#i was like 'i need to trim this down' but

[acciotaitlynn]

ho ho ho, bitches

ft. xavier, sylus, and zayne sexual content, 18+, unprotected sex, fem reader, public sex if u squint, slight santa kink? idk what to title this; it's literally just christmas sex, #ovulating sb, can I pls just dress them up for christmas(*꒦ິᴖ꒦ິ) I hit a block on rafayel's, i'm sorry 🥺👉👈 unedited, just typed it up really quick in the car ♡ happy holidays-ily you all so much ᵕ̈ 3k wc

Xavier

You can’t deny that your goal was to push Xavier’s buttons when you sat on Santa’s lap in the darkened nightclub. Your intention was clear when you leaned in a little too close, tickling the edge of his beard, and giving Xavier a teasing grin. Sing-songing your request to stripper Santa, you made sure Xavier caught every word as you playfully poked at the fluffy white trim of his hat. “... This year, I want you to bring my boyfriend an outfit exactly like yours, Santa.” You knew exactly what you were doing. 

However, you didn’t expect Xavier to drag you to the club after hours and plop you down into Santa’s empty seat with a wicked gleam in his eyes. His outfit shouldn’t even be legal. A soft, stretchy red fabric clings to his torso like a second skin, revealing a hint of pale skin through deliberately popped open buttons. Black suspenders cross his back and chest, and snug leather shorts hugging his hips and thighs. He pats his legs with a coy little smirk and spreads them wide, clad in combat boots with bold hardware and thick soles that squeak on the tile. A slightly askew Santa hat sits on his playfully tousled hair, shadows dancing with light along his angelic features. Innocence, mischief, and allure gifted to you in one insanely perfect package, and his eyes are drinking you in, making it perfectly clear that the only thing he wants this year is you. 

Agile fingers leave you in nothing but your skirt, replacing your panties with sheer, thigh-high stockings. Xavier eases you into red stilettos, guiding them to either side of him as he stands you over him on the seat. He kisses the delicate bands of plush red and white lace that ensure everything remains in place, smiling when you toy with the glittering silver ribbon around your neck. Its tiny golden bell jingles softly as Xavier pulls you close, licking up a drop of arousal that trickles down your thigh. “Is this what you had in mind when you draped what’s mine over his lap, bunny? Maybe you’d rather I go get him instead…” 

His head rests back with a smirk as his finger slips inside you, his thumb teasing your puffy clit. He lets his eyes roam over your body, unable to stop admiring how perfect you look. Xavier wants nothing more than to toy with you, make you regret looking so pretty, and let another Santa get so close. But dressing you up like his own personal gift is making him desperate and needy, his words a rough whisper as he fucks you on his hand. He knows he’s the only one you really want anyway, can feel your body squeeze him as he slides another finger inside your soaking cunt.

His hand trails along your ankles and thighs, drawing out a near whimper from you as you clutch his shoulders tightly. He kisses your inner thigh softly at first, but soon he pulls you harder against him, his words a hungry whisper against your skin, “... You’ll be good for me, right?” His hot tongue traces through your folds, humming softly at the taste of you. Your little whimper drives him wild, filling him with the need to hear more, to hear you cry out for him. He shivers, placing tiny, lazy licks over your clit, his glassy eyes locking on yours. “... So good, Bunny… I want to taste you for Christmas and every other day… forever and ever…” Satisfaction courses through him, seeing the collar around your neck, the way you shake under his touch when his finger hooks under it, guiding you to watch. His moan is soft, his voice hoarse, letting you know just how much he’s enjoying this, his hungry words muffled against your pussy. “Best gift I’ve ever received… I’ll never ask for anything else…” 

Your walls are still clenching from your release when Xavier pulls you onto his lap, pressing your back against his chest and driving into you with one sharp thrust. Leaning back in Santa’s seat with a cocky smirk, he watches you ride him, his fingers gripping your waist tightly at the feeling of you sucking him in. “Riding Santa’s cock like such a good little helper,” he praises. His voice drips with satisfaction, his eyes slipping shut as he gets lost in the feel of you, the sound of his name on your lips, the way you shake and tremble around him as he makes you come again and again. He kisses your neck so softly, his tongue against your skin as he speaks. “Santa is going to make you feel so good, bunny…” You lose count of how many positions he melds your body into, moving inside you so desperately, his words still coming. “... I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just have to finish— you look so perfect, you’re such a good girl for me, just one more time, I promise…”

Zayne

Zayne’s face flushes with embarrassment as your gaze roams over his body. He can’t help but shift nervously in his seat, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. He feels exposed, vulnerable, and… a little excited. He can feel the weight of the leather harness against his bare skin, and the jingle of the collar around his neck only serves to remind him of his situation. With a soft, nervous voice, he speaks up. “You… really like seeing me like this, don’t you?” You poke the fluffy ball on his satin Santa hat with a little pout, your heart swelling at how adorably rumpled he looks. “I mean… Can you blame me, Doctor Zayne?” The way you’re looking at him, assessing him with that teasing pout… Zayne shivers involuntarily.

“No, I suppose I can’t,” he answers, his voice a little shaky. “I just… I can’t believe you convinced me to do this…” A genuine laugh escapes you at his words. “Honestly? Neither can I.” Zayne can’t help but crack a small smile at your laugh. Despite his nerves, your amusement and playfulness put him at ease. He shifts in his seat, feeling the leather harness move against his sensitive skin. “Then… Why did you want me like this?” He asks curiously, looking up at you. “Was there a… specific reason?” You tickle a feather under his chin, grinning when he shivers and blushes even harder. 

Humming, you press a soft kiss on his lips. “... No specific reason… I just saw it online and thought of you.” Zayne can’t help but melt into your kiss. It’s sweet, soft, and only makes him more acutely aware of how exposed he is. He pulls away, his voice just a little shaky. “You…” he says, meeting your gaze. "You are trouble, you know that?” You hum in agreement, going to your knees before him. A shiver runs through his body as your fingers brush his shaft, his breath catching in his throat. You place a soft kiss on his inner thigh. “... Zayne? I want to give you your Christmas gift now, okay?” Sucking in a shaky breath, he nods in reply. “Okay…” He manages to murmur, already feeling his skin heating up at your touch. 

His eyes widen and his breath hitches when you tease the tip of his cock with your tongue. It’s so intimate and intense… Zayne closes his eyes, his voice reduced to a shaky whisper. “Keep going…” A low moan escapes his lips as you take him into your mouth entirely. Despite your choking, he can’t deny that he’s enjoying this more than he ever imagined. His fingers thread through your hair, his touch gentle but needy. His heart hammers in his chest when you pop him out of your mouth, kissing your way down his body. He can feel each press of your lips, each touch of your tongue… 

You rest your cheek against his thigh, gazing at him lovingly as you stroke his cock. “Will you finish in my mouth, Zayne? Want to taste you so bad…” His heart rate picks up impossibly at your words. He can’t deny that he’s excited… even if he’s also a little embarrassed. He swallows hard, meeting your gaze and nodding slowly. “Yes…” he whispers. “Y-yes, I will…” You work every drop of his release out into your throat, your moans of ecstasy at his taste nearly shameful. Zayne’s mind is still clouded with pleasure, his head spinning as you climb onto his lap. You pause, hovering above him with the tip of his cock just at your entrance. “Is… Is this okay?” you whisper. You know it is, but you can tell how vulnerable Zayne is at this moment. So you look into his eyes, searching for confirmation with a light touch to his cheek. 

Zayne can only manage a nod, his voice hoarse with desire. “Yes… Yes… It’s okay…” he whispers, his hands grasping your waist. “I… I need you…” You wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly against you. The feel of his body, the warmth of his skin, the sound of his words… It’s almost too perfect to bear. “I always need you, ” you whisper, your words trembling with emotion. 

Something deeper than desire flickers in Zayne. Something more tender and intimate. He presses kisses against your neck, his murmur low and husky. “Take me then… I’m yours…” A soft moan escapes his lips as you move slow and deep around him. The feeling of your thumb against his throat when you fiddle with his collar… He shivers as you grip his hair, tilting his head back and kissing him. It’s a gentle, featherlight touch… but it sends a shudder of need through his entire body. 

He returns your kiss with all the passion and tenderness he can muster, moaning softly when your body pulls him in deeper. His gaze is so full of love and desire that it causes you physical pain. He moans and pants softly, feeling your movements grow more urgent, his body responding eagerly beneath you. The feeling of you on top of him, pushing him deep inside you… it’s like heaven. He can’t help but smile as you cling to him, a sense of possessiveness and joy filling him up. 

Gripping your hips firmly, he moves you up and down on his cock in a steady, measured rhythm. His gaze never leaves your face, basking in the happiness and pleasure in your expression. Your fingers dig into his harness as he moves you, only serving to heighten his desire. Zayne can see in your eyes that you are as lost in the moment as he is. And as you pull him close and press kisses to his neck, he feels his heart flutter with emotion. “You… You were made for me… and I for you,” he whispers with certainty, his movements growing more intense, his body responding with increasing urgency. Holding you close, one hand moves to the back of your head to gently grip your hair. 

Shivers of pleasure shoot up Zayne’s spine as you clench around him, coming in fast, spasming waves around his cock. He moans softly, his mind going blank as he loses himself in you. “... you feel so… I can’t…” His hoarse shout as he comes deep inside you is muffled against your neck, his release so breathtakingly perfect it renders him speechless. His hands tremble as they trail down your body, settling between your legs with a shaky sigh. He reaches out to stroke your clit before he can even stop himself, his cock twitching to life again inside you. Zayne’s words are a breathless whisper. “Can we spend every Christmas like this?”

Sylus

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Sylus…” you mutter, feeling incredibly flustered as he presses you against the closet wall, holding himself above you. Leaning down, his mouth hovers right beside your ear. “Got something to say, kitten?”

 When you asked Sylus to dress as Santa for your company Christmas party, this is not what you had in mind. A classic red Santa jacket hugs his physique tightly, fluffy white trim lining the cuffs and collar. Crisscrossing over his chest is a matte black harness, drawing an unreasonable amount of attention to his chiseled form. Leather pants cover every contour of his long legs, while cutouts along the side provide a peek of skin. Completing the look is a pair of knee-high black leather boots and a red velvet Santa hat with sparkling silver studs that glimmer in the light. You narrow your eyes at the provocative holiday attire. “The women out there are practically drooling, Sy. You almost gave our elderly cleaning lady a stroke when you stretched and graced her with a peek of your thigh skin.” 

Sylus’s smirk slides into place, his voice becoming dangerously low and smooth, “Oh? But I’m really only dressing to impress one person, kitten. I’m still wondering what she thinks about it…” His breath grows slightly ragged as he nuzzles your neck, breathing in your scent with a trail of light kisses. He can barely breathe as he parts your burgundy dress, his fingers tracing the dramatic slit that starts at your thigh. 

Sylus had this exact moment in mind when he ordered it in your measurements, knowing it would give him easy access to your irresistible body throughout the night. He spins you around, propping the fabric’s slit on the round of your ass so the satin cascades around your body. His hand rests between your thighs, spreading them, while the other slowly travels down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps along your skin. His teeth gently sink into your neck, right near your shoulder, unable to stop the low groan that escapes when he feels how wet you are. 

Nibbling along your skin, he leaves light bite marks until he reaches your ear, his words no more than a husky growl against your skin. “No one’s around to stop us now… No need to keep that pretty little mouth of yours quiet for me. Sing the song only I can make you sing, dove...” His fingers sink deep into you. The way your pussy tightens and pulsates around him has him groaning in ecstasy, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “So sensitive, sweetie… Do my fingers really feel that good?” Your hips press against him, wanting nothing more than to give him whatever he wants. 

“... Will you fuck me, Santa? I… I’ve been a really good girl this year…” Sylus’s eyes widen slightly in surprise as you say those words so shamelessly. He spins you around, quickly freeing himself and using his hand to guide your legs to wrap around his waist. The other hand grips your hip tightly, pinning you against the wall. “You have no idea what you do to me, kitten…” His lips brush against your neck as he mutters the words, a growl leaving him as he pushes himself inside you. 

He bounces your body around on his cock effortlessly, loving the way your kisses become more needy, how your body begs him without words. “You like being full of Santa’s cock, don’t you? You take it so well…” His fingers leave marks on your skin, so you’ll remember just how tightly he held you. Your breathless whisper of “More than anything…” brings a chuckle of approval. 

He lets your words of confirmation wash over him, enjoying the way they make his chest tighten, making him want to be nothing more than yours. His hand slides from your hip to your hair, tugging on it just slightly to make you look up at him. “You’ll take Santa’s cum like a good little slut. Got it?” Your eager nod makes Sylus want to hold you closer, to make you his all over again. 

Hearing the little moan as he pulls your hair doesn’t exactly help. He can’t help himself as he gives your hair a second tug, aching to possess you. “Good girl. You know your place, dove.” He has to lean against the wall to steady himself, a slight groan escaping when he feels your fingers trailing along his abs. “Mhm… and you know yours… Right here inside me,” you murmur, your gaze locked on where you join.

His eyes follow where yours have traveled, his breath hitching at your words, at the way you keep pulling him in deeper, claiming him as your own. Sylus doesn’t fight it. He lets you have him, all of him. His lips move against yours in a feverish and needy kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth, desperate to taste you, wanting, needing, to claim you in return. 

His chest grows tight, feeling you kissing and nibbling at his skin, knowing you’re marking him. He’s so damn weak for you in this moment, his body feeling like it’s on fire as you pull him in impossibly deeper, your body pulling him to release. He growls into your neck as he comes undone inside you, your name tumbling from his lips in a ragged gasp of ecstasy. Your soft murmur of “So good for me, baby…” caresses his skin just as much as your touch does, and he leans into your hand, nuzzling against your palm like a happy pet. 

He leans down a little, his eyes still full of lust and desire, his hot breaths against your ear making you shiver as he bites down. “Enough fawning women have graced my lap tonight to last me a lifetime, dove. Santa’s staying in here…” Sylus doesn’t necessarily mean he’s staying in this closet so much as he’s staying in your tight little pussy until this stupid party clears out. ♡

[st6rly]

❛ love me like how only you do. ❜

synopsis : 　 through every universe, every cycle of rebirth, he will always find you. in which kazuha loves all versions of you; in every timeline, every universe, every breath or non-breath he takes. 　 ╱ 　 word count : 　 1.7k

characters : 　 kazuha x gn!reader

categories : 　 fluff. mild angst. yearning. royalty au. country x city trope. hospital au. modern au. apocalypse & post-apocalypse aus. idol au. inanimate object / nature au?? lot's of aus. 8 + 1 fic.

warnings : 　rusty writing (it's been a hot minute my bad-). brief major character deaths. mention of blood / injury / violence / drowning. illness in characters + family members. fire. zombies. mentions / vague descriptions of death in general.

dedicated to : 　 @yuomizuu, from your stellaronhvnter secret santa :3c when i saw kazuha on your list, i jumped for joy; he’s one of my top genshin characters & im so happy to have an excuse to write for him! // playlist i was listening to while writing // art by @.mayu_mey on twt

In one universe, Kazuha bumps into you on the street. 

Bundles of scrolls and parchment spill from your arms, delicate writing muddied with dirt as the commotion on the street barely comes to a halt. Onlookers scowl and grumble, moving past without a second thought as you scramble to collect your things from the footpath, movements hastened by the spear-tips aiming your way. 

Cape a deep crimson with delicate fur trim, the Kaedehara family crest is embroidered on the back in gold thread. Kazuha always thought it was unnecessary to flaunt his status, preferring respect of the family name over awe of his wealth. But being a gift from a dear friend, he wears it more often than not. In cases like these, he wishes he hadn’t. Your eyes catch the glint of his garments, and you freeze, petrified.  

Lowering to a crouch, Kazuha waves away his guards with dimmissive hand, gloved hands working to collect fallen sheets. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice kind and with a smile. He holds out a scroll for you to take back. Your fingers brush his. 

“Yes…” you mutter back, somewhat sheepish. You quickly rise to your feet and offer him a bow. “My apologies, Your Highness.” 

“No need for it.” 

He offers to walk you to your destination. You decline. He insists. The two of you both make it to the library in quick succession, the others on the road making way the minute the red of his cape is seen. 

“This is quite unnecessary, Your Highness.” Kazuha looks over at you. You smile when he meets your eyes. “It was I who bumped into you. There was no need to escort me back.”

“Ah, but I wanted to.” 

It’s when you’re inside, the door closed behind you, that Kazuha stops to stare at where you’d once stood. His cheeks are rosy with warmth.  

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” one of the guards prods, hesitant. “You seem a bit… flushed.” 

“I’m more than alright.” 

The kingdom falls before he can see you again. 

Flames engulf houses and shops; fire starved and ravenous, it becomes a glutton as it licks up the side of the library. His horse whinnies and backs away when the heat gets to be too much, but Kazuha can’t seem to pull himself away from the sight. He needs to leave. He needs to leave. Run. Run. Run. Run—

Some part of him hopes you made it out unscathed, heart heavy as the shouts of enemy troops chase after him. You would’ve liked the palace archives, he thinks, salt trailing down ash-stained cheeks as the ruins disappear in the distance. 

—

In one universe, you’ve just moved from the city to the countryside. 

As your new neighbour, Kazuha took it upon himself to welcome you. The rest of the area had heard about your reasonings: a relative of yours who owned the house you’d be staying in has fallen ill. You’re here to keep things in order while they receive treatment. 

Basket full of fresh fruit from his own farm, he stands outside your door with a nervous frown. His heart beats erratically in his chest, pulse ricocheting off the bones of his ribs. It’s never like him to be so jittery when greeting others. Readjusting his grip, Kazuha sucks in a breath and knocks. 

You shout back, “Just a sec!” 

There’s a brief moment where Kazuha debates leaving, dropping the basket and running. He digs his heels into the ground. The door opens with a click. You smile and— 

Oh. 

He’s been here before, hasn't he? 

Cheeks turning a soft pink, he grins back, holding out the basket. 

“A little welcome gift,” he says, “from your new neighbour.” 

You take the basket from him; your fingers don’t touch his. Is it weird that he wishes they did? Kazuha comes back the next day, handing you a bunch of mail and a package. You invite him to stay this time. 

Kazuha swears he’s seen you before, that you moving wasn’t a coincidence judging by the butterflies that eat at his stomach lining. Whatever it is, you don’t remember him like how he thinks of you. 

You return to the city months later, leaving the confession on the tip of his tongue. 

—

In one universe, you are the wind that greets him every morning. 

The hospital room is stuffy, void of colour except for the stack of “Get well soon!” cards and deflating balloons shoved by his bedside. He misses the farm, he decides, the vast openness of the trees and fields. The smell of medicine had stung his nose at first; now it’s barely there. Kazuha stares out at the sunrise, smiling to himself when a familiar breeze slips through the crack of his window. Bathed in gold with the sun speckled in his hair, he strains an arm and grasps onto a well-loved notepad and pen. 

“One day,” he murmurs, voice airy as he jots down the date, “I’ll be out there too.” 

—

In one universe, you’re a birdhouse and he’s the bird. 

The seeds are kept well stocked; the shelter you provide is always dry. You both get swept away in a windstorm. 

—

In one universe, he is a star. 

Rubble and debris from what were once towering builds block any type of path you may have been able to venture. Despite the lack of them, the stench of walking death still permeates the air.  

“Shouldn’t have taken that shortcut,” you mumble, grunting when your foot catches on another root. 

The trees grow thicker and you swear you’ve passed this part of the woods already. You grumble a string of profanities, plopping down to the forest floor and leaning against the bark. You look up. 

“You’re here at least.” The words are soft, much too gentle for the atmosphere. Kazuha doesn’t respond. Can’t respond. “You’d scold me for scavenging this late. I know it.” 

The star grows brighter, as if laughing. 

— 

In one universe, Kazuha’s flesh can be tasted on your tongue. 

Tied up in the corner, your arms pinned behind your back, he sits about two metres away in front of you on a broken crate. The gun lays loaded in his lap. Eyes closed with his head down, fingers resting on the cool metal, Kazuha’s lips stretch into a thin line. 

“It’s not right,” he mutters, mainly to himself as you thrash in the corner, desperate to reach him. “It’s not my right to rob you of life.” 

You snarl in response. Eyes bloodshot and crazed, he wonders if you can still understand him. Would you plead for him to shoot you? Would you beg to be spared? Could he bear to do either? He’s going to be sick. 

“It’s not right,” he repeats, shaky hands curling in his lap. “It’s you and me. We haven’t come all this way just to end.” 

The world has taken enough from him. Kazuha refuses to let it take you too; not without him.  

He stands in front of you. The gun lays off to the side. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice screams at him not to fold. They wouldn’t want this, it wails, clawing at the walls of his skull. Another tells him, Do it. And so Kazuha undoes your binds, kisses you, smiles tearfully when your nails claw into his skin. Blood runs down his back, stains his tattered clothing. He hugs you. Your jaws clamp down on the junction of his neck and shoulder. His nose brushes against your jaw. 

“It’s ok,” he whispers to ears that cannot hear reason, hold tightening, “we’ll be ok.” 

—

In one universe, you two never meet. Not face-to-face at least. 

Kazuha smiles at the camera, holding up a peace-sign, before the view switches to another member on stage. The clip goes viral very shortly after its creation. You come across it one day. 

“An idol, huh…” you mutter. 

 You scroll away. 

— 

In one universe, he’s stuck behind a screen, a watcher to your world as you go through the motions of life. 

Fate isn’t his, but he can’t seem to mind. When his splash art first coloured your screen, when he first witnessed that giddy look in your eyes, Kazuha knew he was smitten. 

Even if you ult at the wrong times, run out of stamina in the middle of climbing, skip dialogue, Kazuha is there beside you. For every beginning, end, every plotline in between, he’s a staple of your team. 

One day, you stop logging in. It was gradual at first; daily tasks, some resin here and there, you’d skip a day then come back the next. A day turned into two. Then three. A week. A month. Kazuha still waits. It’s funny how his world comes to a standstill when you do. He hopes you’re doing well. 

—

In one universe, he is a leaf and you are a river cutting through the forest. 

He drowns in your embrace, waterlogged and swept away as you carry him down stream. If he had a conscience, Kazuha would do it again. 

—

In this universe, it’s finally Kazuha and you. (There is no need to say he loves you when his name is already beside yours.)

Kazuha watches as you pack up your things. He stands from his spot next to you, bag slung over his shoulder as he waits. Other students are already leaving the lecture hall, milling about as he admires you from this short distance. 

In this universe, it’s been Kazuha and you since birth. Friends since forever, it surprised no one when both of you confessed. It would be nice if every universe were like this. 

“You’re staring.” 

He blinks, hand finding yours automatically. You squeeze back. 

“It’s hard not to when you look like that,” he teases back. 

“C’mon, the winter festival is starting soon.” You roll your eyes. 

Foot catching on the chair, Kazuha steadies you before your books can fall out of your hands, giggling when you’re quick to apologize. 

“I had a weird dream last night,” he blurts out once you’re back to standing. 

“About me falling?” 

“More than that.” He traces your skin with his thumb, lost in thought before speaking again. “I’ll walk you back to your dorm. Drop off your stuff and all.” 

“Nah, I can just meet up with you.” 

Would it be nice if every universe were like this? That’s silly, he thinks with a smile. No world could make me love you less. 

“I insist.” 

notes : 　inspired by multiverse concepts, including “everything, everywhere, all at once,” arcane, the "do you think we're together in every universe?" trend, and this one poem i read that i can’t remember. this ended up being shorter than i thought it would be, but there are a lot of parallels between scenes and such so i hope those were caught! apologies if the prose doesn't flow too well TwT

[anisangeldust]

Santa, Baby ❆𝜗𝜚

Summary: After being stumped on a gift for your boyfriend, Jedi knight Anakin Skywalker, you settle on a safe favorite of his.

Pairing: dilf!Anakin Skywalker x fem!reader

Warnings: Implied age gap (Anakin is 35 and reader is 18), lap dance, smut, oral (m receiving), mating press, mentions of breeding, smutty descriptions !!

A/N: Happy holidays! All the love and magic for all of you! May you all have the bestest day ꨄ

Santa baby..

Slip a sable under the tree, for me

Been an awful good girl,

Santa baby..

What do you get for a man that has everything?

7 year olds are easy to shop for, Leia was head over heels for he giant wookie stuffed toy, and Luke wouldn’t shut up about the ‘training saber’ he unwrapped that morning, children were easy to please, but a man?

What did you get someone who was almost double your age? A watch? He didn’t need that, it was useless for how often he changed planets with different time zones. Cologne? He had that, new parts for tinkering? He had those too, a new glove for his prosthetic hand? That was too cheap.

When you decided to just ask what he wanted, despite wanting it to be a surprise and feeling a touch of shame that you didn’t know your boyfriend well enough, the conversation went as good as you’d expect:

“I don’t want anything babe” his buttery voice insisted, strong hands rubbing your back and his baby blues full of warmth.

You sighed “all couples say they don’t want anything, I’m getting you a gift. Tell me what you want.” You insisted, kissing his cheek.

Anakin let out a deep, hearty chuckle. “I have you, I have the little ones, they love you like you’re their mother, I have everything I’ve ever wanted. I don’t need a gift.” He reiterated, his hand moving from your back to your rear, playfully squeezing.

That comment: “I have you, I have everything I’ve ever wanted” gave you an idea, you’d be his present. If he didn’t want anything new, perhaps something revamped would be the move?

It wasn’t difficult to get Luke and Leia asleep, they had crashed hard from the inane amount of sugar they ingested. After gently forehead kisses to each of them, and soft goodnights, you closeted their door and went to your bedroom you shared with Anakin.

“Merry Christmas Ani..” you kiss him gently and he holds you gently while kissing you back

“Merry Christmas baby girl” he coos and rubs his hands up your sides, a lustful look drinking behind the cobalt clouds of his eyes.

You giggle gently, pulling away. “I have a gift for you..” you murmur and climb off his lap, gesturing to a Cody chair by your bed “sit..” you smile.

Anakins brows shoot up “oh? I thought I said no gifts?” He teases but complies, siting down and looking at you.

“It’s not completely a gift.. more a.. zhuzh..” you wink and disappear into the bathroom.

Only a few minutes later do you emerge, flipping on a speaker to the familiar tune “Santa, baby” and sexily strutting over to your sitting boyfriend, clad in red lingerie and a Santa hat, complete with red lipstick and red stockings.

Anakin lets out a low, wolf whistle “whewww baby. What is this?” He leans back and pats his lap. Once you sit down on his thigh he tries to hold your waist, only for you to swat his hand away and pin his wrists behind him. Though he could easily get out, he chose to play along and refrain from laying his hands on you.

“Shh.. let me give you a show..” you coo and arch your back, standing up and wiggling your chest in his face. Allowing the white trim to brush his nose before you step back and squat down, slowly lifting up with your hands on his knees, wiggling your hips again.

The familiar song faded out as you climbed on your knees infront of him. Nuzzling one of this thighs and kissing his pants “you can touch now..” you purr gently. He takes no time for hesitation, immediately yanking off the pure hat and tangling his hands in your hair.

“Mmmhh.. baby..” he groans and spreads his legs allowing you to pull off his pants, he watches the fabric slide off to reveal the hard bulge in his boxers “you’re so fucking beautiful..” he groans and pulls you forward to his crotch.

Your lips meet the hardness of his bulge and you kiss it, feeling it twitch and grow under your lips. Slipping your fingers under the elastic of his boxers and slipping them down, his hard cock springing free of its cloth confines. The tip leaking pearl and standing stiff. Trimmed pubes leading to heavy balls and upwards was his toned abdomen.

“Is this all for me?” You tease and suck lightly on his baby pink tip. He tried to pull you down and you resist, moving instead down his shaft to suckle on his aching sack, the motion making him growl and shake.

“Fuck yes.. all for you baby girl, always for you..” he grunts then tangles his hands in your hair, tugging on your scalp. “Gods.. fuck me.. always so good” he rolls his eyes back. The groans louder as you finally take him into your mouth, letting your slobber lube your hand so you can pump what you can’t take. Your tongue traces the bulging vein Yang runs under his cock head, swirling it and catching all his leaking pre before going back down.

“Mmpohh…” he tenses “fuck fuck fuck.. I’m.. ohhmm..” he takes control and face fucks you, hips lifting up to meet your face, hands tangled in your hair, he was enjoying this more than any blowjob he’d ever been given. There was a moment of chocked silence as Anakin came down your throat, beads of sweat running down to his eyebrows, eyes pinched close and brows furrowed.

As soon as he came down from that high, you made eye contact and swallowed his whole load, letting the little bit that dripped from your mouth to be scooped up by your tongue. “Merry Christmas daddy..” you tease and he groans “get the fuck over here” he growls and stands up, pulling you up and throwing you on the bed.

Anakin kisses up your thighs and nips at the conjunction between your thighs and hips “fuck me babygirl..” he coos “so good with the little ones, makes me wanna give you one of our own” he growls before ripping off your panties with his teeth, tearing the delicate lace.

“Oh! Mm.. please.. give me a baby.. make me full..” you spread your legs, allowing him to see the wetness of your cunt. You pull your knees to your chest and your puffy, pink clit pops out from between your glistening folds.

Your boyfriend tugs his cock a few times, using the thumb on his other hands to tease your sensitive bud “I’ll give you a fucking baby.. I’ll pump you full of my cum..” he promises as he folds you in half and bullies his cock into your cunt “I’ll make you so full your forget what it’s like to be.. empty..” he grunts and starts to pump his thick, heavy cock into your puffy pussy.

“Yes! Yes! Fuck!” You groan and bite your finger, trying to refrain from waking up Luke and Leia. Each thrust leaves a sticky squelch behind, the sound and smell of your combined arousal is like Anakins personal heroin, each jiggle of your tits, every choked sob that leaves your mouth, it’s all Anakin will ever need.

“Cum, fucking cream all over my cock, you’re already clenching me so good.. let me feel you cum” he demands and slaps your folds a few times. Pinching your clit ever so slightly.

You listen almost instantly, your back arching and a loud whimper escaping your throat, cunt fluttering around his invasive manhood. Anakin isn’t far behind, shorting his hot and sticky load into your womb, making sure to fuck it against your cervix, making sure to take advantage of your little fertile body.

As soon as the sexual haze lifts off the room, Anakin turned back into your loving and doting boyfriend. “Oh baby.. did I hurt you?” He lifts you up and lays you on his chest “that was so good, you did so good..” he coos gently and you nuzzle him “mhm.. I’m okay.. ‘m perfect..” you assure him.

He lets out a comforting sigh and nods “so perfect.. my perfect girl.. my most wonderful Christmas present..” he kisses you softly “Merry Christmas doll..”

You lean into it “Merry Christmas, daddy.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All Ye Faithful

Warnings: dubcon/noncon, lactation, PPD mentions, cheating, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: You are on the hunt for the perfect present but the price is steeper than you expect.

Character: Loki

Day Twenty-Six of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - there's only one of these left and i need it more than you.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Is he okay?” You ask as your fingers squeeze around the grooves of the steering wheel. 

“He’s fine,” Ellie almost laughs over the babbling, “aren’t you, Lil Griffy?” 

She cooes as your heart patters wildly. You’re stress level is at your ears. Your head almost hurts from the tension wound through you; or maybe it’s that you keep squinting to see the road beneath the cones cast by the street lights.  

You hate waiting until the last minute, but despite your best effort, it’s come down to the wire. This is your last chance to make Christmas perfect. 

The morning was a whirlwind. Your son, Griffin, shrieking as you tried to feed him breakfast, the email buried beneath all the dozens of Black Friday and holiday promotions. The order you placed over a month ago was canceled the week after. You don’t know how you missed it but you did. Now you have to figure this out. 

“I won’t be long. If he starts freaking out, you can give him some baby advil for his teeth. He’s been cutting some--” 

“Hey, I got it, mama,” your sister insists. “Enjoy the time to yourself. Please. I'm sure tomorrow is going to be a lot.” 

“Right,” you agree dully. “I’ll call you when I'm on the way back.” 

You hang up with the flick of your thumb, the button depressing beneath and the music coming back to life from the stereo. Something about the beat addles you further.

This isn’t how you imagined your baby’s first Christmas. While you also envisioned a little extra help from your fiance, you didn’t intend to be driving around to meet strangers to purchase gifts like some underworld arms’ deal. 

Ellie recommended the marketplace app. She got a bunch of stuff for her wedding there and she even bartered some designer pieces along the way. She’s always been better at everything. It’s probably why your son wasn’t freaking out for the first time in days. 

Your GPS tells you to turn left and concludes the trip, noting that your destination is on your right. The storefront glows but the ‘Open’ sign is out. Much like the rest of the shops in the area. If you had any other choice, you would take it over this hand-off. 

You pull into the lot and put your car in park. You scoop your phone out of the cup holder and open up the app. You send a message to the seller that you’ve arrived. You restlessly jiggle your foot over the pedal and stare at the snow-laden curbs and salt-streaked brick. 

You flutter your fingers over the wheel and your chest furls into a cluster of nerves. What if it’s a scam? What if they don’t show up? Typical that the one big gift you had your heart set on is the one thing you can’t get a hold of. 

A car pulls up next to yours and your phone buzzes. That must be them. You glance over at the dark silhouette behind the tinted window. Your family-friendly car is not cheap by any means but the luxury vehicle suggests an income you can only aspire to. 

You get out and shove your hand into your pocket, checking for the envelope of cash. You hesitate as you once more glance over at the other car. It’s too expensive to be a criminal, right? Or maybe you just walked straight into a mugging. 

Their door opens as you hover behind your trunk, uncertain of how far to go. A sleek, dark-haired man steps out. He’s tall and his black locks are tidy and combed back behind his nape. He wears a well-cut suit beneath a fur-trimmed collar. You didn’t bother to change out of your flour-dusted hoodie and jeans. 

You bite your lower lip and swallow your fear. 

“Uh, hi, you’re uh...” you blink and try to remember his name. He says your first. 

“I’ve got the toy,” he declares plainly. 

“Oh, great, er... can I see it?” You ask. Essie says always see it first before you hand over the payment. She even gave you a tip to barter down by offering a pick-up. It seemed safer than giving a stranger your address anyhow. 

“If you insist,” he strides forward, his posture straight, somewhat condescending just in the slant of his chin. You back up as he passes and circles around to open his trunk. You inch towards him and peek inside. “For your inspection.” 

He waves his hand indifferently and you examine the packaging for the sensory set. You’ve been watching videos and reading all these Montessori articles about it. You just want the best for Griffon. 

You nod and face him. He slides his phone from his pocket and clucks. You take out the brown bank envelope. “I have the money. Thanks for meeting me--” 

“Hm, I’ve got an offer for two hundred more,” he turns his screen to you. “And they can meet me here as well.” 

“What?” You gasp. “But I'm here.” You wag the envelope at him. “I need this. Please.” 

“Very well you might but--” 

“I can get two hundred more,” you beg, heart rending at yet another expense. “There’s an ATM close by. I’ll go take it out.” 

“I suppose, if you are quicker than the other buyer,” he drones. 

You frown. He doesn’t care. This is all just extortion to him. He doesn’t look like the type to need a baby toy. Essie did say there are a lot of resellers on the app. Wow, that’s just despicable. Still, you came all this way, you’re not willing to just give up. 

“Or...” he interrupts your inner turmoil. You flinch and look at him as his eyes flick up and down. “If you are especially desperate, I might accept a different currency.” 

You arch your brows, “uh, yeah, I got cashapp or venmo--” 

“I’m not referring to money,” he intones. 

The cold air turns bitter with silence. You stand staring at him, confused, as he watches you in turn; unflinching. The dimple in his cheek confirms your suspicions. He can’t mean that. No, not that. Look at you, you’re an underslept, overworked mother in a nursing bra and stained jeans. 

“Excuse me?” You utter. 

“It seems a bargain we might both benefit from. For my trouble, I could use something more than numbers in my account, and you, an obviously neglected housewife, might pretend it is that tending you so desire.” 

“Huh? That’s-- that’s... gross,” you wilt. 

“And yet you’ve not slapped me or walked away, so I dare say you are considering it,” he smirks. “And certainly, you are here to ensure you precious child has their perfect holiday. I would surmise it is their first--” 

“Please, don’t-- don’t talk about my son,” you plead and clutch the envelope, looking down at your shaking hands. 

“I’d rather not. Bit of a mood killer, honestly,” he snickers. “So?” 

You chew your lip, letting it flick out from under your teeth. Your eyes well and burn. You can’t believe you’re even thinking about it. You just want that one day. You just want one victory after messing up every other thing. 

You nod and lift your chin, only halfway as you can barely look at that man; a stranger. You hold out the envelope. He takes it, his fingers brushing yours, and he tucks it into his pocket. 

“You may wait for me,” he gestures to his car, “I’ll let the other seller know the item is no longer available.” 

His glee is clear in his tone. You’re sick to your stomach. You drag your feet away from him and go around the other side of the car. 

“In the back, darling, it’ll be easier.” 

You stop and face the car. Does he want... everything? Or just a hand... or... 

You open the door and sit on the edge of the seat. As you shut the door, you lean on it and hang your head. You’re more than terrified of what you’ve just agreed to. You’re terrified of yourself.

Are you so low as to go through with this? What if Brodie finds out? It’s cheating, technically. No, in all ways. 

The other door opens and lets in a wintry gale that adds to the iciness in your veins. Your throat tightens around a wave of nausea. The man sighs as he closes the door and settles in with a wiggle of his shoulders. He might be awful but you’re worse for going along with it. For what? A toy. 

No, this is for Christmas. It’s for your son. You just want him to be happy. You don’t need your husband telling you how you fucked up another thing. 

“Take the sweater off. Whatever that is... it’s not very intriguing,” he points to the stain on your hoodie. It could be chocolate from baking or something inedible. 

You wince and clasp the fabric in your fists. Slowly you strip away the hoodie. You have only your nursing bra beneath; grey and plain, the thin fabric wet as you leak through. You shudder and hunch your shoulders. Your swollen tits bulge over the flimsy cups as you try to hide the stretch marks on your stomach with you bundled hoodies. 

“Mm, yes, delightful,” he purrs and surprises you as his fingers reach to the strap of your bra. 

You squeak as he easily tugs free the cup and peels it away, exposing your raw nipple. You don’t have time to react as he leans in and bows to take the pert bud between his lips. You cry out in shock as he suckles and you watch his dark head helplessly. 

His hand comes up to grope the other side of your chest. You moan in response to the heaviness in his grasp. You’re sickened as he is entirely unbothered at the trickle of milk that rolls from the corner of his mouth, yet a twinge deep down scalds you with shame. Your own fiance won’t touch you because of the way you leak; or maybe it’s rest of your; the loose skin and the stretch marks... 

He groans as he rolls your nipple between his teeth and you cry out at the tenderness. He continues to fondle you as his saliva mingles with your milk. You are repulsed but cozened by his diligence. 

Your eyes wander around the luxurious interior of the car, a wall of tears blurring your reality, before you find your way back to him. He doesn’t seem the type. Too wealthy and refined, yet here he is feeling you up in the back of his car. You repress another heave of disgust. 

“Supple,” he pulls back and opens the other side of your bra, your tits hanging free. “Yes, yes, I know,” he continues the one-sided conversation as you sit mute and dump, tingling from his touch, “we both have places to be.” 

He sits back and pushes open his jacket. He shrugs free of the wool and lets the coat open across the seat behind him. He swiftly unbuckles his belt and opens his fly. You watch without reaction. Your body won’t respond to your horror. 

“Come,” he reaches into his briefs as he lifts himself slightly off the seat, pushing both pants and undergarments down as he pulls his dick free. He strokes himself as he reclines again. “You’ve had a child, you should know how these things work.” 

You exhale shakily. You reach for him as he continues to pump himself and he swats you away meanly. 

“I’ve not the time for all that, get in my lap.” 

His blunt demand puts you further off-balance. You move without thinking. This needs to be over. You have a son to get home to. 

And a fiance. 

You turn and stand up, bent over in the tight space, and push down your jeans to your ankles. He might see your unshaven legs or the rest of you and change his mind still. You’d almost rather that humiliation than the guilt of what you’ve resigned yourself to. 

He doesn’t stop you. He only hums as you move awkwardly to kneel on the seat and lift your knee over him to straddle his lap. You grasp his shoulder first then recoil as if burnt. You brace the seat instead as you set your legs, your ankles kept awkwardly together by the tangle of denim. 

He frames your hips with his large hand and you wince again. It’s so strange to be touched in that way. Not to be tugged and teethed at, or have someone screaming or crying in your ear at the same time. 

He pushes you down as he guides his tip along your lips. You quiver at the reminder of what you haven’t felt in so long. At those needs you pushed so far down you convinced yourself they just weren’t there anymore. 

He eases into you as you let your hips drop. You gasp at the sensation. It’s snug and warm and... he said you were ruined. That one-time you tried and Brodie stopped you. Never mind, he said. And you saw the reddit post he left open the next day; ‘my wife ruined by childbirth. What can I do?’ 

Ugh, don’t think about that. 

Another moan rolls from your throat as you hang your head back. You sink down onto the stranger’s lap and he fills you up easily. You claw the seats as his other hand squeezes your chest again. He pulls you closer as he guides your hips in a slow motion. 

The crawl of his own low, sultry voice singes away all your doubts and damnation. You lose yourself in the carnal melding of your bodies. You are not a mother or a fiancee or anything but needy. Your grip slips from the leather and onto his shoulders. 

He bends to once more nip and suck at your chest. He keeps you moving as he rocks from below. He doesn’t let up as he buries his face in your cleavage. His large hand splays across your back and he squeezes your hip tighter and tighter. 

The fire roars inside of you, trapping you both as you chase that final spark. You buck against him desperately and his nose brushes up to your collar bone. He bites into your shoulder and drones as he hooks his hand down around your ass. 

You quake in a noiseless orgasm, choked of your voice as your muscles contract in ecstasy and relief. You only realise then how much you needed this. How much you longed for that release. How long you just wanted to be needed for more than a feeding or rocking or changing. 

He bursts inside of you in a warm deluge. You gasp as sense slaps you across the face. What are you doing? He’s not protected. You aren’t either. Why didn’t you even think of that?

He curls his arms around you and presses his hand against your shoulder as he ruts up into you until the last drop. You push on his arms but he doesn’t relent. Not until he’s weak and trembling. 

He lets you go, arms falling slack to his sides, and he sighs. He snickers as his lips curl and you sit back to look him in the face. His green eyes sparkle in triumph. 

“What did you do?” You drag yourself off of him and angle awkwardly as you cover your cunt with your hand. 

He tuts, “don’t make a mess.” 

“Me--” You retort. “I...” You lean your knees on the seat as you try to scrap his cum off of you, wiping it on your hoodie. “You--” 

“And it isn’t what I’ve done, you should worry for, darling,” he taunts. “Ask yourself that very question.” 

You look at him and hiss. You don’t have any defense. Because he’s right. Because you did this. For a goddamn toy.  

His eyes drift down to your chest and he winks. “They payment was adequate. You make have your prize.” 

[nopaintjustpain]

It just… takes longer to bring him home, when Jon doesn’t catch it early.

He comes back from a walk through the hills to find the safehouse’s kitchenette glimmering with rime, a veil of mist curling around his ankles. He drops his coat in a pile by the door and rushes through to the little sitting area between the kitchenette and the parlor, finding Martin’s indistinct outline at the breakfast table with a stone-cold mug of tea in front of him.

Fuck. Poor Martin. How long had he been sitting there, slipping? He’s nearly all gone.

[Ficlet posted with permission and collaboration from OP. 🫶 Thanks bestie]

This is the worse it’s been since Jon pulled him out of the Lonely. A sickening frisson of fear rips down his spine at the thought that it wasn’t enough. That Jon’s effort, his love, his desperation to save the only good person he has left, will never be enough on its own to just keep him once and for all.

“Oh, Martin… my love,” he sighs. He approaches and, despite the radiating chill and the heavy, metallic scent of rain-soaked sea air, perches on his lover’s lap. The man’s thighs are cold and rigid. Like sitting on the icy headstone of a grave in winter, where the chill has seeped in deep through the pores and cracks of the rock.

Jon loops his arms around where he approximates Martin’s shoulders are amongst the indistinct, shifting mass of blur that is Martin. He makes a similar approximation in order to touch their foreheads together. He stares into his lover’s eyes and Knows him: the faint, hot buzz of his patron’s power coiling hatefully in the back of his skull and the nape of his neck. He’s been trying so hard not to use it. But this… this warrants an exception.

Martin’s outline solidifies just that little bit more, the longer Jon turns the Eye’s gaze upon him.

“Come on back to me, Martin,” he coaxes. There isn’t much there for him to kiss yet. So instead, Jon narrates the most minute details of his walk just now. The pale butterflies he saw. Couple of rabbits. Almost taking a wrong turn. Hiding behind a rock to avoid a pair of villagers on a walk of their own. The inane thoughts he had over breakfast. (Should he cut his hair? He trimmed it a bit since the wild tangle it’d been left in after he awoke from his coma, but there’s still a lot of length left. Too much? He’s not sure. He knows Martin likes to run his hands through it, though.)

And on that note, he spends a little longer than necessary lauding the skill and strength and gentle goodness of those hands, most importantly when they are playing with his hair and rubbing away the building throb of a stress headache. As Jon so often asks of them. He whispers gently,

“I could actually use a little of that tonight, now that I think about it. Haven’t been sleeping as well. You’ll oblige, won’t you?”

A soft, affirmative hum. Martin’s head turns just a fraction up and to the side as if to face Jon more fully, though that pale gaze is still fixed on some point in the middle distance. His shape is clear now. Just still so cold. Jon counts it a victory. Martin is, and always has been, a caretaker at heart. Jon’s noticed — much as he hates the implications — that Jon’s needing something is the most straightforward way to summon Martin back. Not for Martin. Not for himself. But because Jon needs him.

“Thank you, my love. You’re good to me,” he sighs sadly, and leans down to kiss the dew from those cold, cold lips, shivering as he does so. He’s never retained body heat well. Martin is the one who keeps their bed warm. He curses Peter Lukas’s dead name a million times more for daring to rob the world of that warmth, even temporarily. Without it, Jon’s fingertips grow numb. Still he doesn’t let go.

Lacking further topics to babble about, Jon lets himself go there. He might as well. Martin doesn’t hear him when he’s this far gone. Not the words, anyway. Just the tone of voice, the haze of distant ‘Jon-ness’, as Martin affectionately calls it, serving as a lighthouse on the shore. Martin will hardly notice if the light turns a little red from righteous bloodthirst.

“I hate what Lukas has done to us. What he’s still doing. Even dead, he’s found a way to screw with us. To hurt you. Makes me wish I had some link to the End so I could bring him back and kill him again.”

A long pause.

“…Sometimes I wish it had been bloodier. Uglier,” he admits aloud for the first time. “He died in the worst way possible, for him. Known. Seen. But I… even though I Know he died in agony, there’s just this… I keep remembering the mess Elias made of Leitner. The blood everywhere… He didn’t deserve that, least of all from Elias, but I hated that pathetic old man. Beating him to death must’ve been so satisfying. The way Peter Lukas died? It satisfied the Eye. But it didn’t satisfy me. I’d have liked to have had a knife in my hand. Would’ve liked the blood. Just for him, you understand. I wouldn’t ever want to feed the Hunt, or the Slaughter. But with him, it’s personal. I’ll never forgive what he did to you. And a year from now I’ll find his grave on the anniversary of his death so I can piss on it, just for good measure.”

A chuckle, faint and distant as wind over rocks on the moorland. But Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s face, the hint of an amused smile toying with his lips, and hands slide up Jon’s back to rest across his shoulders. Cold as blocks of ice, but Martin’s not so rigid anymore and the chill doesn’t permeate so deep. His lap is more comfortable now.

“I like when you get a little… vicious. Is that wrong of me?”

“Probably,” Jon huffs as he shifts to get more comfortable on his perch, with the tone of voice that says he’s not particularly bothered by it, and perhaps even pleased to hear it.

He can’t help a shudder as Martin draws him closer for a frigid hug. Martin notices and draws back with a concerned flinch. His face is still oddly blank, eyes without light, but at least he’s present enough to take notice of things now.

“I’m sorry, are you cold?”

“When you’re not around? Always,” Jon whispers, and leans in to hug him anyway.

The warmth will come back.

It always does.

Sometimes Martin goes away for a while

He always comes back, but its easier when Jon speaks to him

[s4kura-tr3]

Jjk men — they dress up as Santa

An: happy holidays everyone!

Gojo satoru

Gojo Satoru as Santa was not something you ever expected to witness—mostly because his usual flair for dramatics meant he didn’t need a costume to be the center of attention. But when your little one excitedly declared that they had to meet Santa, Satoru decided it was time to step up.

He emerged from your bedroom dressed in a ridiculously high-quality Santa suit, complete with glittering snowflake patterns on the red coat (of course he’d have it custom-made). His signature white hair peeked out from under the hat, and he wore a pair of sunglasses instead of the classic round spectacles.

“Ho, ho, ho!” he bellowed, striking an exaggerated pose in the living room. “Santa Gojo has arrived to spread Christmas joy!”

Your child gasped, their eyes lighting up like the twinkling fairy lights on the tree. “Santa!” they cried, running toward him.

“Careful, my little elf!” Satoru said, scooping them up effortlessly and spinning them around. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” your child nodded vigorously, pointing to the cookies you’d helped them bake earlier. “We made you cookies, Santa!”

“Well, well, you must be my favorite little helper!” he grinned, setting them down gently before dramatically sniffing the air. “Mmm, smells like the best cookies I’ve ever had. You sure you didn’t use magic to bake these?”

Your child giggled, and you rolled your eyes, standing back and watching the scene with amusement. Satoru caught your gaze and winked over the top of his sunglasses, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

Once the presents were opened and your child was fast asleep, Satoru dropped onto the couch beside you, tugging the Santa hat off and tossing it onto the coffee table.

“So,” he drawled, leaning closer with a smirk, “how do you think I did? Pretty convincing Santa, right?”

“You looked ridiculous,” you teased, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

“Ridiculous?” he gasped, clutching his chest as if you’d wounded him. “I was the perfect Santa! Admit it, you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“You’re impossible.” You laughed, shaking your head as he pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you like a warm, festive cocoon.

“And yet, here you are,” he murmured, his voice softer now, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Geto Suguru

Suguru Geto didn’t need much convincing when his two little girls asked him to be Santa. You’d teased him at first, thinking he’d wave it off, but he surprised you when he casually came home with a Santa suit, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

On Christmas Eve, he disappeared into the bedroom, emerging a little later dressed as Santa. The suit fit perfectly, the white trim contrasting against his dark hair. He even had a beard, though he wore it slightly crooked, clearly finding it amusing. His girls squealed in delight, clapping their hands and jumping up and down.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Suguru boomed, crouching down to their level with a warm smile. “Have my little angels been good this year?”

“Yes, Papa—I mean, Santa!” one of them giggled, giving him an obvious once-over but deciding to play along.

The other clung to your leg, shy but smiling, as Suguru extended a hand to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Santa’s here to make Christmas magical,” he said gently, and she ran to him, wrapping her little arms around his neck.

You stood back, heart full as you watched him distribute the small gifts he’d secretly wrapped earlier. He made a show of handing them out, exaggerating his movements to make the girls laugh, even pretending to trip over the beard once or twice.

When the girls were finally tucked into bed, Suguru joined you on the couch, peeling off the beard and hat with a content sigh. He leaned back, pulling you close to him.

“How’d I do?” he asked, his voice softer now, his arm draped lazily over your shoulder.

“You were perfect,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest. “The girls loved it.”

“And you?” he teased, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his.

“I think Santa suits you,” you said with a small smile.

“Oh yeah?” he smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “Maybe I’ll wear it more often.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest. “Let’s not traumatize the kids.”

Suguru chuckled, pulling you closer, his fingers lacing with yours. “Merry Christmas, love,” he murmured. “Thank you for making our little family so perfect.”

Nanami kento

Nanami Kento as Santa Claus was something you never thought you’d see, mostly because it was hard to imagine him doing anything he deemed “unnecessarily festive.” But when your child looked up at him with those big, pleading eyes, asking if Santa would visit this year, he sighed in resignation.

That’s how you found yourself helping Nanami into a Santa suit on Christmas Eve. The red coat was perfectly tailored—of course, because Nanami refused to wear something that didn’t fit well—and he begrudgingly donned the hat, though he skipped the beard with a firm, “This is ridiculous enough as it is.”

When he stepped into the living room, your little one’s face lit up like the Christmas tree. “Santa!” they gasped, running toward him.

Nanami crouched down, a soft smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Hello there,” he said in his warm, even tone. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” your child declared proudly, holding up a plate of cookies they’d helped you bake earlier. “We made these for you, Santa!”

Nanami took the plate with a small chuckle, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, filled with quiet affection. “Thank you. These look delicious.” He made a show of taking a bite, nodding in approval. “Best cookies I’ve ever had.”

Your child beamed, clapping their hands before Nanami handed them a small, wrapped present. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice softer now as he ruffled their hair.

Later, when the gifts were opened and your child was fast asleep, Nanami joined you on the couch, the Santa hat still perched slightly askew on his head.

“You’re a natural,” you teased, leaning against him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t go that far. But it was worth it to see them happy.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “You know, I think you make a pretty great Santa.”

He glanced down at you, a rare smile playing on his lips. “If it makes you and our child happy, I suppose I can endure it again next year.”

“Endure?” you teased.

He leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his voice steady and full of love.

Toji

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t much for dressing up or indulging in festive traditions, but for his family? Anything was possible. When little Megumi started pointing excitedly at Santa decorations in store windows, babbling about how he wanted to meet the “real Santa,” Toji couldn’t resist.

That evening, with you in on the plan, Toji grumbled his way into a red Santa suit, complete with a hat and an overly fluffy beard that he insisted was itchy. The sight of his broad frame squeezed into the costume had you stifling laughter.

“Stop laughing, woman,” Toji growled, adjusting the belt. “This thing’s ridiculous.”

“You look perfect,” you teased, smoothing the fur trim on his coat. “A little too muscular for Santa, but I’m sure Megumi won’t complain.”

As night fell, Toji made his grand entrance into the living room, where Megumi sat on the floor surrounded by twinkling lights and scattered wrapping paper. He froze when he saw Santa.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Toji said, his voice deeper than usual as he tried to sound convincing. “Merry Christmas, Megumi!”

Megumi’s eyes widened, his little fists clenching in excitement. “Santa!” he squealed, running to hug Toji’s legs.

You stood off to the side, heart melting at the sight of the usually stoic Toji kneeling to hand Megumi a small gift he’d picked out earlier. Despite his gruffness, Toji’s eyes softened as Megumi thanked him, clutching the present with all the joy in the world.

Later, once Megumi was tucked into bed, Toji collapsed on the couch, tugging at the beard. “Never again,” he muttered, though the fond smile playing on his lips gave him away.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You made his night, Santa.”

“Tch. I’m retiring,” he grumbled, pulling you onto his lap. “Next year, it’s your turn.”

Sukuna ryomen

Getting Ryomen Sukuna to dress as Santa Claus was not an easy task—it required a hefty mix of bribes, teasing, and the promise of “entertainment” later. Despite his usual disdain for human traditions, he finally relented after your child toddled over to him, tugging at his sleeve and asking, “Will Santa come to visit us this year?”

That’s how the King of Curses ended up standing in your living room, dressed in a crimson Santa suit that clung to his broad frame in a way no Santa suit ever should. The hat was slung low over his pink hair, and though he’d refused to wear the beard, he’d charmed his face into looking slightly more “jolly.” His tattoos glowed faintly under the soft light of the Christmas tree, giving the whole scene an oddly magical feel.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Sukuna drawled, smirking as your little one squealed with delight. “Santa’s here, brats.”

“Papa—”

“Santa,” he corrected, arching an eyebrow.

Your child giggled, running up to him with arms wide open. Sukuna bent down, effortlessly scooping them up into his arms, the faintest trace of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Did you bring presents, Santa?” your child asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“Hmph. Of course,” Sukuna said, reaching behind him with exaggerated flair to pull out a brightly wrapped gift. “You think I came all this way for nothing?”

You watched from the doorway, stifling a laugh at the absurdity of it all. Sukuna caught your eye, his smirk widening as he mouthed, You owe me for this.

When the presents were opened and your child was happily playing, Sukuna finally flopped onto the couch beside you, tugging the Santa hat off with a low growl.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” he muttered, though the way his eyes lingered on your child’s joy said otherwise.

“You loved it,” you teased, leaning against him.

He huffed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Tch. Don’t get used to it.”

But as his hand absentmindedly traced soothing patterns on your arm, you knew better. The mighty King of Curses might grumble and scowl, but for you and your child, he’d play the part of Santa every year—whether he admitted it or not.

Megumi fushiguro

Convincing Megumi Fushiguro to dress up as Santa Claus wasn’t easy. He didn’t see the point, claiming it was “unnecessary” and “a little embarrassing,” but when you and your child teamed up with matching pleading looks, he finally gave in with a defeated sigh.

On Christmas Eve, he emerged from the bedroom dressed in a simple Santa suit that he begrudgingly agreed to wear. The hat sat a little awkwardly on his messy hair, and the coat was slightly oversized, but he looked endearingly uncomfortable, tugging at the sleeves as he stepped into the living room.

Your child’s eyes lit up the moment they saw him. “Santa!” they shouted, running over to him with a delighted grin.

“Uh… Ho, ho, ho,” Megumi mumbled, his ears burning red as he crouched down. “Have you been good this year?”

“Yes!” they chirped, holding out a plate of cookies. “We made these for you!”

Megumi took the plate, glancing at you as if asking for reassurance. You gave him an encouraging nod, suppressing a laugh at how out of his element he looked.

“These look… great,” he said, nibbling on one with a small smile. “Thanks, kiddo.”

When it came time to hand out the gifts, Megumi got into the spirit a little more, smiling softly as he passed your child a small box. He even managed to crack a joke, though his delivery was so deadpan that your child found it even funnier.

Later, after your child had fallen asleep, Megumi collapsed onto the couch beside you, the Santa hat slipping off his head.

“That was… exhausting,” he muttered, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“You did great,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “I think you’re officially the best Santa ever.”

He opened one eye to look at you, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You’re just saying that because I caved.”

“Maybe,” you teased, reaching up to adjust his messy hair. “But you made them really happy, Megumi. That’s what matters.”

His expression softened as he glanced at the sleeping form of your child, their face still glowing with excitement even in their dreams. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I guess it was worth it.”

Then, without warning, he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink.

Yuji itadori

When the idea of Yuji dressing up as Santa Claus came up, he was immediately all in. No hesitation, no complaints—he was excited. “Santa? For the kid? Say no more!” he declared, grinning from ear to ear.

On Christmas Eve, he went full out, donning a slightly oversized Santa suit (because the store didn’t have his exact size), a fluffy white beard, and even a pair of round, fake glasses for the look. His pink hair stuck out from under the hat, making him the most cheerful and youthful Santa you’d ever seen.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Yuji bellowed as he burst into the living room, nearly tripping over the hem of his coat. Your child squealed with delight, clapping their hands and running toward him.

“Santa!” they shouted, their face lighting up with pure excitement.

“Hey there, little one!” Yuji said, crouching down to scoop them up in his arms. “Have you been good this year? Like, really good? Eating your veggies, brushing your teeth, and helping out around the house?”

“Yes, yes, and yes!” your child giggled, nodding enthusiastically.

“Wow, you’re a superstar!” Yuji said, setting them down and reaching into his sack of presents (a laundry bag he insisted on decorating himself). “Then you definitely deserve this!”

He handed over a carefully wrapped gift, watching your child’s face light up as they tore into it. You stood by, your heart full at the sight of how natural Yuji was at this. His energy was contagious, and your child was clearly having the time of their life.

Later, after the festivities wound down and your child was asleep, Yuji flopped onto the couch beside you, still wearing the Santa hat but minus the beard and glasses.

“Well?” he asked, flashing you that goofy grin. “How’d I do? Best Santa ever, right?”

“You were amazing,” you said, leaning against him. “Though I think you enjoyed it even more than they did.”

“Hey, Santa’s job is to spread joy,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “If I don’t have fun, how’s anyone else supposed to?”

You laughed, tilting your head to look up at him. “You’re such a dork, Yuji.”

“And you love it,” he teased, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Merry Christmas, babe. Thanks for making this holiday so perfect.”

[at-wicks-end]

in another life (you still would've turned my head) ; jw

vampire!john wick x reader fluff !! (lowkey a reincarnation au) ~2.5k words

notes: this fic is written for @treedaddymcpuffpuff for the keanuverse secret santa event hosted by @97keanu <333 i hope you like this!!! this is probably the longest thing i've written on this blog 😵‍💫 happy holidays🩷

John cares little for the snow. It’s not that he found it cumbersome or annoying; it’s just that when one has lived for as long as he has, shoveling the snow from the driveway becomes a little too tedious, even for one well-versed in tedious matters. Such was the nature of immortality—given enough time, even the most unique, spectacular experience becomes boring after a century. 

This task becomes herculean (or Sisyphean, John corrects himself) when said driveway was practically a third of the length of his entire estate, which was also in the middle of the woods. His eye twitches at the thought of the snow that would inevitably impede the driving of his beloved Mustang to the nearest town. With a heavy sigh, John casts one longing look at his car, as spotless and as pristine as the day he got it decades ago. He’ll wait for the winter to pass before he brings out his car for a drive. For now, he thinks reluctantly, he’ll walk. He has more than enough time anyway.

It doesn’t take long for him to get ready. All he does is put on his long coat and wrap a scarf around his neck before heading out. He has no need for it, but it’s easier to pretend to need it than to deal with the constant concerned looks from the townspeople as he walks around. It also helped him blend in with the rest of the people walking around, doing some last-minute gift shopping for loved ones at those ridiculously overpriced boutiques. John blows out the candles in the hallways as he walks to the foyer, running a mental checklist of the things he had to put out or turn off before leaving.

Dog—yes, Dog. Comments about his creativity are not welcome—approaches him with a wagging tail, the soft clicks of his claws on the hardwood floors reminding John that he had to trim them again soon. 

“Hello,” John says warmly, squatting down to pet Dog. “You can’t come with me tonight. I’ll be walking, and it’s too cold.”

Dog woofs once, as if to complain.  John chuckles to himself, ruffling his soft fur before straightening himself. “You’ll be fine. I’ve already fed you dinner, haven’t I? I’ll be back later.”

After one last brief round through the manor, John mildly regrets killing the last butler, if only so he had someone else to do the tedious tasks instead. But then again, the last butler turned out to be some vampire hunter wannabe who slipped silver oxide in his tea one night. That gave him quite the sore throat, John thinks bitterly, locking the doors behind him. The poor man was stupid enough to think that a little silver oxide would be able to take him down completely, and didn’t even bother to bring a weapon. Truthfully, it was a bit insulting.

John trudges through the snow, out of his estate and into the woods. It would take him half an hour to get to town, and by then it’ll be almost ten in the evening. The town and its warm lights strung through trees and lampposts will be winding down by then, shop lights shutting off one by one. All the better for him; the fewer humans around him, the safer it was. At almost three centuries of existence, John was already well-versed in resisting temptation, but it didn’t mean he was fond of placing himself in situations where he could potentially snap. 

Behind him, his manor fades into the darkness, looking abandoned and more dilapidated than it truly is. For a moment, John squints at one of the towers. Hm. he’ll have to take a look at the top window sometime soon; it looked to be on the verge of falling apart.

He walks through the forest in silence, with no other sound to accompany him other than the sound of crunching snow beneath his boots and the occasional birdsong. John allows his thoughts to wander, his mind flitting from events that had happened over a decade ago and wondering what he would do a week from now. The year was coming to an end, and Winston no doubt is itching to drag him to the Continental for the Winter Ball.

Yeah, right. John snorts. Invite a bunch of vampires to one place. Never ends well.

The previous year, the D’Antonio siblings caused quite a scene by bringing untrained, unmarked humans into the venue. The younger vamps could barely resist tearing the poor things apart. At the very least, it had provided enough entertainment for the rest of the evening, according to Koji, an old friend of his.

He should probably give him a call this Christmas if only to check in, John muses. And send over a gift for Akira. What does one give to a young vampling these days anyway?

He’s snapped from his reverie at the sound of grumbling. He freezes, straining his ears to understand what the voice is saying.

“...this is so stupid. Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea? God. I’m gonna get eaten by wolves…”

There are no wolves in the area, John can attest to that, but this human seemed lost. And most certainly not a local, if they were out in the woods at night. He purses his lips, turning his head from the direction of the voice to the general direction of the town. He should be close by now, and the blood dealer was likely there already. John could just leave the unknown voice there to fend for themselves and potentially freeze in the dark. 

But what the hell, he thinks. It’s Christmas. This can be his good deed of the year.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he takes a sharp turn to the right and makes his way to the voice. His eyesight meant that the dark of night wasn’t truly dark to him, but he supposes that to a human, this was close to pitch black. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a figure huddled by the root of a tree in the dark, angrily poking at what looked to be their phone. Humans and their smartphones, John sighs internally.

“Hello,” he says slowly, not wanting to scare them. “Are you lost?”

The human flinches, looking up at him with wide eyes. Moonlight shines on their face just so, and John swears his undead heart would be pounding if it still could.

Oh, he thinks, breathless. It’s you.

You really shouldn’t have come here, you think mournfully. Your roommate brought you along with her for the holidays, feeling bad that you were going to be left in the apartment by yourself. It seemed like a good idea at the time, until you got to her hometown and she promptly dropped you off at the local inn and said goodbye for the week. After asking around for fun activities to do (that had nothing to do with the holidays, thank you very much), one of the younger locals suggested geocaching, now that quite a handful of people were developing an interest in it too. He told you to download an app that should explain things better, and you spent the better part of the afternoon looking things up.

This is supposed to be your third spot to check out, but the signal got worse somewhere along the way, and now your phone is dead too. Just your fucking luck. Somewhere, someone must be actively praying for your downfall because what do you mean you’re now stuck in the middle of the woods at night? You groan, angrily poking at the black screen of your phone when a voice calls out to you. 

“Hello. Are you lost?”

It’s a true testament to your strength, your bravery, your iron will, that you did not shit yourself at the sound of the voice. You look up at the tall stranger with wide eyes, noting that holy shit this man is gorgeous and you probably look like you’ve been crawling through all sorts of nooks and crannies all afternoon. Which you have been. So. 

“Hi,” you squeak. Okay. He doesn’t seem like an ax murderer, judging by his nice clothing…? Every bit of information you learned in those true crime podcasts you listen to has flown out of your brain, leaving you looking up at the stranger with your mouth parted.

The tall, dark, and handsome stranger looks at you for a moment before offering you a hand. “The town is that way,” he gestures somewhere to the left. “I’m… John.”

You mumble your name, taking his hand in a daze. Of course, you would meet an absolute Adonis on the worst day of your life (an exaggeration). You try not to swoon at his firm grip, or how he easily pulls you upright without so much as a sharp exhale. Whew. This is a man, you think dreamily, nothing like those slimy finance bros back in the city. Perhaps it’s your turn for a Hallmark movie romance. You, the city slicker with a hatred for the holidays, and this man, the local who’ll teach you the true meaning of Christmas. 

He repeats your name quietly, nodding. “I’m headed to town. We can walk together, if you want.” 

“I’d like that,” you respond, feeling breathless all of a sudden. Get ahold of yourself, you think desperately. You can’t fold for the first hot man that you see in the woods!

Your dreams of a budding romance, are crushed, however, when no further words are exchanged. Stealing glances at John’s (very handsome) side profile does nothing for your flushed cheeks, and his shy smile whenever he catches you staring makes you melt internally. The distant lights of the town coming into view make your heart sink. 

He appears to take pity for your plight and breaks the silence first. “Are you only visiting here?”

“Yeah,” you reply quickly. Too quickly. You swallow thickly, trying to play off your embarrassment. “I mean, yeah, My roommate just brought me along, so…”

“I see.” He nods. “How are you liking this place so far?”

“It’s like a Christmas village,” you say with disdain. The corners of John’s lips quirk up.

“I’m hearing some distaste in your tone.” He notes, amusement in his voice.

You scrunch your nose. “I don’t like Christmas.”

“Oh?”

“I just don’t like it,” you shrug. “You?”

John pauses, thinking for a moment. “I don’t mind it. I don’t think too much of it.”

“Pretty hard to do when it’s so… in your face,” you quip. 

“I’m good at focusing on what truly matters,” he says coolly, his gaze suddenly serious. Your cheeks feel hot again. 

“Oh. That’s nice.” You mumble, looking away, feeling strangely flustered. Are all handsome men just way too intense for their own good? “Are you a, uh, local?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, tilting his head towards you with a small smirk. “A local of the Christmas village.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” You laugh, caught off guard by his sudden teasing. “It’s just not for me, I’m sorry!”

He laughs with you, his deep voice almost melting into the cold winter breeze. Something inside you feels warm at the sight of his smile, and it’s not just because you think this man is hot. He doesn’t feel like a stranger, you think curiously. He feels strangely familiar, as if you’ve known the sound of his laughter for years. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s begging you to take his hand, to savor the warmth of his skin against yours and⁠—

“We’re almost there,” he states, looking straight ahead.

Oh. Right.

“Thanks,” you say softly, looking at him. “For helping me back there.”

John only shrugs, his features warmed by the light from the lamppost just straight ahead. “I have a knack for helping strays.” He smiles as if joking. “And I think you’ll find that you have a knack for being in the right place at the right time.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow. “‘Cause I met you, is that it?”

He gives you that smile again, as if he knows something you don’t. As if you should know what he’s talking about too. It should unnerve you, but it doesn’t. “Something like that.” 

The two of you eventually stop walking just in front of the stall selling mulled wine. “Well, this is me,” you say reluctantly. As charmed as you are by this man, you’ve retained enough of your common sense to not reveal just where exactly you’re staying for now. (If he wants to come up to your room for  a late night something, well… maybe you’re not totally against the idea.) “I’m gonna go walk around before I turn in for the night. You?”

“I’m meeting an acquaintance,” he replies, putting his hands in his pockets. Strange. He isn’t wearing gloves. 

“Good night, John.” You smile, reluctant to leave his side for some godforsaken reason. “I’ll see you around?”

“You will see me around the Christmas village, yes,” he replies, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Good night, solnishko.”

Little sun. 

How do you know that?

You wave goodbye, dazed, watching as he disappears into the crowd. Your chest aches at the sight of him leaving, but you ignore it, deciding it’s time to turn in for the night after all. It’s been a long day of gallivanting, and getting lost in the woods did no favors for your poor feet. Sighing softly, you imagine the relief of finally taking off these godforsaken boots and warming up by the fire. You’re gonna sleep so good tonight.

Giving one last longing look in the direction John went, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever see him again. It’s just because he’s hot, you tell yourself. Yes, that’s just it. Nothing to do with how his voice makes your stomach do somersaults. 

(You will see him again, one way or another. Like John said, you have a knack for being in the right place at the right time, even when you don’t remember him. John only allowed the night to slip from his grasp knowing that the universe will inevitably bring you back to him, as it has many times before.)

(As it will continue to do so, for as long as your soul remembers him even when your mind does not. For now, John is determined to make you fall in love with him all over again until you have to leave.) 

John watches you walk to the local inn from afar, hidden in the shadows. So you hate Christmas this time, he chuckles to himself. That’s alright. So long as you still like him, he can make it work.

He’ll make it work.

post-fic yap: there we go!! i have never actually experienced snow in my life so i'm sorry if it's not super accurate :')) i really wanted to add some more stuff but my health has been in the dumps so i just did my best🥲 again, happy holidays! i hope i did your prompt justice🥹

[kayharrisons]

No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her [Bjorn x fem!reader] [2 of?] [18+]

Chapter summary: you eagerly await your boyfriend's arrival back in 12.

A/N: HI GUYS been a minute since I posted for this one ahaha, we're switching to Reader's pov for this one!!! I'll be going back and forth between their POVs, it's very fun for me >:3 MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL!!!

Chapter Warnings: PTSD, mentioned character death, Capital being Weird to minors, general Hunger Games themes

The train isn't late, but it certainly feels like it, as you stand on the platform waiting for your boyfriend to return home, to return to you.

You'd had faith in him this whole time, known he'd come back to you.

The only time you'd had even a little bit of doubt was when Navarro had died.

You'd been damn near catatonic as you watched her die right before your eyes. As you watched Bjorn have to watch his sister die in front of him.

You'd been afraid he was going to join her, for a little bit.

Losing Tyler and Kay last year had made him angry, bitter at the world outside of you and Navarro.

Losing her may just break him entirely.

The platform is mostly empty, people had wanted to stop by, to cheer Bjorn as their first proper winner. But missing work would result in lashings, and so it was you and a handful of peacekeepers.

Bjorn had no family left to greet him. His mother having died in a mining collapse earlier this year, and his father...

He'd been caught stealing supplies from the sickbay, for Bjorn who had been dreadfully sick one year. He'd been hanged for it.

Bjorn had been nine.

You can still remember the sight of Mr Henriksen's body swaying to and fro from the Hanging Tree, before your mother had pulled you away, before he'd been cut down.

It's not a sight you forget.

You shiver at the memory, rubbing your arms as you anxiously bounce on the balls of your feet.

It isn't long before the train arrives, before it squeaks to a halt. The Peacekeepers flank the door, security for the Victor inside.

Bjorn steps off of the train shortly after.

His hair is closely cropped at the sides of his head, his mop of hair trimmed neatly to just above his brows. He's clad in a dark coat with matching pants, Capital's finest wool by the looks of it, warm, cosy. His shoes are polished to perfection, gleaming in the dimming light.

His eyes are hollow, though, when you meet them. Hollow and full of agony, of grief, of longing for-

You crash into one another in an instant, the pair of you collapsing to your knees as sobs overtake you both.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

His home in Victor's Village is barren, to be honest.

Bjorn hadn't had a lot of possessions beyond his clothes and the furniture in his and Navarro's home.

Her things have been left in a guest bedroom, untouched. You imagine it'll be that way for quite some time.

For now, though, you lock the door, you stoke the fire, and you sit beside Bjorn as he stares into the flames.

"Where's she buried?" he asks, voice hoarse, the first words he's spoken to you all day.

You suck in a breath, ducking your head down briefly. You'd been a wreck the day they'd delivered Navarro's coffin back to District 12, incoherent with tears as you tried to picture where Bjorn would want his sister to be laid to rest.

"Top of the hill," you answer quietly, fidgeting with a button on your dress. "She'll always get the sun up there and... it's close to your mom, I thought she'd like that."

Bjorn nods, throat bobbing hard as swallows. "She would." he agrees, gruff, just as quiet as you.

Silence, for a few minutes, save for the crackling of the fire.

"Bjorn-" you begin, ever so gently. He abruptly stands, shrugging off his thick coat.

"Need a drink." he grunts, moving from the living room and to the kitchen, door swinging shut in his wake. Your brow furrows, worry curling at your belly, clawing up your throat.

You don't follow after him. You know when he needs his space, can tell when he needs to be left alone.

So you leave him be, for now.

You'll give him today, let him cope how he needs to. You'll remain here, by his side, even if it's in separate rooms, just in case he turns to you for comfort.

You know him better than anyone. You know it won't be happening today.

He'll shut himself up in one of the many bedrooms of this house, will drink himself to sleep, will sob and scream through his grief and though it pains you, you will leave him be.

Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow you will open the door for him, will be there waiting with open arms.

Tomorrow, you hope, will be kinder to him.

[eventheodds]

She knows a burger won’t be enough for him. She’s seen his appetite—not just for doughnuts, but for pretty much any food he was able to get his hands on. Having done more research into Plants and Independents, it would make sense for Vash to consume more than a normal human could given his ability to dispel that much energy.

But she doesn’t have an everflowing stream of money she can dip into whenever she feels like, and these days payments are made by bartering goods and services. 

Maurice looks up at the order for a banana sundae and even though no one can see his face behind the cloud of steam while he’s cooking away a never-ending line of meals for people coming and going, he smiles as he recognizes that order being placed—at least for whom.

Just so, Maurice’s replacement comes in to pick up the slack before the main cook goes home—but not before he leaves the kitchen and, before Meryl can answer Vash’s question about condiments and toppings, he wedges himself in front of their table.

“Order anything you want on the menu, Miss Stryfe. You an’ Miss Thompson really helped me out an’ it’s the least I can do. But I’ll get you that burger and sundae he ordered for ya. ‘S’on the house, buddy,” he says as he turns to Vash. “Any friend o’ Miss Stryfe is a friend o’ mine.”

It’s not a big diner and the other patrons look behind them, one even asking, in a mocking tone, where his free food is, and Maurice, as he’s turning to go back into the kitchen, makes a gesture like he’s about to whack the guy on the back of the head with his hand. Others share a quick laugh before the atmosphere resumes its usual ambiance.

“Yeah…we helped him set this place up. Rather, Milly did. I think it was because she wanted someplace to eat that could make her favourite foods that weren’t just pastries.” She looks down at the menu again and tries to think what Vash will order now that he’s been given free reign over everything—at least related to food.

“We shouldn’t get too carried away because—” Someone she doesn’t recognize approaches their table with a giant circular tray laden with plates of food and drinks—and two banada sundaes with all the trimmings—and Meryl looks around the dinette as others also look at them and their full table. It starts off with feeling a bit embarrassed, but that soon turns into apprehension as multiple pairs of eyes are focused on them and the last thing she needs is for someone to recognize Vash.

A few tense moments play out where she is holding her breath, but nothing comes of it and as the ambiance settles once more, Meryl deflates with a sigh of relief.

None of this stuff looks like it would keep for an extended period of time. Still, she’s able to put the tunnels out of her mind when she eyes the sundae and pulls the dish towards her. There’s at least seven other plates, their portions way more than she could ever eat, but Meryl suspects that this is completely fine for Vash.

“I’ll have this and one of the burgers. You…can have the rest,” she says and scoops a bite of banana and ice cream onto a spoon and eats it. It’s been a while since she’s had something this delectable and this sweet. Rations that were mostly tomas jerky were what she lived on during those weeks looking for him. 

The fries are cut evenly and fried to a perfect golden; she picks one up and dips one end into the ice cream and takes a bite. “Try this,” she says with more enthusiasm than would be necessary, like she’s discovered something entirely novel. She holds a fry with a dollop of ice cream at the end to Vash, urging him to take it before the ice cream melts and makes a mess everywhere.

Lately he’s grown tired of being the center of attention. Cramped into a motor carriage for hours, it feels like they can’t escape the topic. His dinner plans, his bounty, his future plans, his ‘get your boots off my dashboard!!!’  Meryl didn’t seem to much like his joke about photosynthesis either. Plants. Photosynthesis. He thought it was funny.

They’re overdue for a change of pace, at any rate.

“You’ve been driving all day,” Vash remarks, wise enough not to push the discussion further after Meryl invites herself along for his planned excursion into the network of tunnels that stretched out below their feet. Lucky for Zazie, they get to see two familiar faces on the same day.

Vash does not realize how truly ravenous for food he was until they’ve seated themselves and really started looking at the menus laid out beneath the protective layer of plastic. Interlocking his fingers and placing his hands primly over the mouthwatering thumbnails of chicken-fried steaks, burgers, and malted shakes of various flavors, Vash nods dutifully. Only little granules of sand live in his wallet now. To open and gaze upon the emptiness would fill him with unspeakable despair. 

No waiter comes up to greet them, but Vash can see the cook bustling back and forth behind a curtain of steam between the window of the counter and a hanging ribbon of tickets. The counter itself isn’t even really a counter so much as a series of randomly assorted crates stacked on top of each other.

Their fellow patrons yell out their orders to an affirming grunt from the chef. Food is bussed out quickly and shoveled down waiting gullets just as quickly. 

People file in, order, eat, and file out in charmingly efficient rotations.

Much to do about a growing town. He and Meryl have a moment to enjoy themselves without worrying about the local gossip stirring up trouble.

 “Both. Both are good. And the burger too.” He dare not ask for more. Before Meryl has the opportunity to place her coin purse under further duress, Vash slings an arm around the back of his chair and waves at the cook. “A banana sundae, please! With caramel and fudge sauce! Oh, and a burger platter too, if you don’t mind!”

Vash quickly turns back to Meryl. “I forgot! Do you want everything on it? Pickles? Onions? I could take or leave mustard…”

[organchordsandlightning]

shit okay so i've finished the lighthouse series finally and i love your characterisation of faroe in it so deeply. wanted to ask - thoughts on what a teenaged faroe would be like? having to interact with normal people and realising how fucking weird her family is, and whatever she remembers of her childhood. she's such a delight and she's such a menace. i wanna know what she'd be like when she's a little older

ohhh, i’m glad you enjoyed and you have absolutely activated my ‘can’t shut up’ trap card! teenage faroe HCs under cut

so I think my big HC for teenage faroe is that she gets really into painting as her preferred mode of art. I like to think arthur did teach her piano, and she likes it well enough, but it didn’t have the same emotional attachment arthur had for it. 

nobody can say exactly why this comes about, but john almost reverently describing every piece of art she made as a toddler/child to arthur probably had something to do with it. i also like to think that faroe’s brief time in the Dark World, and especially under the influence of Arthur-Wearing-John’s-Old-Yellow-Robe, has affected her, just a bit - just in that her dreams are a little more vivid, a little more memorable, and little more Out There (leading to John having a small breakdown one day when teenage faroe draws a stunningly good representation of Carcosa, right down to the throne room). she prefers landscapes in general, but the family portrait hanging in arthur and john’s house was definitely painted by Faroe for Arthur’s birthday.

as for personality! I think Faroe is definitely a ‘see an injured baby bird, bring it home’ type of person - and she definitely keeps the curiosity that she inherited from her father. while it was less worrying when she rarely went anywhere without holding onto someone hand, it definitely became more worrying when the adults stopped walking her to school every day. I really love the idea of Faroe’s investigative spirit starting with ‘I’m going to crack the case of The Missing Cookie so I can be a detective just like Daddy’ to ‘ope Faroe’s coming home close to midnight because she was helping a classmate look for a lost cat’. with three detectives in her immediate family, it’s never that hard to find her in Arkham, but doesn’t stop Arthur and John especially from being scared to death. they taught Faroe occult symbols at a pretty young age and Faroe always understood that that was the one thing they would not let her fuck around with. 

(I was also so close to including the idea that Arthur gets a seeing eye dog when Faroe is still a child, who Faroe names Goldie. Faroe takes to Goldie so much that they get a second dog just for her [’sweetie, I know you’re having fun playing with Goldie but Goldie has to work now’] - a little white Westie named Bones. this is 100% the adorable animal mascot Faroe investigates with.)

relatedly, I think everyone struggled a lot with Faroe’s growing independence, especially with how close her family is. like, I don’t think Faroe ever had a rebellious phase per se (that is, she was never like ‘fuck you dad I don’t play by your rules’), but she definitely leaned more into ... ‘I Know This Is The Right Thing To Do Why Are You Telling Me I Can’t Do This Because I’m A Child’, which is a lot more frustrating all around.

(still, parker remembers the last time he was called ‘Uncle Bark’ and shifted to only ‘Uncle Parker’ [except when she’s scared or upset].)

i think Faroe might have had a brief period where she became acutely aware (in the way that teenagers are) that her home life is Not The Norm (i used to joke that Faroe, as a child, would say ‘sometimes I stay with Daddy and Mr. John, who kiss, and sometimes I stay with Mama and Uncle Bark, who don’t’). while I don’t think that she ever got badly teased about it [everyone likes Bella, the lady who makes all the costumes for school plays, and everyone likes Mr. Yang, the guy who cheers all the kids on at the baseball game, and everyone is moderately lukewarm on Mr.s Lester and Doe who look kind of pissy but generally mean well], I think the first time Faroe tried to underplay her home situation (maybe she implied Bella and Arthur were married, maybe she pretended like Mr. John wasn’t her dad, per se), John -- unable to hide the emotions on his face  -- looked so fucking sad that even Faroe, at 14 years old, was like awwwwwww shit I can’t do that again. Overall though, I do think Faroe borders on being pretty popular among her class. She’s involved in a lot of stuff, Bella handmakes her clothes, and more than a few students in the school have had their family’s cases solved by the Lester/Doe/Yang partnership.

 as for what Faroe remembers, I would think (other than her dreams)  she doesn’t remember much of her time in the Dark World, or being dead. She doesn’t like swimming much, but that’s more along the lines of Arthur being too anxious to teach her as a child, and thus Faroe learning a little later in life. She remembers a happy home - though the duos lived separately, she remembers them being together so often that it seemed like they all lived together.  If she had an emotional problem, she’s more inclined to go to her mother (who sometimes talks to her as if she’s a fellow classmate, and not her daughter) or Mr. John (who seems to get things in ways that Parker and Arthur can’t). If she needs something done, it’s Parker (who seems to know every person in Arkham) or her father (who would move heaven and earth for her, in a way that makes Faroe a liiiiiiiitttle scared to ever have kids. Arthur, god bless, is a little intense).

however, I do think the truth comes out around the time when Faroe is a teenager. Faroe was aware for a while of things not seeming right: her father’s acutely visible scars and bright amber eyes, for one thing. Still, I think they didn’t want to tell her as a child, and she was easily enough distracted from any questions whenever she asked.

It’s only when she becomes a teenager that it starts to become unavoidable. For one thing, she finds Parker Yang’s obituary in a newspaper at the library. She reads the term ‘John Doe’ in a book and, uh-oh, that seems a little weird. And, um. What are all these ‘Police Searching For Arthur Lester, supposed murderer of Parker Yang’ news clippings in the library? And, hang on, if her mother is fifteen years younger than Arthur, then why do they have so many stories of growing up together?

and I think, at some point, they sit her down and tell her all of it. Not the nitty gritty details, not how Arthur got all his scars, but enough for Faroe to realize that most of her family - including herself - was dead, at one point. Enough for Faroe to realize that, oops, one of her dads used to be a god, and maybe her dreams aren’t just dreams.

and of course it’s a lot to take in, and there’s a couple of weeks where Faroe’s basically sleepwalking through life, but her family helps her through it. I think at the end of the day, the thing that helps her most is the thing that her Uncle Parker told her (and the same thing Parker told Arthur, way back when Arthur lost his memory): that no matter how the story went, she was safe and loved, and she had a lot of people making sure she always would be.

thanks for asking!

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID: an 11 panel comic featuring characters from the owl house. Panel 1- a cloaked Darius sneaking around a wall. panel 2 he peaks around the corner, saying "well? Did you retrieve...the package?". Panel 3 Hettie Cutburn (who has old Hollywood style text announcing "surprise Hettie Cutburn!" next to her) says "Darius! Of course! Took some digging but I found them eventually. Tell the boy I say 'hi!'". Panel four- she hands documents labeled "classified" to Darius. Later, Hunter (post timeskip) walks through a door in Darius' home, saying "hey Darius, hey Eber, I'm ba-". Next panel- Darius, Willow, and Eberwolf on the couch. Hunter says "...willow?", She replies "hey hunter!", he asks "what are you guys doing?

Darius says "oh nothing...except looking at pictures of you as a baby!" Holding up the documents from earlier. We see two pictures of a younger hunter framed like panels- the first is of hunter as a baby/toddler aged hunter freshly sprouted out of the ground with a blanket around him, covered in dirt, while the second one shows a young scout Hunter covered in bandages receiving his sprig plushie. Darius' narration reads "courtesy of Hettie Cutburn- she found the only surviving copy of your early life medical records and gave them to me". Willow says "aww, you were so cute!". The final panel shows Hunter looking embarrassed/stunned as Willow takes a photo of the documents, and Darius says "I'm considering it an early father's day present- so, thank you, Hunter". End ID]

MERRY DADRIUS WEEK!!! Thank you to @sergeantsporks for hosting! There's other prompts I wanna do but they'll probably be late (maybe I'll do them in bulk and upload them on the final day). Til then here's a silly comic!

[rad-roche]

part of the reason i like noir fiction (specifically literary) is that writing it well is challenging. there's no particular prose style you have to hit, necessarily, the trappings of the genre are more to do with its subject matter and endings (sex, death, greed, and usually unhappy as a result of the sex, death, and greed). but a lot of them gravitate towards a certain style, myself included, because it just works so well, which is paring back everything you can, as much as you can. that's fun to do! it turns into a game. it's easy to overwrite something, but it's a real bitch to pack an entire location into one telegrammatic sentence and then have that be good. i still think i miss more than i hit, but that's the nature of it, because when you do pull it off you feel like you could fight a truck and win. the IT'S SO OVER WE'RE SO BACK highs and lows swing higher and lower because there's nowhere to hide from your reader

[bonefall]

maybe with the ending.. make it be like the link between Breezepelt's leaving to join Kin and his POV in AVOS? of course from Nightcloud's perspective but

like. she would be injured and recovering away from the clan. but they would be unaware that she is alive and like in canon assume she died and hold her a vigil. Breezepelt, who is already at low point, taking it very badly - yes he was pushing her away bc he was hurt and angry and started taking it out on her, but.. it's still his mom. his Mi. and she is dead? or is this stupid clan just going to believe this to make it easier? are they really giving up on looking for her, or her body??

i can see Nightcloud being the one of very few, if not THE Only one, things that kept Breezepelt in WindClan at this point. and without her, what's the point? it's not like anyone else likes him. the link is gone and they buried it in a bodyless vigil. so it's what pushes him to actuall take the step and leave.

not sure how well it would align with the timeline and events. and how soon Darktail was assembling cats from other clans like Breeze. but i think it would be interesting and heartbreaking if at the end of her SE, Nightcloud just arrived back to WindClan and asks where Breezepelt is and someone tells her.. he either was missing since this morning or just left the clan earlier the same day. like, just have them miss each other by a hair.

I'm thinking that the second-to-last chapter is her with Pickle, having a bit of a sabbatical to unpack everything that happens through the story. Mostly because I want to throw her into some kind of pretty garden as a nice setting for this lmaoo

A LOT of BB stuff is being added to Nightcloud's Pannage that wasn't in the main series; Hillrunner's abuse, her mentor Addersong, several expanded little background characters now complete with their own side conflicts. I think what I can bind all these things with is Nightcloud considering what a Clan means.

Because of her new reputation, I'm noticing I'm writing scenes where she's intentionally doing and saying things to try and sway them. While also grappling with her resentment towards them, and things she can't change.

There's a bit of a melancholy air so far, so I'm starting to feel like the best ending is just having a bit of space to herself to think. Ultimately, she decides that it's more than Breezepelt or Crowfeather that binds her to WindClan. It's the life and connections she COULD have.

WindClan cats are also quite religious next to other Clans, so I really do mean "sabbatical." I'm going to have Addersong die of old age shortly after they reconnect, so she's in Pickle's Garden talking to her new friend, choosing cats she's lost to pray to as patron spirits to give her the traits she feels she needs, and just recovering both physically from injury and spiritually from turmoil.

So all that to say; it works well that by the time she gets back, Breezepelt has joined The Kin. He was one of the first to join when he started calling for members anyway, so having Night be gone for about two or three weeks sounds appropriate.

[venelona-turtle-den]

may i present to you...

✨COUNTDOWN AU⌚✨

... an AU where Splinter did not take the lil' turtle boys with him, and so Draxum raised them to be his perfect human-killing machines.

▶ Draxum did not bother to give them names and calles them by numbers.

▶ Huginn and Muninn are the glorified babysitters.

▶ Humans are the enemy.

‼ This is Apritello AU/story. If you dislike this fact, you are welcome to block the tag and move on ‼

💖Raphael

▶ Number One

▶ Assigned leader by Draxum

▶ With the lack of a proper parental figure he is more of a dad of the group than older brother. Given that, he is perpetually stressed.

💜 Donatello

▶ Number Two

▶ Has a secret human friend since childhood. Nothing wrong with this, unless you are a mutant who is being taught to one day wipe out all of the humanity :)

▶ Was discouraged from pursuing technology for the longest time and has to use his mystical weapon

▶ POV of the story 💜

💙 Leonardo

▶ Number Three

▶ Mr Teen Angst™

▶ Rebellious lil' shit who actively dislikes the whole plan of Draxum's, and, with such, a big headache for Raph especially

🧡 Michelangelo

▶ Number Four

▶ Most attached to papa Draxum

▶ Favourite of the gargoyles, too

▶ Just wants dad's love...

I'll both draw and write for this thing, so stay tuned for when I drop chapter 1 💖✨

[muscular-lettuce]

idgaf good dad marvin be upon ye also!! ermm silly mlp au hi falsettos fandom its been a while also design explanations in tags ^_^

[apradonite]

the squeakquel to nishikitty: meowjima