learned his lesson about “changing his personality for pussy.”

Even now Steve knew they were only defending him because Munson was the one saying it.)

“I didn’t realize Harrington still had his attack dog!”

Munson put a hand against his heart as though injured, staggering dramatically backwards.

“I thought you were too busy putting your tongue up Hargrove’s ass to bark at people!”

Tommy immediately fired back, letting loose an uninspired string of curse words and something about Eddie being queer again. Steve didn’t hear the specifics--didn’t care to hear it, even as things started to spiral out of control.

All he wanted to do was go home.

Ideally before Billy got back from lunch and decided to make a spectacle himself, because Steve could feel that coming just as he could everything else.

He was running out of time to come up with an excuse to get out of here without making a production out of it, and Munson wasn’t someone he wanted to piss off today, given he’d half hoped to buy weed off the guy before he ditched.

…Which was looking more and more unlikely given Tommy had just screeched some insult that had put Munson’s sights back on Steve.

“You sure? Cause Harrington looks like he’s just gonna sit there and take it, just like he takes everything Hargrove and Wheeler and anyone else throws at him.”

He leered, leaning forward as if to see into Steve’s very soul.

“I don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but our beloved King here hasn’t exactly been defending his crown. If anything, he’s abandoned it.”

The world stopped.

This was the first time someone actually called him out on the fact that he often let whatever crap Billy spewed go. That Nancy and him had a few awkward encounters publicly, with at least one of them starting a rumor that she’d told Steve to fuck off.

(She hadn’t of course, but Carol had stopped running damage control, and Steve was feeling the effects of her ire.)

Silence echoed, and Steve realized with a dawning sort of horror, that Munson was waiting for a response from him.

Just as the entire cafeteria was.

The catalyst was here, brought on early by one Edward Munson.

With a startling amount of clarity, Steve realized he was done.

With his so called friends, with the girls who’d tried corning him all morning, with Hargrove and just--everything.

He was over it.

If Billy wanted the crown so bad he could fucking have it.

(If Tommy wanted to pretend he was tougher than he was by mimicking the dick, then he could have that too.)

“This is stupid.” Steve announced, dropping the masks he so carefully wore. The ones he kept having to fix, because the Upside Down and its related demons (human and non) kept taking chunks out of it.

He stood, feeling the weight of the room press down on him as he faced them all down.

“Yeah--!” Tommy started to pile on, seeming to think Steve was about to unleash hell, and got the surprise of a lifetime when Steve turned and jammed a finger in his face.

“Shut up.” He snapped.

Knew instantly he only got away with it by the fact that he’d caught everyone off guard.

King Steve did a lot of things, but he rarely blew up.

“This is stupid.” He reiterated, voice booming across the lunch room, “ You wanna fight? Fine, but leave me out of it.”

“The King doesn’t want to play? Why I never thought we’d see the day!” Munson clucked his tongue, and without missing a beat Steve turned to him.

“For someone who is always screaming about nonconformity, you sure are happy to attack anyone who doesn’t do what you want.”

Steve’s voice was loud, but he wasn’t screaming. Wasn’t yelling or throwing his arms around.

He didn’t need to. Had never needed to.

“I heard you going off on that guy whose lunch you're standing on yesterday, because he wanted to watch the Colts play.” Steve continued, voice cold. “Half of your friends are terrified of you, because you’ll scream at them just like you accuse us of doing--and let’s be real here, Munson, you do it more.”

In a dramatic move that absolutely, 100% came from Dustin and his theatrics, Steve shrugged his letterman jacket off and bunched it into a ball.

“You might as well crown yourself King, because you’re the exact same as the rest of us. Here--you can start with this.”

Cocking back an arm, Steve let the jacket fly. Watched with everyone else as it landed neatly right at Eddie’s feet.

Shell shocked, Munson’s eyes drifted from Steve down to the letterman jacket and back. They were massive, those stupid eyes of his, but at least it meant Steve could see the realization wash over the guy in real time.

Steve should have felt smug about it. His past self would have.

Presently?

He just felt tired.

“You’re welcome to jam it up your ass.” He finished, before giving his own sarcastic half bow to the room.

The cafeteria was dead silent. Not a fork was scraped, or a loud piece of chip chewed. All eyes were on Steve, some waiting to see if Eddie would let him have the last word, others just shocked to see Steve lose his shit in front of them.

Idiot he was, he tried to rally anyway.

Even Tommy, who’d partly stood up, hands pressed against the lunch table looked shocked.

“What the fuck Steve!?” He sputtered, and it wasn’t long before half the basketball team was muttering similar remarks.

They were ignored.

Whispers ripped across the room when Steve turned on his heel, striding towards the exit and making it clear things were over, but Tommy didn’t give up.

“Fuck you Harrington!” He hurled at his back, Carol now standing and placing a restraining hand on his arm. “You’re not fucking better than any of us!”

Steve didn’t even look back.

"That's my point Tommy." Steve said, loud enough to be heard. "No one is better than anyone else. You lot are all just buying into your own bullshit.”

Then he was slamming through the doors, and out into the sunlight.

xXx

He didn’t want to go home.

Not anymore, which was ironic in a way that made Steve’s face screw up in a grimace.

Here he’d been dying to go to his stupid house all day, and now, after losing his shit and undoubtedly, the last of his social standing, he just didn’t feel like being by himself.

All alone, in a house too big for him, full of nothing but dark corners and a phone that never rang.

So instead, he wandered, reminiscing on how Valentine's Day used to be his favorite day of the year.

Steve loved the gesture of it all--the romance, the wooing. The butterflies floating in one's stomach, mixing with fear of rejection and a burning kind of hope towards starting something new.

Of course, Steve also had always had a girl in mind, when he celebrated. Now, after Nancy…

He did not.

It felt weird to go to Skull Rock--the place he himself had made into Hawkins hottest makeout spots. Likewise all the local restaurants were off limits--too many adults knew how much he loved the holiday.

Steve didn’t want to face that. The expectations, the knowing winks that would slide into uncomfortable frowns. Any possible advice given wouldn’t be appreciated, and the last thing Steve wanted was to get the “everyone has an off season, son” speech.

So he’d stayed away from his usual haunts. Explored some storefronts instead, the Beamer parked in front of Family Video as he wandered.

Had an entirely too peaceful two hours, which of course, meant he had to bump into someone.

At least, Steve thought dully, whole body tensing in preparation, it was Munson.

Not Hargrove, or Tommy, or hell--the children, demanding he help them fight some other fucked up creature the government had accidentally summoned.

“Hey Harrington.” Munson said, and it took a moment for Steve to realize the guy was embarrassed. “I uh, I need to talk to you.”

Steve just stared at him.

“If you couldn’t tell from earlier,” He warned, “I’m a little done talking for today.”

Or any day, for the foreseeable future.

“Yeah no--I, I got that. I--okay.” Eddie stopped rocking on his heels, before giving his entire body a shake, like the guys sometimes did while prepping for a game. “Hear me out, and then you can deck me or leave or whatever makes you feel better.”

“I’m not going to deck you.” Steve said, exasperated and frazzled and not wanting to do this whole song and dance a second time.

Not that it mattered, because Munson had already launched right into whatever it was he needed to say.

“There’s this book right? My Uncle got it for me. It’s a fantasy book all about this big battle and there’s these wizards in it, and--” He stopped himself, shaking out his hands.

Like he realized he was rambling and needed the movement to get himself back on track.

“I always--I guess I saw myself as a Gandalf kinda guy? Like I was this shepherd herding these lost sheep. A person who intimately knew all the dark forces of the world and could be a shield for them. Do not pass and all that.”

He chuckled, but it was weak, and he killed it almost immediately.

“...Okay?” Steve said, knowing he was supposed to say something here, even if he had no idea what.

Maybe something about how Gandalf the Grey wasn’t exactly a shepard given he’d led the hobbits straight into Mordor, but saying that meant admitting Steve knew what Lord of the Rings was, which wasn’t a conversation he felt like getting into.

Particularly not because he’d only read the damn things after losing a bet to Dustin and Mike both.

Munson nodded, as if acknowledgement was all he needed.

“I thought that’s what I was doing. I wasn’t and I didn’t realize I wasn’t until you pointed it out. You shouldn’t have had to point it out. You shouldn’t have had to say any of what you did.” He rushed to add, oddly sincere.

"Is this…" Steve might be confused but catching on, an uptick at the corners of his mouth as the tiniest spark of amusement leaked through. "an apology? Are you trying to apologize right now?"

Eddie groaned, flinging his head back. "No!”

Then immediately;

“Actually yes, but--”

Which caught Steve off guard enough that he laughed, and had to hide it with a cough.

“I am sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said that shit about you, especially not about you and Wheeler. It's more than that though.” Munson swallowed, before squaring his shoulders. “It’s that you were right."

“I was right?” Steve repeated dumbly, because fuck, he couldn’t believe it either.

Not that Munson heard him. Eddie always had been hard to stop once he started, and Steve had been in enough classes with the guy to know the train had left the station.

"I did yell at Jeff because he wanted to watch that stupid football game.” He began, and Steve got a front row seat to watch as one Eddie Munson word vomited his way through a myriad of emotions.

“I fuckin’ lost it on Grant because he missed band practice to drive his sister to some thing. Gareth looked like I was going to hit him when I asked if I had really been that bad--same exact look he gave Hagan and those other assholes that cornered him in the bathroom two weeks ago!”

“Tommy did what?”

Steve was promptly ignored.

(Or more likely, Eddie simply didn’t hear him, too lost in his own voice to realize Steve had said something.)

There were a lot of mentions of the Gandalf guy. Where Eddie thought he’d gone wrong, and even something about a glowing eye thing that had Steve a little concerned until he realized Munson was talking about Sauron (and also made Steve realize that he’d been pronouncing Sauron in his head wrong, oops.)

“I called up this friend of mine who graduated. She’s always been no nonsense, so I asked her for her advice.” Munson said, finally seeming to slow down a little. “She told me I might as well eat my own doctrine because I sure wasn’t living by it, and that if I wanted to fix it then I should start by apologizing. To everyone but--to you, first.”

Eddie took a step back, winging out his hands as if to present himself.

“So here I am. Apologizing.”

A pause wherein neither of them did a thing, which caused him to awkwardly add; “To uh, you. Harrington.”

“Yeah I got that.” Steve said, because what else was he supposed to do here? “Good for you? I guess?”

“Most people either forgive a guy or tell him to fuck off.” Munson pouted, and mimicked like he was kicking at a rock.

It made Steve want to laugh again, though he shoved the urge down.

“Someone once told me,” He said instead, speaking slowly to make damn sure he didn’t let slip this piece of advice came from a middle schooler. “that apologies without actions don’t really mean anything. They’re a start--they let people know you’re aware you screwed up, but no one’s going to trust you if you don’t follow through. So I can forgive you, but I think you’re better off doing this with one of your friends.”

Someone who would hug it out, or at least tell Eddie how he could be better, at least.

Rather than argue, Munson just titled his head back, eyes to the sky. Like he was really thinking on the words, before giving a sort of accepting sounding noise.

“Trying too.” Steve admitted with a sigh.

“That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?” He asked, head coming back down so he could stare at Steve.

“The thing in the cafeteria was a good start.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie grinned.

“Yeah. Don’t think Hagan’s gonna see it the same way though.”

“We were falling out anyway.” Steve admitted, and hated how easy it was to say.

That they really were just going through the motions of friendship. Had been, ever since Jonathan had punched Steve in the face.

“Think you lost more than just him as a friend, to be honest.”

“Pro tip about the actions thing, Munson?” Steve said with a snort, once again unsure of where this conversation was going, “Nice people don’t typically point out when someone’s turned into a social pariah.”

“No, I get that. Say,” Eddie’s grin had grown, which Steve would have taken poorly except he invaded Steve’s space with a goofy little hop. “I think you might be in need of some new ones!”

“New…friends?” Steve hesitated, very unsure of what was happening.

Munson promptly stuck his hand out. “Yup! So--hello, my name is Eddie Munson, and I am here to apply for the position as your friend!”

Steve snorted, but the harshness of it was taken away by the grin on his face.

He took Eddie’s hand, noting how doing so made the older teen’s smile widen.

“Nice to meet you Eddie, I’m Steve.”

Excited, Eddie waived their arms up and down, with far more enthusiasm than the gesture required.

“How about we cement our new friendship by renting a truly terrible horror movie and drowning our woes with my other good friend, Mary Jane?”

Then he waggled his eyebrows, like that was something scandalous.

“Tempting me along with weed, huh?” Steve mused back, sticking his hands in his pockets once Eddie let him go. “Guess you’re a little like Gandalf the Gray after all. Just don’t send me on any missions.”

“Steve Harrington.” Eddie gaped, pure delight spreading across his face. “Have you read Lord of the Rings!?”

He got a shrug and a sly; “Maybe.” in response.

It was worth the barrage of questions, even if the rapid fire pace of them nearly gave Steve a headache.

(Just as it was worth it several months later, when Steve was comfortable enough to instigate wrestling matches with Eddie over the dumbest of things.

One particularly semi-drunk tussle over the remote led to an interesting discovery when Eddie popped a boner, and then frantically tried to escape when it brushed against Steve’s leg.

Instead of panicking--or letting Eddie bolt in his panic, Steve just dropped his whole weight down, effectively pinning the slimmer man to the floor.

“Steve.”

Eddie said it so quietly he almost didn’t hear it, the word filled with desperation.

The kind of tone someone whispered a prayer in, a sort of pleading that Eddie did better with his eyes than his voice. Or would have, given his own were firmly scrunched closed the second he realized he’d been caught out.

Except--

“Not right now I’m thinking.” Steve told him absently.

Which he was. Speed thinking even, if that was a thing.

Because if two plus two equaled four (which it did) then feeling the exact same, fluttering excitement about Eddie’s boner as Steve had Nancy’s breasts, equaled…

“The fuck? Steve--”

Steve shushed him.

That pulled a frustrated, embarrassed groan from Eddie that went directly to Steve’s own dick, not that it needed much help waking up.

“I think I’m having one of those crisis’s Robin is always accusing the basketball team of having.” Steve informed Eddie dutifully, the dots done connecting.

Eddie, still refusing to open his eyes, snorted.

“Whatever man. Can you at least be decent and hurry up with the beating? This is embarrassing enough.”

“I’m not going to beat you up.” Steve said, thankful that his brain managed not to add some shitty comment about the entire town being awash in rumors of Eddie’s sexuality. That he’d confirmed it here wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“I’m going to try something. If you don’t like it, let me know.” Streve added, before screwing up his courage and leaning down.

That of course, got Eddie to open his eyes.

“Wha--” He managed, before Steve’s lips were on his.

For one single, blissful moment, Eddie Munson’s mouth was too busy to talk.

“Yeah?” Eddie said, voice wrecked, and oh, Steve liked that.

“Huh.” Steve muttered, when they broke for air. “Well that’s new.”

Liked the way Eddie looked at him more, hesitant, but with heat in his gaze.

Steve had always been good about knowing what to do with heat.

He leaned back down, pecking lightly at Eddie’s lips, and was delighted to find Eddie not only let him, but kissed back.

“Not bad, Munson, but I think I could give you a few pointers.” Steve muttered, nose ghosting alongside Eddie’s. “Let me show you…”

One boyfriend, several weeks, and another interdimensional monster later, Steve found himself socked in the arm by none other than his coworker, Robin Buckley.

In her defense, she’d confessed her love for Tammy Thompson, still somewhat drugged on the Starcourt bathroom floor, only for Steve to tease her that at least his boyfriend could actually sing.

“God you and Eddie Munson.” She muttered after, smile on her face. “How did that happen?”

Steve knocked his shoe into hers, returning the grin unabashedly.

“So remember last Valentines Day?” Steve started, all too eager to finally tell someone who understood about the best thing to ever happen to him.

Robin of course, would soon also be ranked in that same chart, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. )

#DADDYS BACK #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #pre steddie to steddie #0o0 fanfics #be gentle with me I JUST got my computer back lmao #this was a warmup I finished out #Ive been writing at work on my lunches #yes I have been working on adopt a jock #and the third part of the holiday hellfire fic #I think I stared at that steddisy one once #maybe #IDK this whole ass month has been a blurr

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sarahowritesostucky · 11 days ago

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📖"A Family for Christmas"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem. reader/"you"

Tags: Christmas fluff, kid fic, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, a/b/o, adoption, infertility struggles, pregnancy, breeding kink, fluff & smut, somnophilia, "Daddy/Momma" kink, actual Daddy kink

Word count: 8400

Summary: On Christmas Eve, you and Bucky plan a special surprise to tell the girls you want to adopt them. Little does Bucky know, you have a special surprise for him, too.

Bucky wakes early that morning to a bedroom suffused with the faint light of pre-dawn, the sun not yet having risen high enough to creep past the edges of your bedroom's south-facing windows.

When the girls first came to live with you, he'd made sure that their bedroom was the one with the west-facing windows—on a bit of advice from Sam, who claims that it can occasionally buy a little extra kid-free time in the mornings. That advice seems to be bearing out, as Bucky closes his eyes again and feels the stillness of the house, and then your quiet breathing in the bed beside him. He uses his enhanced hearing to listen for any sounds of movement outside the bedroom—an only recently acquired habit of necessity, and one which he'll never in a million years complain about. His heart is full, now that he finally has to listen for the pattering of little feet before he can reach for you.

The edges of his mouth curl up when he doesn't hear any sign of rustling from the girls, and just like that, he's suddenly twice as aware of his morning erection as he was before. He stretches his spine without moving his limbs and inhales deeply, blinking his eyes open. One hand comes up to stifle a yawn as the other one trails down over his stomach, between his legs, and curls over the achy line of his cock. He gives it an absentminded squeeze where he's half hard from sleep. "Hmm."

To his right, the bedroom windows are frost-kissed, the world outside covered in a blanket of white. And there are big, fluffy flakes still falling steadily. For a very split second, he forgets about his cock as his chest fills with warmth at the thought of how excited the girls are going to be. It hasn't snowed yet this year. Hasn't been cold enough. But the temperature took a dive over this past weekend and has remained below freezing ever since. Win had come home from her preschool class last week having learned a "snow dance," which she's been faithfully repeating each morning, noon and night, in hopes of getting a white Christmas. Being from Florida, the only place she’s ever seen snow is in a very particular Disney movie. Bucky's mouth twitches at the buildup he can see through the frosted windows. Looks like all the dancing paid off. It's the first snow of the year and it's a heavy one—thick and powdery, like an image off a postcard. And right before the holidays, too.

A white Christmas, Bucky thinks. God, could this year get any better? He answers his own question with an emphatic 'yes', when he catches your scent on his next inhale.

Oh. Right.

It's probably indecent to hold thoughts of Christmas and the kiddos in such close proximity to the baser ones of arousal and sex that sidle up right alongside them, at that first good lungful of your scent. But if it is, Bucky's too shameless to care. His cock twitches against his palm as more blood rushes south.

He gives it one more, indulgent squeeze before turning over in your direction and sidling up behind you. His hand slips over your waist and his hips snuggle up against your bum. You're still asleep, he can tell from your breathing and the laxity of your body. He smiles and hums beneath his breath, enjoying the moment for himself. He nuzzles against your hair and the back of your neck, taking in the scent of your shampoo, your skin, and a growing secret. The best kind of secret. A Christmas miracle.

You haven't told him yet. Either from nerves or from wanting it to be a perfectly-timed surprise, you’ve kept it to yourself for weeks. Bucky thinks it’s adorable that you think he doesn’t know. You’re his whole heart, but every time he re-remembers that you're carrying his child, he swears he falls impossibly more in love with you. He's impatient and eager to be able to talk about it, to gush, to “nest,” as the baby books call it nowadays. But he doesn't want to ruin the surprise that he’s sure you’re planning. He's being patient so that you can have that special moment of the big reveal. He won't spoil that for you by letting it slip that he knows. Lord knows you may never get the chance again.

The two of you have tried for so long. Years and years. So long that you’d actually stopped trying and accepted that “God had a reason for everything,” and that a family would have to come some other way. Bucky doesn’t have as deep of or as dogmatic a faith as you do—he’s always been open to trying IVF or surrogacy, but you’ve been adamantly against it, calling it selfish, wasteful, and greedy. He doesn’t necessarily agree with that, but he’ll never argue against it, not when it’s what brought the girls into your life.

He listens carefully for any noise beyond the bedroom door again, but still hears nothing. He hums in pleasure and lets his erection press up against your behind, nuzzling the scent rich crook of your neck as he starts up a lazy roll of his hips. He’s expecting you to wake, but as the seconds tick by and you remain asleep, a naughty little thrill grows inside his gut; one that goads him on and makes him wonder how much he could get away with before you wake up. Grinning, he kisses lightly over your bond mark, only letting his tongue slip out to taste your skin after another moment. His right arm curls over your waist, hand sliding over the softness of your lower belly in a way that makes his cock throb. God, he thinks as he holds you there, a repressed groan aching in his throat. Right there. It’s right there inside of you, growing day by day, little by little. A piece of you and him.

Sweetheart, he thinks, wanting so badly to praise you, to kiss every inch of your body and tell you what a magical, wonderful creature you are, his omega, his wife, his mate. For a split second he almost loses control, as a surge of lust and possessiveness rolls through him. He manages to quell it though, forcing it back with clenched teeth and tensed abdominals. He keeps his touch on your belly soft and gentle because he doesn’t want you to wake, not yet. Carefully, he lets his fingers splay wide to cup where you aren’t yet showing—not by much, at least. You’re nowhere near needing maternity wear, body not having changed enough for anybody to tell the difference when your clothes are on. But naked, he can tell the difference.

There are always tons of cookies and pies around the house this time of year, the both of you putting on a little seasonal pudge most winters. Bucky likes it. It’s why December through January are his favorite months to fuck you, funnily enough. By the time you start talking about dieting and hitting the gym again every February or March, he’s always forced to say goodbye to that extra softness. He’s never told you any of this, lest you bite his head off for saying he prefers the weight—or “fluff,” as he calls it in his head. He’d probably have attributed the weight gain to the time of year, if he didn’t have your scent to know better. He’s got no clue how far along you are, but he’s been able to smell it clearly for half a month now. These past two weeks have changed you, your scent stronger and sweeter, carrying notes of yeasted dough and pancake syrup underneath your usual juniper and vanilla scent. Your normally flat belly fills out his palm a little better now, and it does things to Bucky, to touch it like this, to feel the place where he knows there’s life inside of you, a baby that he put there. He can’t wait to watch you grow, to see it, to feel it.

He has to hold himself back from the rumbling growl that wants to form, stifling it in his throat and grinding his cock against the plush swell of your ass for relief. You make a sweet little hum of a noise in your sleep, and he thrills with that gleeful naughtiness again as he smooths his hand back up your stomach and waits for you to calm. You do, remaining asleep, and Bucky sets his mouth to your shoulder so he can look over and watch the trajectory of his hand as he brings it up to cup your breast.

So soft.

He’s always amazed at how incredibly soft you are all over. Low body fat and toned muscles seem to be what’s in these days, but Bucky will never understand. How could he ever want anything but this? This feminine, accommodating softness that gives so beautifully to his touch? Fuck. He lets his thumb swipe out against your nipple, whisper-soft, back and forth, until he feels it pebble underneath his touch. The feeling makes him smile against your skin. Such a good girl, he thinks. You’re always so responsive to his touch, even when you’re fast asleep.

He gives the tip of your breast a little press between his fingers. Not even a pinch, not really. Only as much as he knows he can get away with without drawing you from your slumber. Then he slides his hand back down to explore between your legs. He skims his fingers as far as your closed legs allow, but it isn’t far enough, so he eases his thigh forward against yours, encouraging you to part your legs, holding his breath as he waits to see if it’ll wake you. But to his delight it doesn’t. You barely even stir, making a soft little sigh in your sleep and smacking your lips before settling again, and fuck, why does that turn him on so bad? Maybe it’s the thrill of getting away with something, of having you all to himself, not having to share you with anybody else—not even you.

That’s what it is, he thinks, cock aching and leaving sticky trails of precum on your ass where he’s just barely rubbing off against you. It’s that you’re so perfect, so perfectly sweet and all for him, responding just like you should even without meaning to. And he’s the only one who gets to do this, to see this, have this. The only one who gets to experience you this way. It’s so thrilling to see how far he can push it, how much acquiescence he can coax from your perfect body without you knowing it. He holds his breath and lets the pad of his forefinger graze your clit, just barely, applying almost no pressure as he moves it infinitesimally back and forth in little, nudging motions, pushing your delicate skin this way and that. Awakening that spot gradually enough that it won’t wake you.

He lets his tongue trace over the scar tissue of your bond mark while he does it, giving you a line of heat and sensation from your two most sensitive erogenous zones. Bucky woke up hard, so he’s had a head start on you in the arousal department from the very beginning, but he can feel it as your body sends blood south, your clit growing puffy and swollen, lips blooming open, wetness greeting his fingers on the next pass he makes over your entrance. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he breathes, not even a whisper, pleased and even more turned on when you give a little shiver in your sleep. Subconsciously, your hips begin to move, chasing the pleasure that you aren’t even aware you’re feeling. Bucky chuckles and lets the tip of his finger dip into your entrance, just to the first knuckle, over and over again to tease and coax more of that sweet nectar out of you. “Atta girl,” he praises softly, dragging his slicked fingers back up through your folds, spreading it around. “So fucking sweet.”

In your sleep you make a low, whining sound, your hips chasing his hand. He gives your body what it’s instinctively seeking, flattening his fingers and starting up a slow, gentle motion over your clit. He rubs in lazy circles, hoping that the steadiness of the pressure will be enough to keep you from waking. He doesn’t want you to wake. Not yet. He stops touching you for a brief moment to take his cock in hand and drag it back and forth through your soaked folds, coating himself in you with another stifled curse. Just this, he thinks, as he lines himself up at the right angle and starts to push inside. Just this, just the tip. He just wants to get inside while you’re still asleep, wants you to wake up and have it be the first thing you feel, wants to hear the hitch of emerging consciousness in your breath and feel you clamping down on him as you wake.

He pushes in, your body tight enough that he needs to go slowly to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. It helps that you’re wet. God, so incredibly wet. And all for him. Yes. He grits his teeth through the push, overcome by the exquisite feeling of your body opening up to him, all that tight, velvet fucking heat. Fuck. He groans and pulls you back against him as he bottoms out and grinds a little, his hip bones up against your chubby little ass. His fingers dig a little more harshly into your waist than he means for them to, and he can tell that that’s exactly when you wake up, because your body suddenly stiffens in awareness … and then shivers loose as you moan. “Hey, Sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing your neck and continuing to grind deep inside. His hand on your waist slides back over your belly and down between your legs. He starts pressing gentle circles over your clit again while he fucks you with slow, shallow thrusts.

You whimper and let out a soft, “Ohn,” that just about does him in, a sleepy, aroused and confused, “Bucky?” following right after.

“M’right here.” He kisses a line up your neck, all the way to the shell of your ear. “Right here, Doll. How’s that feel? You don’t mind that I put it in, do you baby? Just couldn’t stop myself. M’sorry. You looked so good lying here, all soft n’ sweet. Just had to. Had to feel this sweet pussy on my cock. Couldn’t wait. Wanted to see you wake up feeling good.” Your vulnerable little whine makes his cock throb, and he coos along with you. “Shhh, I know, I know. It’s okay, Sweetie. Just enjoy it. Gonna make it so good for you, I swear. Gonna make you cum. You don’t even gotta do anything, okay? Mm mn, promise. I’ll do all the work. Gonna make you feel so good, babygirl.”

“M'kay daddy …”

He’s ninety percent sure you say it without meaning to, but it makes his mouth curl darkly anyways, as he slips his other arm underneath you and brings it up to your neck with a murmured, “Yeah Sweetheart?” Just like always, your cunt flutters madly the second he’s got his hand on your throat, holding you back against him as he kisses your bondmark and keeps working steady circles over your clit. He can feel your body beginning to tremble as you get close, and he purrs in encouragement, still fucking you languidly, being sure to angle it the way he knows gets at that spot inside. “S’that good?” he whispers, dragging lips over your skin and relishing the shudder he gets. He already knows the answer, he just wants to make you say it, because he knows how hard it is for you to say anything at times like this. You’re a typical omega in that way: quick to dissolve into sobs and babbles, unable to produce much coherent speech once you’re feeling good, half your brain offline for the focus that’s between your legs, too lost in your own pleasure to be useful for anything else. Bucky relishes it, every time. He prompts you again, giving a gentle squeeze to your neck to encourage you. “Tell me baby, c’mon.”

You give the sweetest little whine and nod your head, your heavy swallow felt against his palm. “Y-yeah.”

“Good girl,” he praises, hips working in time with the slow motion of his fingers. “What do you need? Want me to stay like this, or go a little harder?”

You shudder in his arms from the question alone, already reduced to a boneless puddle in his arms. “This,” you manage to eke out in between your needy whimpers. “Nnngh … th–this.”

“Okay, Honey. Okay.” He keeps fucking you like that: lazy, early-morning sex, hips rolling luxurious and slow, pressing up on your ass with each indulgent slide in, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, your cunt weeping so much that it’s obscene the way your slick gets all over his thighs and yours, his balls, his pubic hair. When you finally shudder and start to come, he hugs you tightly back against his body and stays buried, rubbing down on your clit and giving you deep-seated grinds to work you through it as he murmurs endless praise into your skin, telling you how good you are, how pretty, how perfect. “Ooh, that’s it, there it is. Just like that, huh? There’s a girl, just like that, ooh. You’re so good for me, Sweetheart. Fuck. So good.”

Your pleasured sob sparks something primal in him, and even though he wasn’t close before, he suddenly is, his belly spilling over with arousal at the sound of your cries and the feeling of your sweet cunt locking down on him in orgasm. “Fuck,” he grunts shakily, vision losing focus as his knot swells, growing inside you rapidly. You cry out at the feeling of it, and he quickly covers your mouth with his hand, muffling his own moan against your neck as his knot pops all the way and catches against the desperate lock of your body. “Ohfuck. Shh sh sh, Sweetheart, the—fuck—ohh, the girls,” he gasps against your skin, humping hard against your tie as he just barely remembers that the two of you have to be quiet these days.

You sob behind his hand, too lost in your instincts to obey. “Hmmph, mmm!” It’s muffled, your hot breath against his palm and straining body under his hold pulling a growl from his chest, though he fights to hold it in. He can’t help it, he loves it when you struggle.

“Fuck, baby, fuck. You feel s-so fuckin’ good …” You squeal as he tugs his knot against your tie again and again, triggering you into a second orgasm. You squirt this time because you’re knotted, the space between your bodies and the sheets getting wet from it. Bucky’s already in the middle of his climax, too lost in the pleasure to really notice, at least for that next minute or so. He always comes hard with you, his body recognizing its mate and knowing it’s safe to be lost to the world for those few, delirious moments. By the time the most intense part is done and he’s back in his head again, you’re crying, sobbing softly against his palm as he fucks a third, and then fourth orgasm from you. “Shhh,” he soothes, sucking over your bondmark to show you he’s back with you again. “M’here, ‘mega. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He’s still coming, balls contracting in slower pulses as he fills you with his cum. The thought of breeding you up makes him groan and close his teeth against your glands, even though logically he knows that nothing can take, not when you’re already pupped up. He groans all over again and puts his hand back over your lower belly, feeling that barely-there slope where you’re growing his baby.

Fuck, his fucking baby. He bites down without meaning to—hard enough to draw blood. Your squeal brings him back to his senses and he lets up, kissing the skin where he’s bitten in apology. “Sorry, Sweetheart, m’sorry, sorry.”

You aren’t upset, if the smell is anything to go by. He brings his hand back down to your clit and starts rubbing circles again. “Gonna cum again?” he rasps.

“Bucky, no. I c-can’t.”

“Sure you can,” he rumbles, pushing down hard on your clit and tugging his knot hard enough that it’s actually faintly uncomfortable for him. But he doesn’t care, he does it for you, because he wants another one out of you and he can feel your body getting ready for it even as you whine and grab onto his wrist where he’s rubbing your clit. “One more,” he husks against your neck, tasting the blood that’s pricked to the surface. “C’mon, one more baby. One more to make me a daddy.”

He doesn’t know why he says it, maybe it’s another way to try and get you to tell him the good news, even though he’s promised himself he won’t rush you into telling. All he knows is that your body shudders in his arms when he says it, your cunt quivering around him as you helplessly fall into another orgasm.

“There’s a girl,” he praises, wrapping both arms around your middle in a big hug to let you come down from it. “So gorgeous, Sweetheart. Feels so good.” He holds your body tight to his as he finishes coming, hips slowing down from a gentle roll into nothing as the both of you catch your breath. The room’s silence seems to shrink, as the both of you come back to your senses and he strokes softly over your stomach. He doesn’t let himself settle his hand on your belly again, knowing that it could tip you off that he knows, if he goes cradling you there too much all of a sudden. Instead he splays his hand out wide just beneath your breasts, pulling you tight to him and rolling onto his back. You huff a surprised little laugh as the move jostles you backwards with him, his knot tugging just a bit more from the angle once you’re resting on top of him.

“Bucky,” you huff, amused.

He tightens his arms around you stubbornly and stuffs his face in your neck. “Mmm, what.”

You laugh again, then ‘yip’ in surprise and fall into a fit of giggles when he humps up against you in retaliation. He growls playfully, though he’s grinning against your skin where you can’t see. “Mmm, hold still, ‘mega. I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what?” you laugh.

“Mmmr. Marking my territory.” He says it in a gruff voice that makes you giggle again, and he digs his fingers into your waist where you’re ticklish.

“Oof! Ha! Buck-ee, nooo!” You shriek, body heaving with laughter (and then a bit of a moan at the end there, too, when your squirming causes his knot to tug hard against your tie.)

He hums in pleasure at the way your breathless laughter turns back into that soft sound of pleasure, and some of his playfulness fades as he hugs you tightly back against him again, both arms wrapped snug around your middle as his mouth finds its way back to the crook of your neck. “Hmmm,” he sighs, feeling sated and almost incandescently happy. Without really meaning to, his one hand winds up resting lower on your belly, and he strokes the soft stretch of skin between your navel and your groin. “You lie here and be my good girl ‘n’ hold still now,” he purrs, deciding off the cuff to try and provoke a revelation out of you. “Might’a knocked you up, just now. Gotta make sure it takes.”

Your giggles fade completely and you go very still on top of him. He holds his breath, thinking that maybe, just maybe you’re about to say something, that you’ll finally decide it’s time to tell him that you’re pregnant. He busies himself with kissing and sucking your bondmark, feigning nonchalance while you work up the nerve. He hears you lick your dry lips, feels your delicate hands land on top of his at your waist and your belly. “Bucky,” you say, and his heartbeat quickens because he can tell from the tone of your voice that you’ve decided it’s time. “I have to tell you something.”

“Hm?” he acts unconcerned, even manages to think of saying dryly: “Please don’t tell me you forgot to get something for the cookies? The stores are gonna be nuts today.”

You huff in exasperation and he silently congratulates himself on an act well-played. “No, we’re fine on ingredients. … Babe, I’m—” Your words are abruptly cut off by the sudden sound of tiny feet ‘thwapping’ down the hallway. Bucky thinks, shit! just as you go rigid and squeak, “Oh no!”

You both grab for the covers in a mad scramble to cover up. You’re the one who actually manages to grab them, and you pull them up over the both of you in record time. Bucky grabs your hips and turns onto his side, dumping you back in front of him just as the doorknob moves. “Fuck, fuck,” he hisses, as the sudden change in position pulls on his knot. You make an adorkable little squeak of a noise and he starts kind of panic-laughing against your shoulder as you clutch the sheets to your chest.

“Shhh-sh-shh!” You’re slapping backwards at him, mostly hitting his thigh and falling into some contagious snickering yourself, when the door busts open and two little girls with bleary eyes, Christmas jammies, and some very messy hair come tumbling in.

“Mommeeee!”

“Buckeeee!”

“It snowed, it snowed, it snoooowed!”

Bucky’s still got his cock buried in you, and he can’t seem to stop cracking up against the back of your neck as you scramble for an explanation for the girls as to why you’re all sweaty and why they have to go back to their room for a few minutes before Mommy and Bucky can take them outside to play in the snow.

Lily is only twenty months old and doesn’t have her hearing aids in, so she’s really just following her sister’s lead more than what’s being said, the excitement of the moment making her squeal in joy as Winnie keeps asking over and over again if Santa has come, and if they can build a snowman like Olaf.

Bucky rests his forehead against your upper back and feels that liquid-gold feeling begin to fill his heart again, as he listens to Winnie’s excitement and Lily’s semi-coherent babbling, and you speaking to them both in your “mommy” voice, reminding them that Santa isn’t coming until tonight, when they’re asleep. Winnie is frustrated that she has to wait a whole other day, but you placate her with promises of all the fun things they’re going to get to do today, if only they stay patient for a few more minutes.

“How many minutes?” Winnie asks, and you stammer a bit as you try to think.

“Erm, um …”

“About ten,” Bucky murmurs against your back.

“Ten minutes, Sweetie,” you say, and Bucky chuckles again and humps against your tie once, just to be a jerk. You make a little sound of surprise, but to your credit you manage to cover it up with a fake cough, and more instructions for Winnie. “Um, now go on back to your room and, ahhm … just wait for me to come get you, okay? If you want to play in the snow today, you have to go and wait patiently. That’s the rules.”

Where most kids might whine and complain and stomp and beg, Winnie gets real quiet and serious and straightens her spine like she’s taking down instructions for a very important task. “Okay Mommy,” she agrees, her curls tossing as she nods her head. “Here we go. We’ll do a good job.”

Bucky’s heart breaks a little at how serious she sounds, because he knows that she honestly believes that her day of fun in the snow depends on it (just like he already knows that you’re already holding back a wince in front of him, regretful for having phrased it that way). Win still doesn’t yet fully understand that nice things won’t be taken away from her here, and that she doesn’t have to worry about making “mistakes” anymore.

“Okay, Win,” he hears you say kindly, though there’s a slight warble of sadness in your voice. “Good job. I’ll see you in a few minutes. You can play with your toys until I come get you.”

“Okay Mommy. Don’t worry. We’ll be quiet.”

Ouch. Bucky hides his wince against your shoulder, and your voice kind of cracks when you manage to eke out a halting reply of, “Oh. That’s … That’s okay, Win. You don’t have to be quiet, just play nice, okay? I’ll come get you soon. … Love you, Sweetie.”

No child should look like they’ve been given the keys to the kingdom, when they’re told they’re loved. It should be commonplace, an everyday thing that gets a smile and a thoughtlessly-chirped “love you too” in response, not a wobbling chin and big, watery, amazed eyes. But that’s how Winnifred still reacts, even after all these months. And especially with you, her Mommy. She hasn’t quite made it to “Daddy” yet, since men are scary to her still, but Bucky’s just glad that she’s been warming up to him this holiday season. His heart squeezes mightily as the little girl reaches down for Lily’s chubby hand and takes it in hers, just like a little grown up. “We’re gonna play bears,” she tells her sister, and tugs her along authoritatively. “C’mon Lily.”

Once they’re out of the room and the door is shut, the both of you release your breath in sync. “Ugh,” you say, and he nods against your back and groans softly in agreement.

“We gotta get a doorknob that locks,” he mutters. It’s the same thing he’s been saying for weeks, but he really means it now. This is a little bit funny and not at all sexy. Normally his knots take no less than ten to fifteen, and he can already feel himself ebbing. “M’gonna go to the hardware store,” he grumbles, hands returning to explore your body. He feels you huff in amusement more than he hears it. “I am.”

“Thought you said the stores would be crazy today.”

“Hmph.” He cups your lower belly again hopefully, but it doesn’t prompt anything out of you. “I’ll go after Christmas,” he decides, which makes you giggle.

“Sure you will.”

“I will! Right after.” The stores really will be nuts today, and with all the snow, he’s got zero intention of going anywhere other than out to build an Olaf. “Ugh,” he groans, as he remembers that you have a driveway now. And a property line with a sidewalk. “Blugh.”

“What?”

“Gonna have to shovel,” he mourns. He thinks fondly of how the two of you used to live in a nice apartment complex—complete with snow removal service and a heated parking garage. “Remind me why we moved out here again?” he says, kissing up to your bondmark and nuzzling there. “Was it something to do with a sudden acquisition of … little creatures?”

“Mmm. So the girls can have a yard to play in,” you say. It sounds like you’re smiling with your eyes closed, and it makes Bucky smile too.

He wraps both arms fully back around you again, sighing happily. “Right,” he says softly. “Now I remember.”

You’re secretly grateful for the girls bursting in that morning. They’d saved you from a moment of weakness. And you’ve been planning such a cute little way to tell Bucky the good news. The Amazon package of what you need for your surprise arrived yesterday, and now it’s Christmas eve, getting dim outside as evening approaches, and you’re finally about to get to do what you’ve dreamed of doing for years.

Tell your husband that you’re pregnant with his child.

You can’t seem to stop smiling about it, even as you face off against the aftermath of an afternoon of cookie making. Bucky must’ve grabbed every single variety of sprinkles off the grocery store shelves, you’re convinced. And some of them even wound up on the cookies!

The rest are decorating your table and the kitchen floor.

The zippers of the girls’ snowsuits ‘tick’ around in the dryer as they tumble through a cycle behind the laundry room door, a bit of comforting background noise to the holiday music Bucky’s got streaming for the girls. It’s a soundtrack from one of those stop-motion Christmas specials that always run on network tv this time of year—something about misfit toys. Your mouth ticks up where you’re crouched down on the floor with the dustpan, as you hear Bucky responding with the occasional happy comment from over in the living room. The girls are in there with him, bopping around on a sugar high, dancing to the music in their Christmas outfits. You hear Winnie squawk to Bucky to “watch! watch this one Bucky!” at something she’s doing, and shortly thereafter, a bit of clapping and Bucky saying, “aw good job, Win, that was a good one.”

He really loves those girls, you think warmly. Bucky prefers the old-timey Christmas songs from back in his day—Nat King Cole and Perry Como and Bing Crosby, that sort of stuff. But he’s been cheerfully putting up with the goofy kids’ music all afternoon. There’ve been so many little things like that, since you started fostering the girls; small ways that he’s changed for them, to be a good father. Despite the trepidation you’d both felt in the beginning, parenting just seems to have come naturally to the both of you. “Mommy” is a recent development, with Winnie only having started calling you that since around the end of October. You’d taken her trunk-or-treating with your local mom’s group, and you could see that it was her hearing all the other kiddos exclaiming “Mommy, mommy, mommy!” over their candy hauls that had tipped her over the edge, wanting to fit in and have a “Mommy” too.

With Bucky it’s a little different, and you both understand why. Every small moment of connection between him and the girls has been counted as progress, and he’s been so good with them, so patient. It even makes you tear up sometimes, when you catch him in a particularly tender moment with the girls. Winnie still keeps her distance from him in certain ways, but it’s been getting less and less, and Lily’s young enough that she doesn’t remember as much of her home life from before. She trusts Bucky completely. She’ll often put her arms out to be picked up, or want to sit in his lap. That’s what can really get the waterworks going for you. Especially these days. Pregnancy hormones are no joke.

You’re drawn from your musings at the sound of toenails clacking across the kitchen linoleum. “Oh. Hey Fred.” Normally sentient Fred has deigned to leave his spot by the furnace vent to help you in your clean up efforts. “Mighty generous of you, lazybones,” you say to the basset hound on his next snuffling pass-by. His ears seem to be picking up as many sprinkles as his actual tongue does. You roll your eyes and move onto another spot with the dustpan.

“Okay girls, big smiles. Win, why don’t you hold Lily’s hand for this one?”

The girls shuffle closer together where they’re sitting on the hearth, with Winnie obediently taking hold of Lily’s pudgy little hand. Just before Bucky snaps the picture, Lily giggles and rests her head of curls on Winnie’s shoulder. Bucky beams and gets the photo. “Great job, Sweetie! Oh gosh, that was a good one.”

Winnie’s already reaching for her halo that you made her take off for at least some of the pictures. Lily claps and picks up her Santa hat and yanks it back on her head. “ ‘Ta!” she says, her way of referring to Santa (it took a while to figure that one out.) She makes the sign for sleep, and you feel emotion well up behind your eyes again. You smile and sign no. “Not yet, Sweetie,” you tell her and sign. “But real soon.”

“We still have to put Santa’s cookies out,” Bucky says to get the girls excited. “And Elfie’s gotta turn on the outside lights.”

Elfie is currently on the wall, rock climbing up some Christmas bows. You’ve convinced Winnie that Elfie uses his Christmas Magic every night to turn on the colored lights that Bucky’s strung up on all the bushes outside. And anything Winnie believes, Lily automatically believes, too. The girls both gasp and run (well, Lily toddles) to the front window, where Winnie chant’s “Elfie, Elfie!” and Lily follows along with “fee, fee, fee!”

You reach for your iPad on the couch cushion, opening the garage’s app and tapping the control to turn the lights on, and Winnie and Lily’s delighted shrieks hit the air. They have their noses pressed up against the window, their gaping mouths making condensation form on the glass, which they keep giggling and wiping off. “Buckee! Mommee! Olaf got the lights!”

“Oh, wow. Isn’t that something?”

Bucky had snuck out while the girls were donning their costumes earlier and added a strand of lights across the newly-built snowman’s stick arms. You catch his eye from over top of your iPad, right at the end of rolling your eyes and grinning. He’s grinning too, and both of your smiles soften into something tender, the girls’ fuss over the lights outside fading to background noise somehow. Love you, Mommy, Bucky mouths.

Oh no. You blink your eyes rapidly to make the tears building up behind them go away, and Bucky chuckles at you because he knows what’s up. You wave your hand at him with a scoff. Damn pregnancy hormones. He probably thinks you’re turning into the biggest sentimental sap these days. If only he knew the real cause behind it. He will soon. “Okay okay, enough of that. Christmas lights aren’t going anywhere. Let’s get this tree decorated!” You clap your hands and wave the girls over, impatient to get to the box of ornaments waiting to go up.

You and Bucky have each chosen the holiday traditions that are most important to you, to share with the girls this year. Christmas is mostly foreign to them, every new thing you introduce extra magical in their eyes, because the closest they ever came to “Christmas” before you was a mall Santa that, according to Winnie, had hugged too much and didn’t smell very nice. So you and Bucky both want to make this year special for them. You’ve crammed as many winter activities into the last few days as possible, and already today you’ve made sugar cookies, decorated them, (cleaned up the friggin’ sprinkles), played in the snow, and built an Olaf. Attending the four o’clock mass with the children’s nativity play was your tradition, and now that evening is drawing in, it’s time for Bucky’s. His family always put up their tree on Christmas eve when he was growing up, which seems like a gigantic waste of twenty-six perfectly good tree days to you, but it’s meaningful to him. So, you figure what better way to sneak in a surprise announcement than with your husband’s favorite Christmas eve tradition?

Hidden inside the jumbled box of ornaments is a new, keepsake ornament: unglazed bisque in the shape of a stork, carrying a bundled baby with “coming in 2025” printed on the bundle. You’ve buried it all the way at the bottom, underneath the familiar ornaments that he’s expecting.

“Mommy can I wear my halo still for doing the tree?”

“Sure Win. Wear it all night if you want,” you laugh. “Except you have to take it off at bedtime.”

“I’m still gonna wear my Santa hat, too though,” she says, saying it in her mini grownup voice, but looking at you with big questioning eyes right after, just to check.

You give her a smile to reassure her. “Yep you can wear both.”

“Yay!” She rips her halo off and goes to grab her Santa hat.

Lil’ already has hers on, having refused to wear the halo you’d bought for her angel costume in the nativity play. You suspect that she didn’t like the way the plastic headband touched her hearing aids. But the soft fabric of her Santa hat seems to be fine, so the play had had one red-capped angel this year.

Bucky calls the girls over to where he’s kneeling by the ornament box and tells them about how every Christmas eve, they decorate the tree. “I’ve put the lights on it, but I probably need some helpers for the ornaments.” He levels Winnifred with a serious, grown-up gaze. “Do you think you could help me do that job?”

Bless her neglected little heart, Winnie nods seriously. “Yeah. I can do a good job.”

“I’ll bet you can, Sweetheart.” Bucky’s gaze goes soft on her, and then he peeks over her shoulder at you. “Mommy, should we make it a Christmas eve present instead?”

You nod and cover your mouth, barely holding your happy tears in (goddamn pregnancy hormones). “Mmhm. Yeah,” you manage to eke out, trying to keep your voice from warbling. You’ve got to keep it together for the girls. (It would’ve helped if your jerk husband hadn’t just called you “Mommy.”). “Yeah let’s do it tonight.” (God help you, when it comes time to try and get them to sleep).

Bucky grins and goes to get the two small gift boxes that have sat wrapped underneath the tree since not long after Thanksgiving. You and Bucky have more to be grateful for than ever this year. The adoption hasn’t been made official yet—you’ll need to go in front of a judge for that—but it’s been approved, and you have an appointment for the ceremony on New Year’s Day—If the girls want it. Bucky and you have both agreed that you’ll just remain fosters, if Lily or Winnifred seems uncomfortable with it.

“Here, c’mere,” Bucky says gently, sitting cross-legged in front of the tree and beckoning the girls over. Lily hurries to go and plop herself down right in Bucky’s lap, and Winnie follows along a little less surely, but she can’t help but be excited about getting her very first Christmas present (in life, not just this season, sadly). “These are your special Christmas eve presents,” he says, handing one box to Winnie and the other to Lily, who takes it with a happy squeal. Winnie looks up at Bucky with big, amazed eyes. “We can open them?”

“Yep,” he says. “And there’s a special message inside. So we’ll read that together, okay?”

“Okay!” Win’s enthusiasm has outshined her perpetual but waning nervousness around Bucky, and she sits cross-legged like him and scoots in close to him and Lily. “Okay Lil’,” she instructs in her little grown-up voice, pointing at the bow on her box and ripping the paper. “Like this! You gotta open it, see?”

You watch with a smile as Winnie rips open her package and Bucky helps Lily open hers. Once they’re open, the boxes reveal boxes, printed with pictures of little figurines. “What is it?” Winnie asks. “A dolly?”

“Nope not a dolly.” Bucky is grinning, but you can see the nervousness in his eyes, too. He wants the girls to be happy so much, and he wants Win to feel safe and want to stay with you. “Open the box,” he tells her, already helping Lily to open hers. You watch as Win’s small hand closes around the figurine and pulls it out. “They’re called Snowbabies,” Bucky tells her, smiling in that specific way you’ve come to recognize as nostalgia.

“Snow baby?”

“Yeah. Careful they’re breakable, so you have to hold them and not drop them.” Bucky turns Lily’s figurine over in his hand, and Lily reaches for it.

“Careful!” Winnie worries, but Bucky pats her knee reassuringly and smiles.

“S’okay, Honey. We’ve got it.” He helps Lily not to drop her figurine, which is a little cherubic child in a snowsuit, on a sled. Winnie’s is a similar one, but hers is building a snowman.

She gasps and holds it up to show you. “Look Mommy! Just like me!”

You laugh along (only a little watery, now). “Yeah, how ‘bout that?”

“These were popular when I was a kid,” Bucky tells Winnie, speaking close to Lily’s ear to make sure she hears clearly, too. “I’ve got some really old ones that my sister saved for me, but I thought it’d be nice to give you ones of your own. These are newer ones, and they’re special ‘cause they’re ornaments, see?” He holds Lily’s by the ribbon that’s looped at the top.

Win’s eye get wide, and she finds the ribbon on hers, too. “We can hang them on the tree?”

“Sure can cupcake, but hang on, hang on!” Bucky laughs and catches her sleeve where she’s about to get up, ready to hang her ornament immediately. “Wait. Look here. There’s a secret compartment where you can put a message, see?” He shows Lily the little spot by her snow baby’s hand, where a little slip of paper rests, rolled up. “Look for yours,” he tells Win, and she doesn’t miss a beat, quickly pulling out the little scroll of paper that’s tucked away near her snow baby’s hand.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. So Mommy and me wrote a special message on these, for you two. Want to read them together?”

Winnie nods, her eyes back to being big and round. Bucky smiles at her, and you see something shift in Winnie’s expression. She seems to settle on something and scoots a little closer to Bucky. “Okay.”

Bucky visibly swallows, emotional, and it takes him a second before he’s able to continue. You come over and sit with them on the floor, too. Lily takes the opportunity to crawl over into your lap, and you let her sit there and kiss her curly hair. “Here,” you tell her, “Let’s give Bucky the paper, kay?” You help her to take the slip of paper out of her figurine, and Bucky unrolls the two pieces and places them on the carpet, one above the other.

Neither of the girls can read of course, but Bucky’s been practicing “reading” books with them for a while, as a bonding activity and to increase Winnie’s self confidence around him. She seems happy to help “read” along, and Bucky reads aloud and points to the words,

“Dear Winnifred and Lily, we are so happy to have you in our home with us”—Your heart squeezes as you spot Win’s little mouth moving along silently with the words, just a beat behind Bucky saying them—“We know it was new and scary at first, but we hope that you have had a nice time living here, and feel happy and safe. That is the most important thing to us, because we love you.” Bucky pauses and his eyes flit to Winnie, and then you.

You smile and nod, encouraging him to go on, but you can tell that he’s getting choked up, so you read from the second piece of paper, “We love you so much that we want you to stay with us always and be a family. Winnie, Lily, will you make us the proudest parents in the world, and let us be your Mommy and Daddy?”

You barely make it to the last word, your throat closing up there at the very end. And you use every ocular muscle in your possession to keep the tears from falling. Hold it together, hold it together.

Win blinks adorably with her mouth open in a little ‘o’ for a minute, as her little four year old brain processes it all. She gasps all of a sudden, and Lilly mimics her with a gasp, too. You can’t help it, you sob a little when your laugh comes out at that. “What do you think, Sweetie?” You ask Winnie, since she’s the one you’re really looking at for a reaction. Lily might not fully understand yet, but she seems interested in her sister’s reactions, and you know that whatever Win decides, Lil will follow her lead. You hold out your hand for Winnie to take, and she puts her little hand in yours and says,

“You gonna be my real Mommy?”

You sob again and smile and nod, giving her hand a squeeze. “Yeah, Sweetheart. If that will make you happy. I would really like to be your Mommy—Your real Mommy,” you add after a beat.

Win’s always been a very perceptive little girl. “She knows what’s up” as Bucky likes to say. And now is no different. Her eyes fill with wonder, like you’ve told her about Santa Clause and presents all over again, and she looks from you, to Bucky. He’s holding it together a little better than you, but his eyes are dangerously shiny, with tears threatening to break.

“You can be my real Daddy, Buckee?” she asks, and Bucky’s really nearing his breaking point it would seem, because he goes disturbingly red in the face and nods hastily, sniffling once and then croaking out a hoarse,

“Yeah, Cupcake. I can be your real Daddy. I would like that very much.”

“Forever?” she asks, amazed. You laugh-sob again and Bucky tells her yes, that you will be a family forever, if she wants. Then, heartbreakingly, Win gets a little frown of concern and looks at her sister again. “And Lily too?” she checks.

Bucky laugh-sobs like you, and he nods. “Yeah Hon. And Lily too.”

Winnie’s face bleeds from concern, to wonder, to joy in a few, glorious heartbeats as she figures it out. It’s the longest few seconds of your life, and you and Bucky are both holding your breath. “Oh wow,” Winnie says, and then, surprisingly, she moves quickly over to Bucky and buries herself against his chest with an excited little whine, her fingers digging into his sweater as she hugs him for the first time ever. “Daddy!” she cries happily. “You can be my real Daddy! And Lily too!”

Bucky loses it for real then, the tears breaking from his eyes. He wraps his arms around Win’s little body and hugs her back for the first time. He kisses the top of her head, then looks at you. You’re giving Lily a hug in your lap, and she’s making excited noises because she can tell that her sister is happy and excited. She laughs and babbles, and you look to Winnie, who spends a few long moments burrowing against Bucky’s chest before she squeals and pulls away to come over and excitedly give you a big hug, too, exclaiming, “Mommy!”

You laugh and give her a hug, kissing her cheek and getting your tears on her. “Love you, Wing-Ding. I’m so happy to be your Mommy.”

“My real Mommy,” She corrects, and you laugh-sob again and agree. Win pulls back in concern and looks at you. She reaches out to touch your face. “Mommy, why you crying?”

That certainly doesn’t help the tears, but you’re laughing, too, and you tell her. “Because I’m so happy, Honey. Sometimes people cry when they’re very, very happy.”

Her face splits in a smile. “Me too!” She looks at Lilly and grabs her hand joyfully. “Lily too!” Lily agrees with a happy little squeal, and then Win jumps in an excited circle, clapping her hands and saying “Wow!” a bunch of times, the ball on her Santa hat bouncing along as she goes.You and Bucky meet each other’s eyes and share a lovestruck smile. This has to be it, you think. This has to be the happiest a person can feel.

“Love you,” Bucky murmurs.

You nod tearfully and murmur back, “Love you.”

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, please please consider giving it a re-blog: it means the world to me, and it helps my story reach more readers!

💖Snow babies were a very popular decorating item for the holidays, back in the 1920s/30s/40s

💖Join my taglist here

This has been a fill/submission for:

❄️Fluffcember (@fluff-cember): Day 25 - "the perfect gift"

❄️Into the Omegaverse (@intotheomegaverse): Day 14 - ornament keepsakes

❄️Bucky Boy Bingo (@buckyboybingo) : B1 - caught in the act [card: Sarah-writes-Stucky]

❄️Sebastian Stan Bingo (@sebastianstanbingo): G3 - Accidental Pregnancy [card: sarahowritesostucky]

❄️Bucky Barnes Bingo (@buckybarnesbingo): Y2 - fluff [card: sarah-writes-stucky B050]

❄️Marvel Smash Bingo (@marvel-smash-bingo): G4 - somnophilia [card: sarah-writes-stucky]

❄️December Daze Challenge (@the-slumberparty): "the first day of snow."

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jonahmagnus · 7 months ago

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*You contemplate turning this car around

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wheredidalltheusersgo · 17 days ago

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A comfy cozy Christmas with his new dad <3

#MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS YALL #I'm crazy for content where tonio adopts okuyasu #also had to include tonio's precious little puppydog #i love that thing #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba part 4 #diamond is unbreakable #tonio trussardi #okuyasu nijimura #jjba fanart #my art

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grubscouts · 23 days ago

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🦌OPEN CHARITY ADOPT🌲 holiday spirit

USD offers only, nothing under $25 please

100% of proceeds will be donated to the SF Marin Food Bank

Comment below or DM to place a bid

#adopt furry #furry adopts #furry adoptable #furry adopt #adoptable #charity adopt #charity adoptable #holiday art #art #furry #furry art #my art #anthro #anthro art #sfw furry #furry oc

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holidayking102 · 20 days ago

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Hope everyone has a wonderful Winter!

#undertale #undertale au #deltarune #deltarune au #utdr #asgore adopts noelle #asgore #noelle deltarune #noelle holiday #princess noelle #royelle #winter #winter solstice #snow #snow angel #deltarune newsletter #angel #halo

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samantha-and-nellie · 4 months ago

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meet samantha // “forever” by noah kahan // samantha: an american girl holiday // “strawberry blonde” by chloe moriondo // samantha: an american girl holiday // “jesus christ 2005 god bless america” by the 1975 // meet samantha // “run” by taylor swift ft. ed sheeran // samantha’s winter party // “ivy” by taylor swift // the cry of the loon // “ode to a conversation stuck in your throat” by del water gap // samantha and the missing pearls // “peace” by taylor swift // samantha: an american girl holiday // “i’ll call you mine” by girl in red // changes for samantha // “please don’t say you love me” by gabrielle aplin // samantha: an american girl holiday

nellie's pov

#web weaving #hi! another first time doing something so i hope you like it:)#edit to add that this is more sam’s pov in case this isn’t clear (and because i have something else coming)#and disclaimer: i ship sam/nellie but also separately appreciate their relationship as sisters. i have an au where they aren’t sisters #and that inspired this #but the adoption plotline is very important and i appreciate that as canon without shipping them #samantha parkington #nellie o'malley #american girl #ag #agblr #american girl doll #from my slate #samantha: an american girl holiday #illustrations

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little-pondhead · 11 months ago

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Oops.

While learning to control his powers under the guidance of Clockwork, Danny accidentally curses his own bloodline with the Curse of Sentient Food several centuries in the past. Originally, a witch was supposed to curse his family. Oops. Well, the Fentons were always adapting, and technically, either way, he'd end up battling dino nuggets at three am in his underwear, no matter who the curse came from. So he shrugged and continued on.

Unfortunately, this also means that out of nowhere, the timeline shifted, and some of his very distant relatives are now battling their food into submission at every meal because Danny is ultimately way more powerful than some mortal witch from the 1600s. His version of the curse reached literally everyone he could ever be related to for the last few centuries. Even if they were adopted into the family!

So, returning to the present time after training, Danny is a little startled to see some news clips of people's dinners coming to life and beginning revolutions. Wow, John Fentonightingale really got around, didn't he? He felt a little uncomfortable that now all these random people had to deal with their share of Fenton luck, but from some of the interviews, everyone seemed to be handling it pretty well!

Especially his so-distant-they're-on-another-tree cousins, the Kents, who contacted his family directly, asking how best to prepare a zombie turkey. Their son was coming for Thanksgiving with his new wife and some coworkers, and they just refused to make the guests fight for their lives on a holiday!

They invited the Fentons to join them, of course.

#dpxdc #pondhead blurbs #sometimes i wonder where the fuck this stuff comes from #which snail is responsible for this #but if it wasn't clear danny curses his bloodline and fucks it up because of course he does #so literally every single relative he's ever had is now suffering directly from fenton luck and sentient food fights #ma and pa kent are the only ones who reach out for advice #how did they figure out the fentons were the source? like they'd tell you those are family secrets you nosey bitch #so now the fentons are invited to spend the holidays with their distant cousins in Kansas #and meet their adopted son clark! who was just married! :D #side note the timeline changed right as the cake was cut at clark's reception so that was interesting #they had to pay for so much dry cleaning #clark's coworkers (fellow jl members) are a little worried about the sentient food but so far it's not really a big issue?#they can definitely take time off for the holidays to relax!#and they totally won't get dragged on any interdimensional adventures with a dead teenage godling as their guide!#feel free to continue #idk how many kids bruce has when clark marries lois but feel free to just throw some in #like JL members and their kids #just toss them in and watch the kids go feral #fighting your food is enrichment <3

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tinybabyghostadoptions · 1 year ago

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Holiday Sale~!! 25% off every purchase from now until January 1st!!

You can find the original listings here:

A. Pumpkin, Doll B. Gingerbread Baker, Starlight Caroller, Evergreen Jester C. Fishfolk D. Demon, Fairy E. Android, Fish F. Messenger, Artist G. Sage, Coral H. Iris I. Lime, Cobalt J. Moss K. Cinnamon, Viridian

PLEASE READ MY TOS BEFORE MAKING A PURCHASE.

#adopts #adoptables #open adopts #halloween adopts #christmas adoptables #holiday adopts #fantroll adoptables #fantroll adopts #homestuck adoptables #homestuck adopts #adoptables sale #adopts sale #open

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splasharooni · 1 year ago

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First of many Holiday adopts! Each adopt will have a theme (like Candycane, Snowman, Tinsel, ect), and will come with a transparent image (with no background bubble) upon request! This guy can be adopted here, where more adopts will be posted shortly! I'm hoping to earn some money to go towards food and other things as we approach the busy season! I've got a list of Holiday buzz word themes already, but feel free to submit your own in my comments, inbox, or reblogs if you have any!

#my art!#warrior cats #art #cat #warriors #wc #warrior cats designs #adopt #adopts #holiday adopt #wc adopt #cat adoptable #adoptable #character adopt #open adopts #holiday adopts

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funishment-time · 1 month ago

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bought my wife a Kokichi shirt for Christmas. You Know You're Gay When

#thank you to all who supported me on Ko-fi #got commissions #bought adoptables etc! you're helping me get holiday presents for my wife who works Extremely Hard #danganronpa #kokichi ouma

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year ago

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Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.

It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms.

Worse?

It was short.

Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans.

The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at.

“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming.

Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme.

“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym.

Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.

‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’

“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel.

They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.

Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give.

Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.

(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.

Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures.

The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.)

Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.

Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.

Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds.

“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious. “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”

He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.”

To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was.

None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.

Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it.

Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.

Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome.

“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again.

A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.

“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!”

Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction

“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”

“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!

“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!”

As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.

Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s.

“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!”

It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.”

Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise.

Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for.

(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.)

The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con.

It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.

Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.

Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.

“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.”

He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.

Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.

(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)

“You know who doesn’t look scary?”

Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of;

“Steve!”

Eddie’s left eye twitched.

‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.

Cartoon squawking and all.

“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.”

So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.

“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”

Eddie had pulled himself back up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.

There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this.

Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game.

One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all.

(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”

“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.)

“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly.

“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!

“Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?”

He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.

“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of a few silly images.”

A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room.

“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!”

This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air.

Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!

He was right!

Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.

“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking.

Because King Steve? Play D&D?

'Ha!'

“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!”

“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.

Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed.

Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.)

The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway.

As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.

“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.

"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.”

Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table

Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.”

The dick.

“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.

He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.

Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.

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