#source: Finding Mr. Christmas

[lifeisstrange-incorrectquotes]

"Now, if you don't recognize me… leave."

— Victoria, introducing herself

[comatosebunny09]

merry christmas, mr. sylus [ fin ]

— summary: the one where you nearly tear your hair out, trying to find the perfect christmas gift for your office crush. — cw: fluff, romance, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, reader is not mc, ceo verse, modern au, aged-up characters, mutual pining, misunderstanding trope, mild language, silliness, angst — notes: the finale for this. edit: i lied. this is the finale for this series. thank you for reading! — now playing: swan serenade - piano house

You spend the remainder of the party avoiding your boss like the plague. But running into him is inevitable. You work directly for the man, after all.

As the staff trickles out, taking with them their drunken merriment, you’re left to pick up the pieces of your wounded heart and the party’s aftermath. 

You shove Solo cups and decorative paper plates into a trash bin. Snatch off tablecloths and roll the karaoke machine into the broom closet. Wipe off tables, tear down garland. You do everything you can to stay busy, your self-loathing an ever-present rain cloud hanging overhead.

What were you expecting? For Mr. Sylus to fall to his knees for you? For him to sever whatever bond he has with Ms. Hunter for you? You snort at yourself as a wet film of heat slides over your eyes, impairing your vision. You feel ridiculous. Sick to your stomach. 

The trash bin slips from your fingers, thudding dully on the carpeted floor. In an attempt to collect yourself, you prop your hands on the edge of a table, releasing a shaky sigh. You blink away the new commination of tears. You’d been doing good so far, having given yourself a lengthy pep-talk in the bathroom earlier. Something to get you through what remained of the night without wearing your anguish on your sleeves.

So what if he doesn’t view you in the same light as you view him? This isn’t the first time you’ve faced rejection, and it most certainly won’t be the last. It doesn’t make this iteration hurt any less. You’re his secretary, for God’s sake. Not a friend nor a potential love interest. The quips and laughter you exchange daily are nothing more than him being polite. The model gentleman, maintaining the peace between himself and the person responsible for organizing his life. 

You are so swept up in the turmoil of your mind that you hardly register your name being called. Someone beckons to you again, this time more assertive, though not scolding. You whip your head around to the source of the sound, homing in on a familiar shock of white. 

Tamping down the emotions swelling in your chest, you straighten, fixing your sweater, and a superficial smile takes up residence on your face.

“Yes, sir?”

He studies you for a beat from the slab of space permitted by his half-opened door, long fingers wrapped around the oakwood like spindly spider limbs. He gives you a once over, his brows slightly wrinkled. His lips quiver, gaze pensive like he wants to say something. Something other than what next comes out. 

“Would you mind assisting me with something?” he asks, his tone deceptively impassive. 

Your stomach lurches, the feeling akin to cresting over the slope of a roller coaster. You swallow, pushing your disappointment to the back burner. What did you expect him to say? Sorry? Like he even knows you’re upset. Like he knows why you’re upset. 

Like he cares. 

You nod curtly, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans. “Of course, sir.”

You move to your desk, your nerves exploding like solar flares beneath your skin while Sylus slinks back into his office. He promptly reappears, thrusting a thick stack of envelopes of varying sizes and colors towards you. Your vision blurs and adjusts as you glance between him and the envelopes.

“Christmas cards,” he answers flatly with a shrug. “I could use some help opening and drafting up responses to them all.” 

“Oh.” Try to sound more disappointed, why don’t you? 

Your fingers graze the clutch of his hand when you reach for the cards. And the worn, warm glide of his skin beneath your fingertips makes you stiffen. You wonder what it would feel like to purposely hold his hand. To commit the feel of his palm to memory. But you banish such thoughts, bowing your head and ducking away.

“Sorry,” you pinch out, moving to the chaise sofa against the wall by his office door. 

He’s wordless as he plops down beside you, releasing a weighted sigh. He drapes his arm along the back of the seat. You try vainly to ignore his slender fingers near your shoulder, drumming against the polished leather. 

You lapse into a rigid silence, your shoulders and jaw set. You find your resolve trickling away, the warmth he exudes beside you making you feel dizzy and shameless. He even has the audacity to smell good, that unmistakable mixture of birch wood, pressed clothing, and his natural musk, conspiring together to overhaul your senses. 

You wonder if he would be offended if you just… leaned a little this way and—forget it. The bubbly’s getting to you. You’re not testing your luck tonight. You worked your ass off to secure this job, enduring tireless screenings and background checks. Worked even harder to gain his trust. No sense in allowing your feelings to compromise your position. 

Besides, you know where you stand with him. Or don’t stand. The spectacle before with the darling Ms. Hunter was all the confirmation you needed. The words you never stood a chance resound in your head like a struck gong. You scoff, tearing into a crimson envelope, dispelling the cacophony in your head. 

“This one is from Mrs. Carter over in HR,” you say, waving the card around. You don your usual playful mask, praying your hurt doesn’t show through the fissures. He acknowledges you with a gruff sound, immersed in a card of his own. You take that as your cue to continue.

Feigning nonchalance, you flip the card open. You clear your throat, repositioning yourself on the sticky, squeaky sofa, crossing your legs, and leaning towards the opposite chair arm. You rattle off the card’s contents aloud. A generic greeting, hollow praise, a bidding for a successful new year. 

“Send her a gift card,” he answers dismissively. You scoff, tucking the card between your thigh and the chair’s arm. Is it just you, or is he being unbearably cold? You’re the one with the wounded pride here.

You occupy yourself with another letter, trying to quell the new swell of emotions burbling in your chest. You’ve reread the same line repeatedly, the cursive scrawl embedded into the cardstock blurring and bending. It’s exceedingly difficult to focus with him so close. And you find yourself stealing little glimpses of him in your peripheral.

He looks even better beneath the incandescent lights like this, like a Roman sculpture bred from patient hands. His cheeks are mottled red, probably from throwing back one too many glasses of champagne. Delicate, alabaster strands fall from their usual coiffure, sweeping over set brows and hollow cheeks. Dark lashes dust over warm ivory skin, scarlet irises dancing beneath as he reads over another Christmas card. You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows. Find yourself, too, swallowing against the dry, scratchy feeling in your throat.

You tug in the neckline of your sweater. It’s itchy and thick, and the heater’s turned up in the building to combat the cold outside. You’re uncomfortable because of the temperature and not because your boss is so unbearably close.

With a sigh, you peel yourself from the lounge. You venture to your desk in search of a letter opener. If you’re going to spend the rest of your night working, you might as well make the task a little less daunting. Rifling through your drawers, you happen upon the biggest one. And your breath catches, grip white-knuckled on the brass knob when you catch sight of it. Inside lies your present—his present—the intricate foil wrapping gleaming condescendingly.

Something pulls in your chest. Your hand shakes. Your lips pull into a taut line, embarrassment spuming like a hot geyser into your face. You’re about to slam the drawer shut, but a streak of warm skin stains your peripheral vision. And as horror descends onto your features, he snatches up the contents of your drawer faster than you can process things. 

“What’s this now?” your boss asks, intrigue mixed with amusement hanging in the boughs of his voice. 

Wide-eyed and mortified, you look at him. Your flight or fight instincts kick in, pushing you towards the latter. He dons a wolfish grin as you swipe at the box in his hand, and he holds it just out of reach. Damn him for being so absurdly tall!

“Sir!” you clip, swiping at the gift like an enraged feline. He doesn’t relent, instead spurred by your reaction, and the contents of the box shift about as he continues his childish game of keep away. Your chest slides against him each time you strain on tippy-toe. And you try to ignore how pleasant he feels, warm and hard-bodied against you.

Spinning out of reach, your boss chuckles at your expense. He seems to enjoy this, watching you hop after him like a field mouse, trying vainly to swipe the object from his hand. 

“You think I didn’t notice you fretting over this all night?” he teases once you’ve stopped—at least for now—your cheeks puffing out, nostrils flaring. 

“Mr. Sylus, I—”

“And you weren’t even going to give it to me.” He clicks his tongue, feigning hurt. “What have I done to warrant such cruelty?”

Reality slowly seeps in. He’s one step closer to opening your gift and discovering how much of a useless spazz you are. Switching tactics, you hold out a placating hand, stepping towards him like he’s holding a charged explosive.

“Sir, I need that back!”

His mouth forms a pensive line as his gaze shifts between you and the box clutched in his fingers. “Why? It’s mine, isn’t it? It has my name on it.” He squints at the meticulous scrawl of your penmanship, and when you make a surprise lunge toward the box when you think he’s distracted, he swings his arm out of reach, baiting you like a bull.

He laughs low, a mirthful crease to his eyes. You’d take time to appreciate it if you weren’t fighting for your life. 

“What’s got you so worked up? What could possibly be in here that you’re willing to bite my head off to get it back?”

You swallow thickly, chest heaving as you watch Sylus drop onto your leather rolling chair, cross-legged and smiling like the cat who caught the canary. He shakes the box near his ear, its contents rattling about. 

“Sir, don’t.” But it’s too late. The sound of paper ripping is jarring in the stillness of your office space. 

You’re stiff as stone, mouth hinged open, terror screwing up your features. Eventually, you concede to your fate, hands falling listlessly at your sides whilst your boss uncovers what lurks beneath the pretty foil paper you’d spent so much time wrapping his present in. You pour yourself onto the chaise lounge, your shoulders touching your ears, feeling like a child waiting with their parents at the principal’s office. You sneak little glances at his hands, each tear making you wince like a scrape against your heart.

Sylus quirks a quizzical brow at you, looking between the matte grey box he uncovered in his hand and you. You don’t contest him, too busy trying to remember how to breathe. He takes your cue, slowly peeling the lid off the box. He reaches inside to procure yet another box, slightly smaller than the one it’s nested in, neatly wrapped in paper similar to what he just tore off. 

Giving you a perturbed look, Sylus repeats the previous process. And again, he’s faced with matte gray. He carries on like this, peeling back a lid, finding another box nested inside, and tearing through wrapping paper for another three iterations.

“How long does this go on?” he prods, faced with another box. “And how many trees did you kill to pull this off?”

You press the tips of your index fingers together, pursing your lips as you look elsewhere. “You’re almost there.” You’re half-grateful he decided to be shit about it. You don’t feel as bad for nesting his gift away like matryoshka dolls. He deserves to feel the same distress he subjected you to mere minutes ago.

Vexation rolls off him in waves when he reaches yet another box, and he fixes you with a look that bodes danger. There aren’t too many times you’ve witnessed him this annoyed. He’s normally like this when his afternoon nap is interrupted by anyone but you or he’s dealing with a particularly ornery client. 

You stand from the couch with a nervous titter in your throat, snatching up the discarded red bow and ribbons you adorned his gift with and tacking it onto the crown of your head. You do a little jig, something to dispel the tension, wordlessly cheering him on. 

Sylus rolls his eyes with a resigned sigh. A ghostly smile rounds his lips thereafter, and you could swear you see something like fondness shining in his eyes at your antics. It disappears as quickly as it came, replaced by a determined pinch between his brows. 

You continue swaying your hips from side to side and pumping your fists in the air, the bow's ribbons falling comically over your eyes and water-falling off your shoulders. 

Finally, finally, Sylus exposes a matte, black box that’s the size of his palm. Wrapping paper lies like carnage at his feet, bent-up cardboard boxes piled atop your desk. You sigh in relief, though it’s short-lived, as he opens the final barrier between him and his gift.

He studies the contents of this new box, eerily quiet. You swallow as he reaches inside, producing something garish and pink from within. “What the hell is this?” he queries, waving the plastic novelty revolver around.  

You snort, the flatness of his tone catching you off guard. “A gun,” you answer as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Sylus scoffs. “Clearly. But what is it for?”

Flourishing your arms, you plaster on a grin. “For you to put me down in case you no longer find any use for me!”

Looking between the pink revolver and you, he crooks his finger around the trigger, huffing a disbelieving laugh. “You want me to ‘Old Yeller’ you?”   

“If that’s what it comes down to.” And what comedic timing he has, pulling the trigger, a banner with Bang printed in bright Comic Sans popping out, complimented by a flurry of rainbow paper confetti.

Silence lapses between you as the confetti flutters to the floor. You caution a look at your boss, and he shakes his head, his lips crooked into a smirk, though the knit of his brows reveals his disappointment. 

“You can also use it during your meetings when someone pisses you off,” you warily add, shifting your weight between your feet. He doesn’t honor you with a response, instead setting the revolver on your desk with a definitive clack. He studies something in the distance, seemingly ignoring you.

If you weren’t already feeling silly before, you most certainly do now. You figured something unconventional would suit your boss. Something to define your work relationship, the pair of you often trading morbid and esoteric jokes to make the day's hustle a little less daunting. It seemed like a good idea when it caught your eye in the mall. In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t a good buy after all. Especially when compared to Ms. Hunter's gift, and the recollection makes something cold wash over your innards.

You press the tips of your index fingers together, gaze cast on the floor. You’ve screwed up, and you’ll probably lose your job over this. Either that or your working relationship will turn to shit. You’d honestly rather be relieved of your position when considering the latter option. Turning to leave, to pick up the jagged shards of your pride and finish tidying up, you gasp when you feel a warm presence behind you, the fine hairs littering your body standing at attention. 

You turn to acknowledge him, wincing away, expecting to be struck. Mr. Sylus has never raised a hand at you before, only lightly flicking your forehead or tapping your nose when he felt playful that day. You realize how ridiculous you must look and sound, but you steel yourself against the worst possible outcome regardless.

A hit never comes. You’re instead greeted with the hard press of a body against yours. With arms loosely winding about your middle and a chin finding the crook of your shoulder. His scent is overwhelming. The heat he exudes is dizzying, wit-pilfering. 

Wide-eyed, with your hands opening and closing awkwardly at your sides, you stiffen as you grapple with the notion that your boss is hugging you. Mr. Sylus. Hugging you. No matter how many times you turn the words over in your mind, you can’t process them. You didn’t even know he was capable of such an act.

“Thank you,” he intones, his voice a pleasant vibration in your body. He rubs over the notches of your spine, nuzzling into you further like you’re his security blanket. Once your common sense returns, an affectionate smile touches your lips. 

You clumsily return his hug, unsure of the proper conduct in this situation. But you throw caution to the wind, full-on embracing him, your eyes twinkling with tears. “Of course, sir,” you murmur, swallowing against the swell of emotions in your throat.

The hug ends much too soon for your liking. Sylus peels away, his hands clasping your arms. You tilt your head quizzically as he studies you, the bow's ribbons brushing off your shoulder. You must be quite the doe-eyed sight. His eyes darken as his gaze falls to your lips, his own mouth slightly parting. He looks as if he’s wrestling with something in his mind. Turning it over, at war with himself. He seems to win whatever battle is taking place behind his eyes, for he slowly pans in, his lashes bowing.

And maybe you’re swept up in the moment, too, his hug having buried your defenses in the sand. You don’t fight him, only awkwardly shifting when your lips meet before relaxing beneath the slight chap of his lips. 

Beneath the ethereal twinkle of the fairy lights you hadn’t yet snatched down, through the stillness of the investment firm’s tenth floor, and with your pulse thundering in your throat, Mr. Sylus kisses you. A full press of lips, his grip on your arms tightening the barest as if to keep you rooted to the spot. Not that you would run, feeling weightless, like navigating a dream. 

As quickly as reality floats onto your shoulders like a wispy shawl, he pulls back, wild-eyed and panting. And it’s as if you’re the greatest sin he was never meant to indulge in. He releases you before tearing a shaky hand through his tresses, pushing out a weighted exhale. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stepping away from you before you can think, each hurried thump of his loafers across the floor like a strike to your racing heart.

You strain your ears for every bit of sound until the elevator around the corner pings, and you hear him step inside, the doors swishing shut. And you’re left to the swell of static and impenetrable silence, staring after the faint afterimage left by his tall visage. 

You turn towards the ceiling high-window, dazed. Touch your lips with shaky fingers, the sensitive skin still tingling with the remnants of your kiss. Flecks of white streak the violet canvas beyond the window, the first snowfall fluttering in gossamer patterns towards the ground. 

You got what you wanted. What you’d maybe consider the greatest Christmas gift you've ever received. But as a bitter smile tugs at your lips, your eyesight glossing over with a warm film, and you clutch your chest, your thoughts seep in.

Why does it feel like it’s not what he wanted? 

[crownofgildedlilies]

late nights

pairing: aizawa x reader summary: Shouta really ought to expel whoever told Eri that Santa comes every night in December... wc: 3.7k event masterlist

Rarely did you ever see Shouta Aizawa after dark.

It wasn’t that he was an extrovert to begin with, you knew, but somehow it became even harder for you or Hizashi Yamada to drag your friend out to pretend to be social after he took on the caretaker role of little Eri. You were pretty sure it wasn’t healthy for someone to spend such little time with who he probably considered his best and only friends, or maybe he was drowning in responsibilities attached to teaching Class A and training Eri. 

You were honestly a little worried about him.

Or maybe you were just overly sensitive to the number of times you saw Shouta in a day because of your embarrassingly immense feelings for your fellow UA teacher.

Nights were a struggle. They were long, and cold, and lonely—they let your mind wander to unimportant things, like whether or not Shouta was joining everyone for dinner the following night to celebrate Yamada’s successful launch of a school-wide news broadcast—and you had tried every trick in the book to calm your mind enough to finally fall asleep. 

The teacher’s dormitories at UA were more like individual apartment units, with a common area furnished with couches, a television, and several computers for when you couldn’t separate yourself from your work. 

Deciding that if you were going to be awake, you might as well be productive, you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and shuffled out of your unit and into the common area. Once in the hallway, you heard the faint sounds of a television playing softly in the otherwise silent night. 

Must be Vlad, you reasoned as your slippered feet padded towards the couches. He had a similar habit to you of staying up far later than he should, and the blinking 12:01 on your alarm clock you checked before retreating from bed told you that he was likely to be the only one you were going to run into. 

“Santa?” A tired, tiny voice called out through the darkness.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness and minimal light coming from the television—an old Christmas special you remember watching a few times as a child—you spotted the source of the voice. Small head peeking out from over the back of the couch, little Eri was staring at you with wide eyes. 

“I told you,” A gruff voice you’d recognize anywhere replied to the small girl before you had finished processing what you were looking at. “Santa comes one night in December. The twenty-fourth.”

Shouta.

“Not true!” Eri, as sweet a child as she was, was still only a child. Which meant she grew more whiny the more tired she got. And from the exasperated sigh Shouta let out, you realized both of them were probably very tired.

“Sorry, honey,” You cooed, moving closer towards the couch and trying to avoid looking at Shouta, who dropped his head back against the cushions at the sound of your voice. “But Mr. Aizawa is right. Santa only comes once a month.”

“But Deku’s friend said—!”

“And when I find out which of Midoriya’s friends told you Santa comes every night, I’ll have one less student on my roster.” As you rounded the couch to stand in front, you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the stressed out look on Shouta’s face, the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers. 

“Stop it.” The command left you in a snort, and you settled gently onto the couch opposite Eri while still wrapped in your blanket. You’d known Shouta long enough to know he was just talking tough, but he’d never expel a student for anything less than their own good. “You adore those kids.”

“This is the fourth night in a row she has refused to sleep because she’s been so excited.” His voice was even as he finally turned to face you overtop Eri’s head, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. At least, more pronounced than usual. “Trust me, I don’t adore them that much.”

You snorted a laugh, and Eri giggled, though you were certain that she didn’t know what was so funny.

“Right, well, grumpy—” You sent a playfully teasing look to Shouta in an attempt to make the young girl sitting between the two of you smile. A personal goal of yours from the moment you had met her. “Eri is probably just overtired at this point. C’mere, sweet girl.”

Opening your arms, you gestured for her to climb into your lap. In the months she had been at UA, you’d spent a considerable amount of time watching over her when Shouta had classes or other business he couldn’t bring a child too, which meant you had earned her trust—something you very much valued. 

Eri let out a yawn as she settled into your arms, sitting sideways in your lap and resting her head against your chest. You could feel Shouta’s eyes watching your every movement, but you pushed aside the threat of a blush and focused on slowly rocking her from side to side. 

“Turn it off, will you?” You hummed quietly, nodding your head in the direction of the television still playing the holiday movie. When Aizawa made no move to reach for the remote, you lifted your gaze from Eri’s face to see what was holding his attention and found that he was already watching you. “Shouta?”

“Right,” He snapped out of his trance, leaning forward to snatch the remote off of the coffee table and turn the television off without further distraction. 

Silence finally settled over the room, and it only took a few minutes longer for Eri to finally fall asleep in your arms. Even still, you waited an extra moment before nodding to Shouta that you had accomplished his goal of getting her to rest despite her excitement. 

“Thank you,” He breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face in exhaustion. You offered him a smile and tried to think about anything other than how warm your face felt in the dim room. “I know I shouldn’t indulge her in staying up so late, but after everything she’s been through…”

“I get what you mean,” You murmured, and with the hand that wasn’t supporting Eri’s back, you reached out and squeezed his arm. “I did a lot of the paperwork regarding Overhaul, remember?”

You had been sick to your stomach for weeks after you found out just what the young yakuza head had put the poor girl through, and you hadn’t even been part of the team that took part in the raid to rescue her. You understood what Shouta meant when he said he couldn’t bear to take the excitement she felt away.

Even if it meant she was staying up until midnight every day in December, falsely waiting for a Santa Claus that would only come once a year. 

“I should get her to bed, finally.” Shouta stood from his end of the couch, and you carefully sat up taller to transfer the slumbering girl from your arms to his. 

“Next time you can’t get her to sleep,” You start in a soft voice so as not to wake Eri, and Shouta pauses in his retreat to his rooms to turn and look at you. It takes a moment to remember what you planned to say, your focus briefly knocked off kilter by the full force of his attention. “Knock on my door so I can help.”

“Are you sure?” There was an edge of hesitation in his voice, though you could tell he didn’t like the idea of bothering you so late at night. But he was too rational to think he could do it all himself, especially with all the responsibilities he took on. 

“Of course,” Smiling as bright as you could, you tried to assure him that you were fine with possibly being woken up at midnight. But if it was to help Eri, help him, then you would suffer a few late nights. Despite his initial reluctance, you watched more of the fight leave him in the subtle sag of his shoulders. “I wouldn’t have offered it if I hadn’t meant it.”

“Alright,” He agreed, adjusting Eri in her arms so that her head laid more comfortably on his shoulder. “Goodnight, then.”

“Night, Shouta.”

And if your eyes followed his retreating figure longer than what was probably polite, it was no one’s business but your own.

Despite your worrying the previous night, Shouta had shown up to Mic’s celebration dinner the following day. 

Eri had been in tow, though she had been the one tugging Shouta into the restaurant by the hand, excitedly cheering that she wanted to sit between you and Zawa. You had readily accepted Eri’s request to sit beside you, and spent the dinner fluidly entertaining the young girl and holding conversations with your friends around the table. 

And maybe it was your imagination, but you could have sworn you felt Shouta’s attention falling to the side of your face on more than one occasion in the evening. 

“You look like a little family!” Mic teased towards the end of the night, clearly having over indulged in the wine on the table. 

“You look like you’re going to need a cab home,” You had fired back, sipping the water in an attempt to cover the heat threatening to warm your face. Your comment distracted the table, earning you laughter and good natured jeers towards Mic, but Shouta remained quiet. 

And you knew you weren’t making things up when he seemed determined to look anywhere but you for the remainder of the night.

You were still throwing a pity party for yourself hours later, back on campus and in the safety of your assigned room. It was nearing midnight, your clock told you, but your eyes were far from heavy and your mind was still running wild with ideas for the next day. 

Then came the knock. 

Two knocks. 

You hated how quickly you grinned, knowing what those two knocks meant. You hadn’t expected him to use the deal you had created so soon, but you weren’t going to back out of it as you padded softly through your apartment towards the door. 

Swinging it open, you were wholly unsurprised to see a wide awake Eri cradled in Shouta’s arms, his face darkened with exhaustion. 

“Happy Christmas!” Eri cheered once she saw you, and despite the late hour and her refusal to sleep on time, you couldn’t help but smile at her excitement. So unfamiliar for her. 

“Merry Christmas, and you should be asleep by now.” You gave her a pointed look, though any reprimanding you attempted was far overshadowed by the smile on your face. Shifting your attention to Shouta, you gave yourself a moment to take in his appearance on your doorstep. Dark hair disheveled from trying to put Eri to bed, tired eyes laden with exhaustion to the point that you worried he might pass out standing. “You should be asleep, too.”

“She’s refusing, again.” He explained, shifting his attention from you briefly to glare playfully, lovingly, at Eri. The sight made your chest warm, and your smile softened from one of amusement into one of adoration. “I wouldn’t ask, but I have training with Shinsou early in the morning, and I can’t stay up with her.” 

“You don’t need to give me an explanation, Shou,” You rolled your eyes with a tease, reaching out to take Eri from him. She came easily, and though she clearly was forcing herself to stay awake, you could tell by the way her head fell to your shoulder that she only needed some gentle urging and she’d fall asleep. 

You looked back to Shouta, expecting him to be preparing to leave with Eri settled in your arms, but you found him looking at you instead. 

Eyes slightly wide, hands clenched in fists at his sides, mouth pressed into a firm line. The expression could be misconstrued for annoyance, but you knew Shouta better than that. He was watching you, holding Eri, with an expression that was entirely too familiar.

You could have sworn he was looking at you the same way you usually looked at him. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Shouta, seeming to regain his focus again, cleared his throat and dropped his stare from you. “Thank you for this.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” You reminded him, but he only pinned you with a final look, like he was trying to chastise you for not accepting his gratitude the same way he tried chastising Eri. 

Not that it really worked on either of you. You both knew how much of a softie he really was. 

Eri shifting around in your arms brought you back to reality, and with a final glance at Shouta’s retreating figure, you closed your apartment door behind you. With a pointed look, you frowned at the young girl.

“Time for bed. Santa isn’t coming tonight.” You reminded her, and she sighed like she knew her games would only work on Shouta—not you. Like the previous night, you settled on the couch with her in your arms, rocking side to side gently. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Her tiny, tired voice replied, and though you considered that it might only be a distraction to stay up a bit later, you relented. 

“Only if I can ask you one after.” 

“Why did Zawa’s face get all red when he said I was coming here?” 

“I’m not sure,” You fight the flush threatening to climb up your own neck at her innocent words. You didn’t think that Shouta had it in him to blush, but hearing that he so obviously did—to the point where Eri noticed—was hard to comprehend. You needed to change the topic. “My turn. Which of Deku’s friends told you about Santa coming each night?”

“The lightning one.” She replied through a yawn, rubbing at her eyes. 

Denki Kaminari. 

“Ah,” Your lips curved up into a grin. If you had guessed, you probably would have thought it was him. “For his sake, don’t tell Mr. Aizawa that.”

“Okay.” Eri smiled sleepily before snuggling into your shoulder. You knew you needed to get her into the spare bed she was taking over for the evening, but you were enjoying her sweet company. “I like spending time with you. And Mr. Mic told Zawa he’s not as grumpy when you’re around. I think so too.”

Suddenly, any attempt you were making to not freak out over what the sweet girl was saying became nearly impossible. You just hoped she wouldn’t go back to Shouta and tell him how red your face had gotten.

“I like spending time with you, too.” You decided on answering with, hoping that it was enough to settle her curiosity.

You’d have to yell at Yamada for putting ideas in Eri’s head later. 

And Denki Kaminari, too. 

After a week of Eri staying up far too late, you and Shouta decided you needed to put a stop to it. The sweet girl had been so tired even Mirio had mentioned that she seemed grumpy and out of character. Eri needed to go to sleep at a reasonable time and in her own bed. 

Which brought you to your current predicament—trying to convince yourself that your heart wasn’t going to beat out of your chest as you sat on the edge of Eri’s bed and twisted to face her, Shouta standing directly behind you. 

Mic had teased you and Shouta about playing house on more than one occasion. If he had seen you then, both tucking Eri into bed, you wouldn’t be able to convince him that you weren’t. 

“Santa only visits good girls who go to bed on time. Do you want me to tell him you haven’t been listening?” Shouta tries to use ration against Eri, and if it weren’t for the look of horror on the young girl’s face, you would have laughed. Instead, you jammed your elbow back and into the muscle of his thigh in reprimand.

“I’ll be good! I’ll go to sleep!” Eri hurries to clamber under the covers, and while she’s distracted, you shoot a glare over your shoulder at Shouta. 

You nearly do a double take when you find him grinning down at you, arms crossed and clearly amused at the situation. 

“Remember what we talked about, Eri.” You try to hide your grin at Shouta’s teasing by turning back to the child you’re supposed to be tucking into bed. Adorably, she has the covers pulled up to her nose and her eyes screwed shut so tight her face is scrunched up. “Santa comes once a year, and only when you’re asleep.”

She keeps her eyes shut, and nods stiffly. 

“Good girl,” Shouta hums, clearly satisfied that she isn’t refusing to even get in bed like she had for the entire month so far. “Now, sleep.”

She nods again, and you press a palm over your mouth to keep from laughing. You stand as gently as you can before slipping out of the room silently. 

Suddenly, you’re standing in front of Shouta as he closes the door soundlessly. You’re too close, or maybe not close enough, in the cramped hallway with only a few inches separating you. It’s a little exhilarating, having to tilt your head to look up at him while he studies you just as closely. 

You think, distantly, that you’d like to kiss him. 

“Stay for a drink?” He murmurs, and you’re not sure if it’s to keep Eri from overhearing or to not burst the quiet bubble surrounding the two of you, but you’re positive that you don’t care either way as long as he keeps looking at you as intensely as he currently was. 

“Yeah, okay.” You agree, hating how you sound a little breathless. 

It’s not your first time being alone with Shouta, but in all the years you’ve known him, it’s never felt so intimate before. Maybe it was because it was the evening, or that you had worked as a team to tuck Eri into bed, but something had shifted between the two of you.

Something had been shifting. 

You followed him into the kitchen where you climbed onto one of the stools sitting at the island counter. It was silent as he opened the fridge to pull out two beers, and it was still silent as he opened one of the cans and handed it to you. 

“Thank you for this.” His words carried through the kitchen as he settled onto the stool beside you, and you knew he meant more than just staying for the drinks. 

You twisted on the stool to face him, your knees pressing into his thigh and head propped on your fist. He didn’t turn to face you, but you could tell he felt the weight of your stare in the way he held his can between his hands, how he pushed his thigh back against your knees in both acknowledgement and acceptance of their presence. 

“You take care of so many, Shouta. Who takes care of you?”

You hadn’t meant to ask that question. Not really. But it had always been on your mind. He gave his all to those around him; Yamada, his students, Eri. 

He took care of you, too. Offering to stay late to help you grade or plan, helping brainstorm ways to push your students to the absolute maximum of what they were capable of. 

“I guess I’ve never thought about that.” He answered over a sip of his beer, and the honesty in his voice nearly cracked your heart open. 

You wanted to take care of him.

“Shouta,” The call of his name finally earned you the prize of his attention, and you didn’t hesitate as you leaned forward to press your lips against his gently. 

At first, it was only a desperate need for him to know how much you cared for him that had you acting. Kissing him was the only logical conclusion to those feelings, a final attempt to show him how much he meant to you without tripping over the words you had never been able to force out. But when you felt Shouta kiss you back? When you felt the fervent press of his lips just as urgent against yours?

His hand, cold from the can he had been clutching so carefully a second before, curved to the side of your neck with his thumb notching just under the side of your jaw. A possessive touch, and one you absolutely could get used to. Leaning even further into him, you set a hand on his leg to balance yourself between the two stools. 

But somewhere between Shouta pulling you even closer by the hand on your neck and his tongue swiping across your bottom lip, you managed to hear tiny, sock-clad feet pad into the room. 

“I thought I heard bells!” 

You shot away from Shouta like he electrocuted you, one hand shoving at his chest to separate the both of you despite the act being seemingly impossible only seconds before. Your chest rose and fell quickly, out of breath from both the shock of seeing Eri standing in the kitchen and what had just transpired with Shouta. 

“What did I say about getting out of bed?” Despite having been shoved from his stool, Shouta himself seemed relatively relaxed about the whole situation, and for the first time, you cursed his rational head. 

Except, in the dim lighting, you managed to spot the faint blush creeping up his neck. 

“No Santa!” Eri gasped, hands slapping over her mouth like she was in shock she had forgotten before she turned and ran back down the hallway towards her bedroom. 

Shouta shook his head in amusement, then turned towards you, a determined look in his eyes that almost made you shiver. 

“I’ll put her back down.” He promised. “Then we can talk.”

About the kiss. You flushed brightly just thinking about it, and you watched as the hint of a smile twitched in the corner of his lips. 

“I’d like that.” You murmured sincerely, and with a final glance to make sure you weren’t running off, he followed Eri down the hall at a much more relaxed pace. 

You pressed the tips of your fingers against your lips, still tingling even with Shouta in a different room. And for a moment, you considered that maybe Kaminari was right, after all. 

Maybe Santa came more than one night a year.

[chanranghaeys]

🥂 a tale of two lonely souls

pairing: idol!minghao x gn!bar owner!reader word count: 1.4k+ genre: fluff rating: pg tags: christmas fic, open ending, meet cute in a bar, yes it’s yet another slice of life from me, minghao is cocky as always but you’ll love it bc reader will make minghao realize he’s found his match at cockiness warnings: alcohol, drinking, mentions of multi-race parents, reader owns a bar in this setting

a/n: i’m so honored to be part of @camandemstudios’ A Very Seventeen Christmas Secret Santa event for this year and surprise @ylangelegy, i’m your secret santa! 🥳 bless u kae, here’s a little gift for you for making me feel so many things this year bc of your fics 🫶 merry christmas and happy holidays to y’all!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“All alone on Christmas Day?”

The hooded figure at the bar looked up from their phone. You notice their fingernails painted in shades and lines of black and glitter that glinted under the lights. When the figure pulled down their hood and face mask, you realize that the man looked startlingly familiar. You just couldn’t place from where…

“Maybe,” he replied. A slight smile graced his features, a welcome warmth from his initially cold aura.

“Well, that makes the two of us alone on Christmas.” The place was empty, save for two tables with a few customers—one large group, two duos, and this man on the bar counter.

It was a few hours before the end of Christmas Eve, and this recently opened Asian fusion bar had yet to welcome its throng of guests. In hindsight, maybe setting it up in a more secluded area of Itaewon wasn’t the best decision.

“If that's the case then maybe we’re not alone.” He gestures his finger between the two of you. You roll your eyes at the attempt to lighten the mood.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“Used to what?” He tilts his head curiously.

“Being alone.”

“Why not change it then?” He steeples his hands and rests his chin on them, his eyes studying yours as if trying to decipher a puzzle—as if he was used to analyzing people quietly.

It was unsettling…but you liked the challenge.

“Well, why don’t you change?” You counter back at him.

“Change what?”

“You being alone.”

He snickers. “Why don’t you get me something to drink first?”

“Alright, Mr. Bossy,” you say with a raised eyebrow and a matching smirk. “What are you having?”

“I heard you have Kweichow Maotai. That’s the only reason why I’m here.”

Interesting. He’s a man of taste. The way the Chinese syllables easily rolled off his tongue gave you further evidence of his identity—you just needed one more clue.

Without a word, you turn to face the wall of bottles to find the spirit you’re looking for. But before reaching for the iconic white-and-red bottle, you stop yourself.

“You know what, it’s Christmas.” You turn back to him with a smile. “I’ll get you something special.”

You return with another bottle of Maotai—but he instantly recognizes the difference from the one at the bar. His eyes widened the moment you came in holding the gold bottle tied with a red ribbon.

“No way you have that.” He marveled at the sight in front of him, his eyes filled with seeming reverence. “How—”

“That is a story for another time. But now, please enjoy. I’ll just charge you the regular Maotai rate, don’t worry.” You wink and hand him the small tulip glass, full to the brim.

“Just tell me that I’m not drinking a shot of illegally-sourced vintage Maotai.” There it is again—the analyzing look.

“If it were, then I’d be out of business. Can’t have that then, can we?”

“Of course not.” The man raised his glass to meet your own. “I can’t lose my favorite Maotai supplier in Korea now that I’ve found you.” The light brought the ring on his pinky finger to your attention. Suspicion confirmed.

You didn't reply, but opted to down the contents of the small glass—potent but familiar. He followed suit. You hoped that the warmth that bloomed in your mouth and your chest didn’t manifest itself too much on your cheeks. You could blame it on your Asian flush anyway because you had to give it to him—he was surprisingly smooth with his words.

“This is the rare moment I get to be alone,” he said after a beat. “Believe me, I wish I had more of it, but my parents are arriving here tomorrow from China. So no, I will not be as alone as you think.”

It took you a moment to realize he was continuing the conversation from earlier. “That’s nice. Why are you here in Korea then, if you’re from China?”

“Who said I was from there?”

“Well, you have parents coming from there.”

“Who’s to say that they aren’t coming home here?”

“The way you said Kweichow Maotai was too smooth.”

He shrugged deliberately. “I know Chinese.”

“I know Chinese, too. You can’t fool me.” You said this in perfectly placed Mandarin. The look on his face was priceless as he was rendered speechless.

“I cannot believe you managed to surprise me twice in one night,” he replied in the same tongue.

You smirked and poured another tulip glass for the both of you. “Glad to know that I managed to surprise a K-pop idol tonight. And in my bar, no less. Xu Minghao, correct?” You push the refilled glass and meet his ever-analytical eyes. It seemed like you knew how to play his game, after all.

The smile he returned was ethereal. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of tonight’s company?”

And that’s how you spent the remaining hours of Christmas Eve, with conversations as free-flowing as the Maotai and whiskey and bar chow. You learned that his parents’ flight was actually delayed—he was actually on his way to the airport—and he learned that your Chinese is courtesy of your father’s heritage and your Korean address from your mother.

You also ended up telling him the story about the vintage Maotai, which had him in stitches by the end of it. Thankfully, the bar had long been empty and your staff had all gone home.

“Why haven’t you left then?”

“You might’ve forgotten that I own this place.”

“And how does it not have more customers at this time?”

“It’ll pick up soon. I’m sure of it.”

Minghao pursed his lips in thought. “Give me your Maotai bottle. And a marker.”

“The vintage one?”

“No, the regular one over there!” You obliged to his requests, and he returned the liquor bottle with a freshly minted autograph from Seventeen’s The8.

Why didn’t you think of this earlier? It might be because the whole time you were talking, he didn’t even seem like an idol. He was just…a guy. A frustratingly charming and quick-witted guy.

“Merry Christmas to you and this wonderful place.” His examining gaze was long gone, replaced by eyes that disappeared whenever he smiled wide. “Thank you for…making me feel safe.”

“Merry Christmas, Minghao. Everything’s on the house. Consider it a Christmas gift.”

“Absolutely not.” He brandished his card and pushed it to you. “I will not rip off a starting business all because of celebrity status.”

“I didn’t say it was for your celebrity status.”

“Still.” He was insistent. He took your hand and placed his card in it. “Charge me as necessary.”

You were just as insistent, though. “No.”

“Fine. Then give me your phone.”

You did. And he input his personal number in it.

“I have to go now, but please message me. I mean it.”

You did. And the back-and-forth banter didn’t stop. Surprise remained an element in your dynamic, apparently, because the conversations seemed as natural as the days transitioning from one to another.

You didn’t catch when Minghao took photos of your place. But the moment he posted it on his Instagram, customers started coming in waves. This secluded corner in Itaewon has never had a lull day since Christmas.

New Year’s was no different. After the festivities and the celebrations, it was finally time to call it an early morning at 3 am. But not before you welcomed your last customer.

“Alone on New Year’s as well?” You hold back a smile when you find him standing at the door. The way your heart was beating was undeniable, and you knew you couldn’t hold that back.

Up until then, you didn’t know if you would ever see Minghao again beyond your messages. They became more occasional as time passed, but you knew enough from his stories that their schedules were not to be underestimated. Seeing him here now was—as expected from your dynamic—a surprise.

“No. I’m with my favorite Maotai supplier in Korea, how can I be alone?” He drew closer to the bar and to you as if you were reeling him in with an invisible string.

“I thought your parents brought you a bottle last Christmas?”

“It isn’t a vintage Maotai, though.”

“What makes you think I’m bringing it out tonight?”

“Because we’re starting the new year together. I’d say that’s a cause for celebration.” And bring it out you did. As if you could resist him.

Before you can open the bottle, he grabs it from your hands to pour out the drinks himself. As you two raise your glasses, he leans in close, and you see nothing but an openness in his eyes. Warmth. Hope. “Happy New Year to you, then.”

“To us. Happy New Year, Minghao.”

Your glasses clink and your Maotais are downed. It would seem that happiness is on the books for the year ahead.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

post a/n: pleaseeee i felt so pressured to write for u (looks at my inbox with full knowledge your request still lies there unwritten fskf) ((i promise i’ll get to them)) but i hope i did minghao justice. i was very much inspired by your own minghao fics skl hehe and tbh this is almost less of a drabble and more of a potentially longer fic but i held back bc gah. merry christmas again and i hope you liked my pamasko, kae! 🎄🎁✨

post post a/n/n: ALSO thank you to @tusswrites for quick beta-ing this one even tho she wasn't supposed to bc she's also in the same event and apparently you can't do that HAHA thank you still all love mwa

[arjudy224]

Visiting an old friend

Ghosts from her past chased her away from Gotham. Now, that she's back at home some things are trying to bubble to the surface.

Prequel: Death of a family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Teachers Pet

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

After the 36th topographic map of the day, my eyes begin to glaze over. Why do we still have physical maps from the 1800s? I swear if Gordan accidentally dropped a cigarette all of GCPD would burst into flames.

Interrupting my theory, a group of voices calls me over to Gordan's desk. The colorful group of characters causes me to raise an eyebrow. Whatever it is, it must be serious if the batfamily is involved.

"You knew that missing Wayne boy, didn't you?"

I nod at Gotham's gang of vigilantes. Nightwing winks at me. I flash him a smile.

"Which one? From what I've heard, Mr. Wayne adopts a new orphan every other day." I remark in a smug tone of voice.

Nightwing lets out a light laugh.

"Jason."

The years of learning to cope with this grief disappear. All of a sudden, I am 15 again wondering if the boy I liked would talk to me at school. I should have known he would come up eventually. My smile drops.

"Briefly... We went to school together." I elaborate carefully weighing out the correct reply.

"How would you describe the word "brief," Ms. L/N?" Detective Montoya asks sliding a few photos in my direction.

The photo on top was the last Christmas before he went "missing".

We had spent the entire day working on a book report when Alfred announced that he was making x-mas cookies. Stumbling to our feet, Jay's older brother, Dick, waited impatiently with a bag of flower. The two brothers had bickered over their gingerbread house stability until I lightly threw a tuff of flower at Dick. Before I knew it, Jason held my arms to my sides while Dick emptied a bag of flower on my head. Alfred had captured the photo as I put Jason in a headlock. All three of us beamed at the camera. My hair smelled like flower for weeks afterword, but it was worth it.

The next photo was my birthday. Jason and I had taken a road trip to Metropolis to see my family. The camera caught the blush on my cheeks as he kissed my forehead. The candles were still lit.

The piles of photos make me dizzy. Fall break. Our first winter. Mixed in the photos are handwritten notes.

Got a surprise for you this evening. Wear something nice ;)

-J

Meet me at the top of Wayne Tower

-J

A wave of emotions floods my senses. I lost all of that in the move to Metropolis. Gawking at the reclaimed memorabilia, I frown. Maybe it was stolen all along.

"Why do you ask Detective?" I ask analyzing the box.

"An anonymous source sent these a few days ago."

"Does this look familiar?" He questions dangling a rusted Robin pendant. A dried splotch of blood covered the typical silver exterior.

I stop breathing. That's not possible... It was in the casket. Taking the necklace in my hands, I gently pry the mechanisms open to reveal a familiar engraving: Next time you fly away, Don't forget about me at home. I love you, Robin.

"Where did you get that?" I whisper breathlessly.

The blood slowly drains from my face. The room starts moving. Years of pent of sorrow slam against the dam of my mind.

"Uhhh.. I told you it was..."

"No." I snap suddenly addressing the whole group, "Leave me out of this. Do not make me relive his death."

Turning on my heel, Nightwing stops me from leaving.

"I'm sorry Y/N. I know this must be painful for you, but...."

"But what?" I demand, "That is not my life anymore."

Batman finally speaks up.

"Because someone left these on your desk"

The room goes silent. What?

I narrow my eyes.

"Who?"

"We don't know yet. We wanted you to be aware. The past always finds a way back to us."

Batman's compassionate gaze fuels my rage. I don't want his empathy.

Finding a crowbar was the easy part. It was tracking down the Clown Prince of Crime that proved to be the challenge. Nightwing was already ten steps ahead due to his bat training. By the time I had stumbled into his operation, it was too late for either of us to back out.

The Joker's pale skin contrasts the blood dripping from his forehead beautifully. With each slam of the crowbar, I imagine I'm avenging him. What does Batman always say? Justice. Well, this is justice. The blood splatter clouds my vision, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm feeding into whatever plan he has. The wheezing laughter after every bludgeon causes goosebumps to form across my skin.

"Nightwing, you want to be a part of this?" I call out extending the bloody crowbar.

There is no response. I pause. Where the hell is he?

After one last kick, I search the hallways for the chatty superhero.

Right. Left. Right. Left. The winding hallways are a maze.

"Y/N!" Nightwing chokes out when I walk in.

Sprinting to the man, I examine his restraints. These are precise. Whoever did this must have been incredibly skilled... There is a sharp crack against my skull. Shooting pain erupts from the spot. I black out before I can register what happened.

Batman had found both of us bound and beaten a few days later. The Joker left us alive as a joke. The brand on my forearm tingles from the memory. Joker always thought it was funny to leave me alive with the physical reminder branded on my skin that I had ... failed.

Is this some kind of sick joke?

Glancing at the clock, I relish the end of my shift.

"Keep me updated on any developments." I say, "I've got something I need to do."

"And what's that?" Nightwing calls out.

Grabbing my purse, I pause before replying.

"Visit an old friend."

The full moon illuminates my path, but I could find my way even in complete darkness. It used to be second nature. Follow the main road. Sneak past the main gate that we used to climb over. Avoid the cameras. No need for Bruce to get paranoid. The lonely gravestone stares blankly at me. After all these years, the tears still come.

“Hey Jay,” I whimper with a pained smile, “It’s been a while.”

The familiar suffocation knocks me off my feet. I sit cross-legged at the base of the grave. The years of weathering have chipped away at the integrity of the stone, yet it stands tall. Vines have grown around the other graves in the area. Something tells me that a certain Butler may be why his grave is intact. A cluster of fallen leaves blanket his plot of land.

“I hate to say it Jay, but you look like shit,” I murmur dusting a few fallen leaves away from the plot. "I leave you for two years and all of a sudden you let yourself go. What would Alfred think?”

Running my fingers through the thick patches of grass, I ramble about the last couple years.

"I owe you 20 bucks." I start, "Nygma is terrible at poker."

The Iceberg Lounge hosts a variety of sins, but Eddie Nygma lost most of his blackmail money during a particularly bad game. For such an intelligent man, one would think he would be able to tame his boasts for the sake of the game. He couldn't.

A shadowy figure snaps a twig behind me. Turning my head, a familiar butler greets me with a smile.

“Ms. L/N, Welcome home.”

Alfred stands tall at my side. The last couple of years have deepened the already present lines on his face. However, his smile shows proof of his last few years of joy.

“Hey Alfie, did you miss me?” I question climbing to my feet.

“Of course,” he responds,” I had nobody left to eat my cookies.”

I laugh at that before hugging the older gentleman. Dick could eat a platter of baked goods within seconds, but I appreciate the thought.

"Right," I begin, "Because you wouldn't be able to find anybody to eat your deserts..."

"None as entertaining as you Ms. L/N."

I beam up at the man. Always so charming.

"I'll take it as a compliment."

The older man wraps his jacket around himself tight. A frigid breeze shakes the trees.

“Why don’t you stop by for some tea? It’s chilly out here alone.”

I smile wistfully glancing back to the manor.

“I’d love to…. Another time. I’ve got a crazy load at work right now."

"Well Ms. L/N, you are always welcome. You know that."

I roll a piece of grass in between my fingers.

"Besides," Alfred continues, "I get awfully lonely without my inside reporter of the Gotham social scene. "

Rolling my eyes, my smile reappears.

"You are such a gossip." I retort with a playful slap.

"Every day, I deal with costumed vigilantes who want to fight corruption in this city. I deserve to have a moment of petty gossip. Especially with one of my favorite girls."

__________________________________________________________

On a nearby roof, a shadow peers through the darkness. Maybe it was cruel of Jason to lead a trail back to his death. Nothing about the situation they were in seemed fair. But... Jason saw the way Dick looked at her when she first got back to Gotham. The word cruel doesn't explain how horrific it was to come back and find that everybody you loved replaced you. After years of working to make a name for himself, none of it mattered. Even in death, he didn't matter.

Tag list:

@nosyrobin, @jjsmeowthie,@soltik, luna-zendra-star,

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Christmas with you - Part 1

A/N: Happy Holidays everybody! Hope everyone’s bundled up and safe. A special shoutout to @ccbsrmsf1 for helping me throughout this story, her ideas inspired me to writing this. Thank you 💛

Pairing: Tony Stark x Single Mom! Reader

Warning: Fluff. Tony is adorable 🥹

Find Part 2 here

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

“Shit!”

Punching the bonnet of your car out of frustration, you huffed, watching your breath form a misty, tiny cloud of condensation before dissipating into the cold, night air.

“Shit.”

Your eyes went wide as you heard a quiet repetition of your cuss word followed by a giggle from inside your car.

“We don’t say that word, Noah. Only Mommy is allowed to say it.”

Your three year old made a face that made you smile despite you trying your hardest not to. He had a tendency to do that, make you smile, laugh and giggle at your lowest. He truly was the light of your life.

And right now, he was your only company considering you were officially stranded in the middle of nowhere with an old car that had finally given up. Your phone had run out of juice hours ago, thanks to your attempts at keeping a three year old entertained on a very long drive back home.

Now you had no way of calling for help. Lucky for you, the walk would take twenty minutes, but the down side? It was snowing. A lot.

Getting back in your car, you faced your son and explained him the situation as best as you could.

“We walk home, Mommy?”

“We have to, honey. We can come back for the car tomorrow. Come on, let’s get you bundled up.”

Zipping his jacket up, you secured it in place, putting on his little gloves and beanie as well. Luckily you had his stroller in the car, which took some convincing to get him into it but soon you were off, trudging through snow while pushing the stroller.

Noah hummed to himself the entire way back, making you laugh as he belted out rhyme after nursery rhyme.

Suddenly out of the blue you heard a crash sound as something heavy and metallic landed to your right. Figuring it was someone rather than some thing, you were contemplating going out there and offering help until your three year old began kicking his feet and screaming.

“It’s Iron Man! Mommy, look! It’s Iron Man!”

He was right.

Tony Stark or more famously, Iron Man had just crash landed about a hundred feet from you.

Lifting the face plate, Tony groaned, his body still in shock from impact. That is until he heard a tiny voice screaming his name, diverting his attention temporarily.

“Hi Iron Man!” Noah exclaimed, not bothered about the fact that he had caught his favourite superhero in a less than ideal situation.

With small bruises and cuts all over his face, Tony turned around to see Noah, managing a small wave back until he saw you. Pausing to take you in, he momentarily forgot where he was.

You were beautiful.

The kind of beauty that he wasn’t used to, not the skimpy-clothed, giggly women that usually clung to him in social situations. No. You seemed different.

“Huh?” He blinked, realising he had spent an unnatural amount of time staring at you, and that you had said something.

“I asked if you were alright, Mr. Stark.”

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he looked back to where his suit lay, now completely decimated, he would need a power source to boot it back to life.

“Yeah, uh. I’m—I’ve had a fall. And my suit is well, pretty much useless.” Following it with a small laugh, he shrugged, shifting his gaze from you down to where Noah sat, starry-eyed and open-mouthed having come face to face with his idol.

“This is my son, Noah. And I’m Y/N.” You offering him a small smile.

“Tony.” He knelt down to greet your son, shaking his little hand like a gentleman after yours.

“Very firm handshake, young man.” He winked at him, leaving him more starstruck than before.

“I’d offer to help but our car broke down and we’re walking home, so…pretty much a bad day for all of us, huh?” You chuckled.

“Can he come home, Mommy? I can help with his suit!” Noah piped, looking up at you with expectant eyes, knowing fully well you could never deny him.

“Our house is still pretty far out, baby. But it’s upto Mr. Stark, I mean, I have tools that could help? I don’t know. But you could definitely use some first aid and some warmth?”

As if on cue, Tony shivered, the long-sleeved shirt he wore doing nothing to prevent the cold from seeping in. He was also bleeding from a few cuts and bruises, that pushed him further to accept your offer.

“And hot chocolate!”

“Ah, how could I ever refuse hot chocolate? With marshmallows?”

“Yeah!!”

Both of you chuckled as your son clapped his hands, happy now that his hero was accompanying you home.

Dragging his disabled suit through the snow was a task, but he trudged on, not minding the company for a change. Normally, he’d have been flocked with fans or security but here, nobody seemed to care. Not that there were too many passersby but those that were around, couldn’t care less about who he was.

The conversation flowed easily as you walked home, from formal introductions to your profession, from likes, dislikes to your opinion on world politics. You couldn’t help but notice how easy he was to talk to, and that your first impression of the man had been wrong. Of course, the media had a lot to do with it. Portraying him as a spoilt billionaire at first, then the brash Avenger with a playboy image.

Noah’s singing provided as background music until his voice gradually stopped, meaning he was out cold. A day out with his grandparents had finally worn him out even though he’d just met his idol.

As your house came in sight, you retrieved your keys from your purse, while Tony looked around, frowning when he saw the lights all out.

Did you live alone? Tony kicked some snow with his foot, making an assumption you were already taken but secretly hoping you weren’t.

“Wouldn’t your husband or partner mind if you suddenly show up with an Avenger?” He asked, glancing back at the tracks you’d left along with the ones made due to his suit. One could assume someone had dragged a body along the way.

“Hmm, that’s a good question.”

You continued unlocking the door, your back to the man who was peeking in the stroller to make sure your son hadn’t woken up, partly to distract himself.

“I’m sure if I had one, he wouldn’t mind seeing the great Tony Stark in his house. But I don’t so, I guess you’ll have to do with me and my starstruck three year old.”

Tony’s nervous chuckle held relief as you welcomed him inside your humble space, grateful for the instant warmth your cosy home provided.

Tony took in your smartly done interiors and evident display of a house with a small kid, accidentally knocking over a piece of Noah’s toy in the process.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark! Are you alright?”

He picked up Noah’s toy robot, giving it a curious but impressed glance.

“Oh yeah, no harm done. And it’s Tony, please.”

His fingers brushed yours lightly as he passed you the toy, the touch sparking excitement within you. He cleared his throat in attempts to get both your gazes off of your hands.

“Alright Tony, let me get you a first-aid kit and then maybe you can tell me what you need to fix your suit?”

“Right. Sure, thanks.” Giving himself a mental shake, he perched on your sofa and settled.

Right as he leaned back against the plush fabric, a loud noise startled him. Picking out the source, it was yet another toy, an airplane this time which was lit up and buzzing.

“That is not my favourite.”

Noah was awake. And staring at him with wide eyes, still awestruck. Tony found the off switch before placing the toy on the table.

“Oh yeah? Which one is your favourite then?” He asked, watching your son retrieve his beloved toy robot and hand it to him.

“This one!”

“You know I had the exact same one when I was little? Now I just have the suits. I guess they’re the same.” He mumbled, more to himself than to Noah.

You walked in on them having a conversation about how robots are the coolest toys on the planet, a smile appearing on your face at the sight.

Tending to Tony’s topical wounds wasn’t the easiest, especially since it confirmed how truly handsome he was up close, plus your son’s gaze kept shifting between the two of you, going on about showing Tony all his toys.

“Thank you, Y/N. Are all the people in this town so kind?” He chuckled, fingers fumbling with the edges of his shirt to keep them from reaching out and tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“They are. But given the fact that you’re you, I doubt any of them would have problems helping you out.” You hummed, stepping away after finishing tending to his last bruise, with a small smile that seemed perpetual on your face.

.

He insisted on using your garage for fixing his suit instead of your house, making himself familiar with your basic household tools in the small but efficient little space.

In the meantime, you bathed Noah, negotiating with him since he wanted to run to see what Tony was fixing and how.

“I help Iron Man, Mama!” He said in his best pleading voice.

“It’s way past your bedtime, little man.”

He seemed too busy plotting something that would convince you, his deep brown eyes lighting up as he came up with something that he knew you’d agree to.

“But Mama…hot chocolate?”

“Noah..”

“You promised!” He whined, on the verge of a tantrum. Naturally, you caved.

As you two made your way towards the garage, you could hear Tony mumbling, to himself, you hoped. Like a nervous habit, his leg tapped against the floor as he worked, eyes solely focused on the job at hand before your little knock broke him out of it.

“Got you some hot chocolate.” You announced with a smile, holding out a steaming mug for Tony, topped with little marshmallows.

Noah had already wriggled out of your grip towards the suit which lay against a table, his eyes wide in wonder as he examined the machinery.

“Be careful, Noah.”

“Actually kid, why don’t you hold onto this and press that button over there when I tell you?” Tony handed him a small device, instantly lighting your kid’s face up in delight as he nodded.

You watched as Tony tinkered around for a bit, giving Noah a thumbs up to press said button which booted his suit back to life.

“Mama, did you see that?!” He exclaimed, looking at you as if to make sure you hadn’t missed out on anything.

Watching his ecstatic face made your heart swell as you reached over to kiss the top of his head. It was better than candy-land for him.

As you drank your hot chocolate, your son managed to convince Tony Stark into fixing one of his toys for him which he agreed to, asking him questions about it which Noah was more than happy to answer.

Time went by and Noah grew drowsy, retreating to your lap & making himself comfortable while Tony tended to his suit again.

“So if you’re—”

“How did this—”

Letting out a chuckle, you gestured for Tony to go ahead with his question as you looked down to find your son fast asleep against your shoulder.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I was just going to ask if you’re raising him on your own or…”

Tony didn’t mean to pry, but he couldn’t help but wonder. There wasn’t any obvious evidence that you were married, or that you were raising a child with someone.

“Oh! I adopted Noah three years ago. I was volunteering at a centre at the time and I read he was abandoned by his parents, it broke my heart. I couldn’t get him out of my mind and I ended up filling a form. It felt right.” You murmured with a fond smile on your face as you glanced at his sleeping form.

Tony stared at you in wonder. You couldn’t have been more than…thirty? Maybe lesser? But somehow you had raised a bright little boy and made a decent living for yourself. He admired you.

“Wow, that’s truly something, Y/N. This guy is lucky to have such an amazing mother. Truly.”

Tony’s sincere compliment warmed your cheeks; shaking your head, you excused yourself to tuck your child in bed, while Tony followed you back to the house grabbing the empty mugs for you.

In the kitchen, you whispered Tony to place the mugs in the dishwasher since the sink was already full. It seemed like the guy hadn’t ever been to a kitchen before, he seemed unfamiliar with how it worked, it was kinda funny to watch him clueless with household gadgets.

“Why don’t you hold Noah while I do it? Here.”

“What? No, uh. I’m not sure—”

You already had passed Noah to him before he could process it fully. He hugged him close like Noah was made of precious glass, looking as awkward as ever.

As you placed the cups away, you glanced at Tony, grinning to yourself when Noah stirred a little only to snuggle against the man. The sight made your heart skip a beat.

You’d take him back but Noah’s little arms tightened around Tony’s neck, as if he didn’t want to let him go. Wordlessly, you pointed upstairs where his bedroom was and Tony followed you quietly, worried any sudden movements would wake him up.

Tony’s heart warmed as your kid’s evened out and calm breaths contrasted against his own erratic ones, it was oddly grounding for him.

He placed Noah on his little bed as carefully as he could, looking at you as if waiting for further instructions. Taking over, you made sure Noah was comfortable before tucking Snuggles - his beloved stuffed rabbit under his arm and secured his blanket.

“Sleep well, my love.”

You kissed his forehead a couple of times before standing back up, unaware of Tony watching the whole scene with the fondest smile.

“Let me get you a blanket, Mr. St—Tony. I’ll be right back.”

Tony stopped you right as you were about to turn, placing an hand on your shoulder before you could leave.

“I’m not going to stay, I—I don’t sleep. I mean, I’ve already bothered you too much, it would better if I left. The suit is all ready and I’ve called for a car. And I have trouble sleeping.”

He finished speaking with a heavy sigh, scratching the back of his head as you processed and slowly nodded your head, unable to hide the tinge of disappointment you felt.

“Of course. Um. Let me walk you out then.”

The car he’d hired stood outside your house, steely grey against the blanket of snow that covered the ground. The steps you took slowed down as you reached, the silence between you growing.

“Thank you for the best hot chocolate, Y/N. And for everything, really.” Tony offered his hand, glancing down at the warmth of yours against his colder one.

“You’re welcome, Tony. Happy holidays?”

“Yeah. I don’t know about that.” Tony murmured mostly to himself, still clasping your hand in his.

“I’ll see you around?”

The hope in his voice was unmistakable, he did want to see you, and soon. His overworked brain was already thinking of ways to make it happen. He would figure it out. He needed to see you again.

“Sure. Take care, Iron Man.” You smiled, shifting your weight from one to another.

“You too.”

He drove off with a final glance at you and your house, leaving behind a trail of smoke and a memory you’d revisit often in the future.

Do you think Tony will return? If yes, how?

[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity

chapter eight

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+ content, unprotected sex (use protection obvs), rough undertones but not really, bro's possessive as fuck

series masterlist; previous part; next part

Your old Professor had given you some much needed insight over the Christmas holidays. Harry had dragged you and Ron to sit in agonising silence as he and Remus had a back and forth battle of wills over Harry's wild theories. Remus was certain that Voldemort wouldn't recruit inexperienced, young adults who were barely eighteen, but you knew he was wrong about that, especially considering he was recruited into the Order as soon as he was no longer a Hogwarts student.

Theo had not replied to a single letter; you'd sent countless over the small three week break.

Remus had yelled at Harry for making such harsh accusations, then had apologised not ten minutes later. It was a full moon after all, and he was still grieving over Sirius' death. Before that had sullied the peaceful evening, you confided in your old Professor before lunch had been served, who was more than willing to offer his profound wisdom to you.

"Sir? Can I-" you hesitate in the doorway of the Burrow's living room, feet teetering on the edge of the threshold, the smell of Mrs Weasley's cooking permeating the calm air. Before you could continue, Professor Lupin let out a hoarse chuckle and invited you to settle in the cushioned sofa next to him.

"I'm not your Professor anymore," he spoke your name softly, "please call me Remus."

"Okay sorry. Can I ask you something, Remus?"

"Of course. I'll try to help in anyway I can." his encouraging smile led to you spilling what was on your mind – he'd always been easy to confide in.

"I've been doing some extra reading on further subjects," you start, chewing on a hangnail on your thumb. "about- about siphons."

Remus stilled. If you weren't so nervous you would have narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

"What have you learned so far?" his response was slow and curious; carefully constructed.

"Well other than the fact that they don't draw magic from their cores...nothing. And every book in the library says the same thing." you let out a frustrated sigh and he seems to take pity on you.

"Siphons are extremely rare, which you know, of course." one of his hands cups his jaw contemplatively, as if he's choosing his words with careful precision. "That's why there's so little information, because there are very few people alive who have been able to record their true nature.

What we do know, is that siphons can completely draw out sources of magic into themselves; drain it to nothing to gain that power. They're very volatile in thats sense because no one knows how much power they can truely handle."

He gave no indication that he saw the way your flinched at his words. You were grateful for it.

"But surely harbouring that much power would be dangerous? Nature demands a balance." you say in a small voice.

He mumbles your name with a knowing look of understanding before patting your shoulder, indicating an end to the conversation but you still catch his parting words: "Look in the restricted section, in books about forbidden magical and mythical creatures and you'll find what you're looking for. Consult Professor Dumbledore too, it would be more useful than soley relying on my account."

"Thankyou sir- Remus." he leaves you there, chuckling quietly at your correction as he let you know that he'd see you at dinner later in the day. You're left infinitely more confused than before you initiated the conversation, but as you left through the opposite door that led to the bedrooms upstairs to find Ginny, you failed to see the curious eyes of you best friend, hidden under his cloak of invisibility.

~∞~

Something had changed over the holidays. The air around the castle was different; a dark, sinister energy permeating the comforting warmth that the magical wards usually bathed the castle grounds in. You didn't know how you felt the shift moreso than your friends. Maybe it was the January weather, or the fact that you missed the comfort of home, but you knew in your gut that things were different now. Your stubbornness didn't want to admit that it could be a result of your new abilities that hadn't shown since Katie Bell's incident.

It became evident in your patrol evenings with Theodore, too. He was withdrawn, sullen and constantly aggravated; if he bothered to show up at all sometimes. You knew what it meant and you kept this piece of information to yourself, lest it gave your friends one more reason for you to avoid the Slytherins.

But you made a promise; one that you wouldn't break.

The change was even more evident in your sessions with Mattheo. He was pushing you to your limit, and getting exceedingly frustrated with you, for no reason. He was angry at the world and at you, apparently.

After a considerably hard yank at your innermost thoughts, you shoved him out with a glare, which he returned tenfold.

"Okay. Ow? Why are you being so aggressive?" you snap, massaging your throbbing temples. He scoffed at you and moved to stand, beginning to pace.

"What? You don't think someone trying to infiltrate your mind won't be? Don't be so naive, I can see all your thoughts. Shut. Me. Out." He spat your name out like it was filth to him, and you suppose it was at one point in time. Pushing youself to stand, you make your way to him so you were chest to chest.

"What is your problem?" you question, narrowing your eyes at him as he stared back with deadly, onyx eyes. He scoffed and turned away from you, fingers rubbing at his temples as if this whole conversation was giving him a headache.

"It is giving me a headache." he spat and your glare intensified. "You're not focused, your mind is unraveling at the seams. It's like you haven't made any progress at all."

You startled him with the cold laugh that escaped you. "That's rich." you spat, your pointer finger digging into his strong chest. "You're a hypocrite Mattheo. You have been unfocused for the last week. So answer me this: what is your issue?"

In seconds he had you pinned against a wall that you hadn't noticed he had been backing you into, his breathing heavy and cold as ice. His hand was wrapped loosely around the base of your throat, not tight enough to harm but enough to pose a threat.

"You know nothing about me, Princess." his voice was a low and deadly rasp that sent coils of dread right down to the tips of your toes, but you couldn't deny the blatent arousal that was beginning to fester. "You know nothing, yet you're still willing to be in a room with me. Willing to let me do things to you that your friends would abhor you for. Willing to keep secrets from the very people you should trust with your life."

You cursed the flush in your cheeks, and the lust in your eyes.

"You've been dancing with the devil for months, sweetheart." his voice was a nocuous whisper as his lips grazed your's with controlled precision. The sharp feeling of his teeth piercing your bottom lip invaded all your senses along with the metallic taste of blood. "You should've expected that I'd behave as such."

He kissed you then, an art of carefully thought out distraction as he sucked on the wound he created. But he underestimated you as you raked your fingers through his unruly, dark curls. Wandlessly, wordlessly, you willed the Legillimens spell to take hold and you were thrust into his mind, barraging through his fortified shields as if they were mere shadows ready to be swept away.

You were thrown into a seat at an overly large dinner table, that could seat at least thirty people, Bellatrix Lestrange seated adjacent to the seat opposite you, causing you to flinch at the phantom feeling of her cruciatus curse from the Department of Mysteries. The room was vast, with a towering ceiling filled with delicate Jacobean decor, it was dark and foreboding; you didn't want to be here.

You were sat to the right of Death himself.

Voldemort didn't acknowledge you and the words he spoke were a garbled blur of nothing as your attention was brought to the back of the room, by the double doors to the Entrance Hall. Draco Malfoy walked in, followed by Lorenzo and....and Theodore.

The next moment made you want to scream and cry as Mattheo was forced to stand before his friends, before Voldemort's loyal followers who were a mere spillage of darkness to your vision, and tortured by his own father. Somehow this was more painful than the memories you'd seen of his in those first few lessons; knowing it had been as recent as the week before. You gaped as Voldemort merely turned to Enzo and Theo; you fought tooth and nail to stop the inevitable as you watched them writhe and scream as the Dark Mark appeared on their left forearms.

You were shoved so violently from his mind that your head collided painfully with the wall behind you. You were staring at him, wide eyed and wincing as he glared down at you, murderously.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't- I'm sorry." you tried to catch your breath, only now realising that the hold he had on your throat had tightened upon reflex. Your hands flew to the singular wrist that helf your life in his hands, clawing as it flexed. "Mattheo-"

You watched in understandable horror as a smirk painted his beautiful face. Your wrists continued their assault with renewed vigour.

"I'm very impressed." he mumbled, his face drawing closer to your's, his voice a sensual whisper in your ear. "No one has ever been able to do what you just did."

He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear and you trembled as the hold he had on your throat did not let up.

"What are you going to do to me?" you whispered hoarsely, fear painting your tone. He snickered at your predicament and the tightness surrounding your throat lessened considerably, but he maintained a loose grip, a warning.

"I want to do unspeakable things to you, sweetheart." he said, his voice a reflection of the arousal that was pressing heavily against your abdomen. His smirk widened as you shuddered at the way he said your name. "I'd like to think that I'm an honourable man. And I want to do the honourable thing, but I've resisted you for far too long."

Weeks worth of avoidance came to head in that moment as he surged forward, finally pressing his lips to your's. You could taste cigarettes on his tongue and his cologne filled your lungs with every breathe you managed to gasp between heated kisses. The wound on your lip pulsed from the attention, the pain causing a whine to crawl up the back of your throat. The kiss deepened.

His hands roamed over your entire body; hips, waist, thighs. Like he didn't know where to settle them, while his body pressed you further into the wall with pure male strength – you wanted to climb him like a tree. Somehow you managed to pull away from his ministrations, heavy breath mingling with his.

"You're not angry that I just broke through your shields?" you ask with a furrowed brow. He only lets out a quiet laugh as he shakes his head, leaning down to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck, then soothing the marred skin with presses of his lips and swipes of his tongue. You breathed out an airy moan at the sensation, tilting your head back to grant him more access.

"A little miffed." he mumbled agaist your skin. "But not angry. No one has ever been able to do that, except you apparently. Smart girl."

He didn't speak for another minute or so, content with marking your smooth skin instead.

"I'm proud. These lessons are paying off, it seems." and you hear it in the tone of his voice, the pride. You respond with a stifled laugh as he bites into the sensitive flesh of your collarbone and you swat at his shoulders.

"You're always content in making my life difficult." you tut, but make no move to stop him as he begins to unravel the knot in your tie. "Do you know how long it takes to cover these up? With and without magic!"

"Don't want you to cover them up." he mumbles, so quietly that you almost miss it. But you don't miss the possessive gleam that ignited in his onyx eyes. "You're mine."

You're mine. The words echoed through every corner of your mind.

"Am I?" you challenge and you pull him closer to you as you weave the fabric of his tie through your fingers. He growls as he rips your school shirt in two, ignoring your admonishing protests as he pulls it from your body. This continues until your stood in nothing but your under garments.

"Beautiful." he mumbles as he traces featherlight touches down your body with his calloused hands. "Absolutely breathtaking."

"Well I don't think it's very fair that I'm the only one whose indecent." you snark, though your attempts at hiding your anticipation were rubbish at best.

"So undress me, darling." he says after a split second of reluctance, his voice low and demanding, it makes your thighs clench. Looking at him through dark lashes, you begin to unknot his tie, slow and teasing. The buttons of his shirt are next, popped one by one by your nimble fingers; when you raise to your tiptoes to smoothly remove his shirt from his shoulders he tenses as you come face to face with his lean, quidditch built torso.

That's when you see it. Ink black and imposing against his tanned, muscular forearm. Covered in thick scars, old and new, was the Dark Mark. Your breath hitched in your throat as you trailed your fingers lightly across it. Mattheo shivered at the feeling.

"Scared?" he asks, voice low, you almost detect a hint of shame...or something else.

"Of you?" you ask, taking his left hand in both of your's, fingers running soft circles across his palm. "No."

"You should be." he says it like he believes it to be true. His fingers flex in your hold and then tighten, squeezing your's in earnest.

"I'm scared for you, Mattheo. For all of you. This," your pointer finger trails against the Mark, "isn't fair."

He smiles at you then, all soft and sad and heartbreaking. "This is the life I've been dealt, love. No use in trying to stop it."

You brought his forearm level with your face and begin to press gentle kisses to his marred skin. His breath hitches and you can't place the look he gives you.

"You're not a monster." you mumble between soft caresses. "You're kind and intelligent, and compassionate and honourable. You've been dealt an awful card, yet you haven't let it ruin you. Not entirely. That says everything and more, Matty."

"Say that again." he says, onyx eyes staring resolutely into your's.

"Say what?" you ask, brows furrowed as he practically rips his arm from your hold, only to pull you closer to him by your waist. You both seem to realise that you're both near naked – only your underwear and his trousers separating the two of you. Your cheeks heat.

"My name. Say it."

"Make me." you say with a barely contained smirk. He lets out a near growl as he cups the back of your neck in his giant palms and presses a demanding kiss to your kiss-swollen lips.

It's not pretty. It's all teeth-gnashing and lip biting and purely animalistic.

You'd both been resisting eachother past blind fumbles in the dark and post-session make outs but you'd never been this exposed to each other before. It was exhilarating.

"Fuck!" he gritted against you. "You're so fucking pretty."

You whimpered against him as he sucked at your tongue, and that seemed to push him past his controlled limit. One of his hands guides your thigh to rest against his hip and he battles with his trousers to get them low enough to release his painfully hard cock.

You're not one to beg often, but your desire for the boy in front of you was too great to ignore. With a mewl and a whisper of pleas he pushed the fabric of your panties aside and pushed into you. The tightness and the pain of the action made you both groan in unison.

"Gods, sweetheart. You feel so much better than I imagined." he says against your lips as he pushes in to the hilt. He presses away the tears that fall from your eyes.

"Please move." you say as you attach your lips to his neck in an effort to stifle your moans as he begins at a slow pace, graciously letting you adjust to his size. He's bigger than anyone you'd had before him, the tip of him grazing places you didn't think was possible to reach. You were a mess of whines and moans as he adjusted you in his hold; letting out a shriek when he begins to repeatedly ram against a spot inside you that brought you immediate pleasure.

"Gods! Right there Matty, fuck....please!"

He smiles a wicked, sinister smile at you as he drags one moan after another from your lips. He takes both your hands into one of his and pins them above your head, restricting you to the wall.

"That's it, sweetheart." Mattheo rasps, revelling in the way you clench around him. "Moan my name."

His movements are precise and controlled. His pleasure deriving from the way he was making you come undone at the seams. He brings his free hand to the apex of your thighs, brushing them against your throbbing clit, smirking as his motion draws you closer to your orgasm.

You're not certain how long has passed since he entered you, but you feel like you're having an out of body experience as he rips an orgasm from you so suddenly that you don't know where the pleasure starts and ends.

You're a whimpering, moaning mess as he uses the extra slick to speed up his movements, which become erratic and lose their rhythm as he gets closer to his own release. The only sound to be heard are your soft whines, his grunts and the sound of skin slapping against skin as he finally reaches his own climax.

His forehead rests against your's, both gleaming with a light layer of sweat as you bask in the feeling of him. His dark brows furrow as you let out a soft laugh.

"What's so funny?" he asks, a light smile gracing his face as he memorises every inch of your skin.

"I think you just ruined me for anyone else." you say, breathless.

"Good." he growls, that possessive gleam in his eyes again as you feel him harden inside you. "As far as I'm concerned no one else can have you."

He's rolling his hips against your's before you can utter a snarky response.

~∞~

The next time you see Mattheo is in the Potions classroom the following day.

"How are you so good at everything you do, Meadow?" Ron grumbled as he read through the instructions of the healing potion Slughorn was making you all brew.

You had just finished an apparition lesson; by the end of the two hours, only you, Hermione, Mattheo's group of friends and a handful of others had managed to apparate from one side of the room to the hoop at the other. Harry and Ron were not part of that group.

"Well unlike you, Won-Won," Hermione sneered from across the table, "she takes pride in her academic accomplishments."

The redhead scoffed. "Mione come on-"

"Don't call me that." she snapped, going on a rant about Ron's incompetence. He only spluttered in response. You and Harry only exchanged uneasy looks as they continued arguing.

"I thought this would've ended by now." you say under your breathe as you drop in your next ingredient, huffing when it does the opposite of what it should. Harry mumbled his agreement as he completed his own potion. You looked between his and your's incredulously. "Why does your's look different to mine? Is it that book?"

You glared at him with pleading eyes and Harry huffed as he slid the Halfblood Prince's book so you could see. Your body ached as you read through the annotations. You winced as you rolled your neck to get rid of the tightness and Harry noticed your discomfort straight away.

"You okay, Meadow?" he asks, his hand gracing your shoulder blade. You both looked up at the sound of a knife clattering against a table top. Mattheo was glaring at the hand that Harry still kept on your shoulder, you huffed as you turned to your friend.

"Fine. Just sore from apparition lessons is all." you smiled reassuringly which seems to convince him as Harry removes his hand from you.

Faintly you hear Pansy question why Mattheo was acting so strangely and you try your hardest to ignore it. Until you couldn't any longer, because he was in your head.

Why the fuck was he touching you like that? His voice was a dark growl in your mind.

Wow possessive much? You reply with a mental scoff. He was asking if I was okay.

The agression in his tone softened and he sent a wave of concern your way. Are you? Okay, I mean? What's wrong?

You can't help the smile that paints your face, and you have to duck your head to hide it from your oblivious friends. I'm fine.

You can practically see as well as feel the look he gives you all the way across the room. You clearly aren't. Tell me what's wrong.

You look like you're about to incinerate the tabletop. I'm okay, Matty, really. Just sore. You curse him internally as he smirks wickedly, onyx eyes dancing with pride and hunger.

I'd gladly satisfy you again, darling. Just say the word.

You kick him from your mind, ignoring the flush that overtakes your heated face. Then you send flares of annoyance to him as you hear his snickering laughter that he barely conceals.

~∞~

when i was researching siphoner lore literally the only thing that came up was vampire diaries theories 😭😭😭

the smut took a different direction to what i intended tbh but i wanted to include some soft Matty 😅

taglist:

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @sunasbbie @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @topguncultleader @gimalo135 @elsafromcabinsix @moonlightreader649 @blueshome @nopedefe @spencerreidsthings @navs-bhat @agent-tempest @magimtz23

[crystallizedtwilight]

🎃 LSBC Questions: Part 18! 🎃

Part 17 here!

Maybe Shock will tell her one day. It's not top of mind so Shock hasn't considered it being something to share.

Some sources say Lock is the leader. Others, like Jorgen Klubien and Owen Klatte (storyboard / animators on tnbc) say that Shock is the leader. I personally think Lock and Shock each fully believe that they are the leader and bicker about it: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

I'm not very skilled at background art, but I like to imagine that the other worlds have their own whimsical over-the-top aesthetics just like Halloween Town and Christmas Town do.

Yep! Ghouls are born supernatural creatures. Zombies used to be human. Ghouls dine on corpses, have 3-toed-feet, and have normal flesh/living bodies. Zombies can bite the living, have 5-toed-feet, and their bodies are decayed flesh/reanimated. If you're wondering if a ghoul would eat a zombie, they would not—if it moves it's not food!

Just a trio thing!

Many people ask if the epilogue (4 or 5 skeleton kids) will be part of this AU but I've made the decision that it will not. This AU takes place when Jack and Sally are newly married and want to enjoy each other's company for a while before kids are a focus.

Yep!

Just like Shock yearns for a black cat familiar, so too does Calliope dream of having a dog companion one day.

They've been hard banned from 4th of July Town. No one is happy to see them there for obvious reasons (but that doesn't stop them from going and they just run if they get caught!)

They've been banned from Christmas Town on principal, but they keep getting in and Sandy is just like "(long sigh) Just don't break anything this time." Mrs. Claus gives them gifts she thinks they'll hate to discourage them from returning but the trio just end up genuinely liking them. The elves fear for re-work any time they show up.

Valentines Town doesn't appreciate its romantic moments being ruined with party snaps.

They've canonically caused messes in Thanksgiving Town and Easter Town so they're not welcome there either. The Easter Bunny still shivers at the thought of them due to the mix up!

And St. Patricks Day town was not their vibe.

Due to their mischievous nature they definitely haven't made any "friends" in the other hinterlands worlds yet. However, the trio find it most fun to travel to and interact with the human world via the tomb portals. Whether it's scaring folks on Halloween, sneakily enjoying festivals, or buying junk food at a gas station at 3 AM: [1] [2] [3] [4]

[concorp]

new hidden messages in the qsmp.global code from the website dev! translations using google translate, as they're in several different languages. J'ai vu vos questions ! Je vais répondre à quelques unes d'entre elles ! Je m'excuse d'avance si tout le monde n'a pas eu la réponse qu'il voulait :( (I saw your questions! I'll answer a few of them! I apologize in advance if everyone didn't get the answer they wanted :() QUESTION 1: Pra que esconder mensagem secreta até no código fonte? (QUESTION 1: Is your secret message uncoded?) Porque é divertido! E encontramo-los sempre, e é muito fixe! (Because it's fun! And we always find them, and it's really cool!) QUESTION 2: Who's been writing messages in the source code? It's me!! QUESTION 3: Chilaquiles rojos o verdes? Es importante (QUESTION 3: Red or green chilaquiles? Is important) V E R D E (G R E E N) QUESTION 4 : Quién nos está hablando? Mr Duck? Cucurucho? (QUESTION 4: Who is speaking to us? Mr Duck? Cucurucho?) Jaja ninguna de las anteriores! Cucurocho no se molesta en hacer eso, es más el que me da instrucciones! (Haha none of the above! Cucurocho doesn't bother to do that, he's more the one who gives me instructions!) QUESTION 5: Quem é você? (QUESTION 5: Who are you?) Sou um programador web! Gosto de dar o meu melhor nos sites que crio e estou muito contente por poder falar consigo! (I'm a web programmer! I like to do my best on the websites I create and I'm very happy to be able to talk to you!) QUESTION 6: Por onde você esteve por todo esse tempo? (QUESTION 6: Where have you been all this time?) Estava a descansar! Também passei as férias de Natal e recebi uns chinelos lindos :) (I was resting! I also spent the Christmas holidays and received some beautiful slippers :)) QUESTION 7: What's inside the eggs? I think you already know the answer to that one, don't you? :) QUESTION 8: I would like something interesting, something only the most dedicated QSMP Viewer will know and understand. "Something that only a true QSMP fan would know? Noted :) QUESTION 9 : Quelle est la signification des codes traduits en césar de "hibiscus" et "rabbit" ? (QUESTION 9: What is the meaning of the codes translated into Caesar for “hibiscus” and “rabbit”?) Je pense que tu sauras pourquoi bientôt :) (I think you'll know why soon :)) QUESTION 10 : Pourquoi vouloir détruire l'île Quesadilla? (QUESTION 10: Why want to destroy Quesadilla Island?) Mais pourquoi je voudrais faire ça !? L'île Quesadilla est un berceau de beauté et de bonheur pour nos résidents ! Je ne leur souhaite que le meilleur ! (But why would I want to do that!? Quesadilla Island is a cradle of beauty and happiness for our residents! I wish them nothing but the best!) QUESTION 11: What is your objective? My goal is to make sure that the people who come to the websites I make have a good time, and that it helps them to forget the worries they may be going through! Et voilà ! Je m'excuse encore si j'ai manqué des réponses, merci encore une fois de votre implication, et prenez soin de vous ! (And There you go ! I apologize again if I missed any answers, thank you once again for your involvement, and take care!) See you soon!

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Day 15 — Mrs. Claus

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 2600

Contents & Warnings || Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, explicit content/language, pet names, oral (female receiving), teasing, fingering, lots of dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, mention of bodily fluids.

Authors Note || Apologises with the delay on this, I got very carried away. This piece was supposed to be posted on the 15th.

Disclaimers || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Advent Calendar 2023

The soft glow of the fairy lights adorning your bedroom was the main source of illumination, casting a warm and inviting ambiance—shadows playing sensually on the walls. The air was infused with the heady aroma of scented candles, their fragrance creating a symphony of sensual notes���vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of musk.

Bucky was seated on the end of the bed, adorned with silky sheets and plush pillows. The mattress supported his weight as he eagerly awaited you and the early Christmas present you had promised him.

The anticipation pulsed as the bathroom door creaked open, and out you strutted—a vision of holiday allure. Your short, little crimson dress hugged every curve of your tantalizing body; the view ignited a spark in Bucky’s gaze as he eyed you up and down. With the black pumps and the Santa hat perched on your head, Bucky instantly got hard, a silent curse eliciting deep within.

He watched your sultry movement, the room radiating with your suggestive presence as you approached him. The playful twinkle in your eyes matched the mischievous curve of your lips.

Bucky leaned back, propping himself on his palms on the mattress as you stood between his open legs. He was entirely captivated by the intoxicating sight before him, his eyes surveying every inch of you up close, palms twitching in need to peel off your slutty Mrs. Claus dress and accessories. Your nipples hardened under his gaze, panties becoming damp with desire.

“Fuck, you look incredible, doll,” he groaned, palming his hard cock.

“An early Christmas present for your eyes only,” you purred, your voice a seductive melody that sent shivers down his spine.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, baby,” he declared, reaching out and grabbing your ass with a firm grip, fingers digging into your flesh. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling delicately on the strands as he kneaded your cheeks.

“I can’t wait to unwrap and play with you,” he murmured. You moaned softly, pussy throbbing with need at his erotic promise. His hands slid up your thighs, fingertips dancing on your sensitive flesh, making you shiver. He traced the outline of your panties, nuzzling his face in the fuzzy fabric of your dress.

He slipped his hand underneath them, fingers finding your wetness, and his other grabbed a firm grip on your hip. You gasped, eyelids fluttering as he rubbed against your clit. “Oh, yes,” you breathed.

His heavy-lidded eyes gazed into yours. “I’m gonna peel off this slutty little dress, slip these panties off, and taste that delicious cunt of yours,” he groaned, pressing the pad of his fingers hard against your aching clit. You whimpered your needs and desires of getting your pussy eaten and fucked to perfection by him.

He tutted playfully, retracting his hand from your panties, sucking off the wetness from his fingers. “Eager are we, doll? This is my present, and I get to examine and explore it before playing with it properly.”

Your heart raced, your breathing quickened, and body trembled in anticipation. His eyes glittered with mischief, and you knew he would make you beg for it.

He stood up from the bed, leaning over you, his hot breath tickling your ear, the heat of his body radiating against yours. “Tell me, doll, how badly do you want me to eat your pussy? Taste that sweet cunt of yours?” he whispered, tongue tracing the shell of your ear. You shuddered, voice coming out in a breathless whisper. “Please, Bucky, I need you,” you begged, voice shaking with desire. “Good girl,” he smirked, eyes glinting with lust.

He laid you gently on the bed, hovering on top, and his mouth descended on yours in a searing kiss.

You could feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh, and your body ignited with desire. He broke the kiss, lips trailing down your neck, tongue teasing your skin, teeth gently nipping. “I’m gonna eat your pussy, doll,” he growled, voice low and husky, “and you’re gonna beg me for more.”

You shuddered, pussy wet with need. “Fuck, please, Bucky. I can’t take it anymore.” you pleaded. He chuckled, fingers tracing the outline of your pussy through the damp panties, making you moan and buck your sex towards him. “Hmm, I won’t be so giving, to begin with, baby,” he sneered. “I’ll play and tease my present to begin with, pull your panties to the side and have a taste until you cry for me to unwrap you, eat your pussy properly, and then pound you hard into the mattress till you scream my name and your pussy quivers.” You cursed silently. His words alone could make you come apart.

He spread your lush legs, nestling comfortably between them as his fingers trailed up and down your inner thighs. His mouth mere inches from your covered core, making you squirm beneath him as his hot breath fanned across your wetness.

With a rough groan, he slid your panties to the side, pressing a wet, sloppy kiss on your aching clit. Your back arched off the bed as you cried out in pleasure, hands gripping the sheets as he continued to tease and torment you. He moved his mouth down, licking and sucking at your folds. “Oh, fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, body trembling. He chuckled, tongue swirling around your clit, making you moan even louder. “You like that, huh?” he taunted, voice low and seductive. “Please don’t stop,” you begged, body aching for more. He chuckled at your neediness again before retracting from your core, making you cry out in frustration.

“Don’t worry, doll, I’m not done with you yet,” he growled. He gazed up at you, eyes dark with lust. “You’re gonna get everything you want and more.” And then he slid your panties off, revealing your wet, swollen cunt. He smiled, lips curling up in a wicked grin, uttering words that made your world shatter, “You have the prettiest pussy, doll.” He leaned down, tongue darting out to lick the entirety of your core, moaning at your taste. “You taste heavenly.”

You cried out, body aching into him as he continued to feast on you, tongue flicking and circling your clit. “Oh, god, that’s so good,” you whimpered, hands gripping the sheets as he continued to devour you. The tips of his fingers prodded your entrance, slowly pushing one in, the other following soon after, stretching and filling you to perfection, making you tangle your fingers in his hair as he used his mouth and fingers to build your toe-curling bliss.

“Baby, I’m so close,” you gasped, your body trembling with pleasure. He hummed, fingers thrusting deeper inside you, tongue lapping and flicking harder on your clit, making you cry out in ecstasy as you came hard.

Bucky smiled against your throbbing clit, lazily lapping at the sensitive nub, fingers still thrusting in and out of you, making you mewl and squirm beneath him as he worked you through the bliss.

“That felt so good,” you giggled breathlessly, combing your fingers through his hair as he gazed up at you lovingly, kissing your thigh. His fingers slid out, making you hiss at the loss of him. “I love making you come for me like that, doll. You look so breathtakingly beautiful,” he hummed, pressing a light kiss on your wet, swollen sex.

His fingers danced across your heated skin as he inched his way upward, lips grazing your collarbone, nipping at the sensitive skin. “I can’t wait to unwrap you completely and fuck you,” he murmured. His breath was hot against your neck as he continued to press open-mouth kisses on your flesh, whispering dirty promises. And finally, his lips met yours in a searing kiss, tongue tracing your lower lip, begging for deeper exploration. You opened eagerly for him, your tongue gliding and tangling with his.

“This dress needs to go,” he groaned, tugging it down gently, exposing more of your compelling skin. Your bra was the last thing to go, leaving you naked and vulnerable before him. “You’re a goddess, doll,” he whispered, voice husky with desire and love. Your body was a masterpiece to him, every curve and line perfectly sculpted. He was left breathless each time you lay naked below him. “I’m a lucky guy that gets to unwrap this perfection of a present.”

He leaned down, capturing your nipple in his mouth, sucking and nibbling on the peaked bud. You moaned, hands tangling in his hair as he lavished attention on your breasts. “Hmm, you’re so good at that, Bucky,” you hummed, body tingling with pleasure.

“I need to fuck you, or else I’m about to make a mess in my pants,” he chuckled, voice low and sultry.

His cock was hard and aching, throbbing in need to be let out and fuck your tight little cunt. He quickly discarded his sweater, his chiseled physique a temptation in the soft illumination of the room. You eyed him hungrily as he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down. His cock strained his underwear, creating a mouth-watering dent. All you wanted was to get down on your knees, worship his body and make a mess of yourself as you slurped and sucked his dick.

But you were deeply needy for each other, wanting to feel one another in the most intimate way possible, so you laid back, spreading your legs open wide, inviting him in. He positioned himself between your lush thighs, hands cupping the back of them, spreading you wider.

“Need to feel you inside me,” you purred, body trembling with anticipation. He rid himself of the underwear, his cock springing to life before you.

He pressed the leaking tip at your entrance, teasing you with the head that was swollen with desire. “Oh, Bucky, please,” you pleaded with a cry. He chuckled, hands gripping your waist as he glided his cock inside your tight walls, filling you up to perfection.

“You’re so tight and perfect, doll,” he groaned with shivers running down his spine. Your body was tight and hot, squeezing him like a vice, making him moan and thrust harder. “You fuck me so good, baby,” you whined.

He continued to thrust into you with long, deep strokes. Your body was heaven—tight pussy that enveloped his cock to perfection and perfect tits that bounced with each grounding thrust. Your every movement, every noise made him moan louder, thrusting into you with a feral rhythm, losing himself in you and the pleasure.

His cock hit your sweet spot, making you moan and see stars. Your hips buckled against him, body shivering with pleasure. He grunted, hips slamming against yours, cock throbbing inside you, ready to burst.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he grunted, pulling out of your tight walls, jerking himself off, and releasing his load all over your stomach and breasts in a flood of blissful ecstasy.

You gasped, your body and empty pussy quivering as you watched him come apart. You were painted to perfection with his warm and sticky cum, a beautiful canvas before him.

His cock twitched as the last spurt left his body, his breath labored as he came down from the high of orgasm. You wore a smile on your face at watching him lose himself in you and violently paint you with his seed. But that smile turned into a pout as he hadn’t given you your release. Your pussy was aching, needy, and begging to be stuffed and made quiver. Bucky never left you unsatisfied, and you trusted that whatever plan he had to make you come once more would be mind-blowing, whether it be with his cock, tongue, or fingers.

As if he could read your mind, he stroked your cheek, his eyes holding promises of more love and pleasure. “Don’t worry, doll. I haven’t forgotten about you,” he said, thumb teasing your clit, rubbing it in slow circles.

Your teeth nibbled your lower lip, body tingling with pleasure as he continued to tease your clit, making you ache for more. “You’re so hot,” he groaned, eyes devouring your body. “I want to taste you, feel you come all over my face again.” He kissed you with passion before ghosting his lips over your cum covered body, seeking out your deprived cunt.

“You know how much I love to eat a freshly fucked pussy,” he hummed, face inches from your swollen folds and engorged clit. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling on the strands in a silent beg for him to devour you. His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking hard, making you cry and buck against his face. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cried out, body shaking.

He continued to suck and lick your clit, making you cry out in ecstasy. He slid two fingers inside your tightness, curling them to stroke your g-spot, making you convulse on the bed and see stars. Bucky builds you up to a toe-curling and body-rocking bliss that would fuck you up.

“Oh, god, you’re gonna make me come,” you sobbed, the pleasure an intense bliss. “Be a good girl and come for me.” You came hard, your body trembling, cunt quivering, your orgasm rocking you to the core.

You came all over his face, your juices making a mess of himself, you, and the bedding. He continued to lick and suck your clit, curling his fingers inside your pulsating walls until your orgasm subsided, your body sated from the pleasure. He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied grin on his face. “You taste so good.” He pressed a light lingering kiss on your oversensitive clit, making you jolt and gasp. “You fucked me up so good, babe,” you giggled breathlessly. He chuckled, lavishing kisses on your thighs as you hummed in response. “You’re incredible, you know that, doll? Best early Christmas present I could have asked for.”

He crawled up your body, covering his mouth with yours, devouring you in a passionate kiss. You smiled through the passion, reveling in the afterglow of your otherworldly bliss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him back with equal ferocity; your tongues danced together, tasting each other as you grind your naked bodies together.

“The whole point of this was for me to deliver you the best early Christmas present ever, not the other way around,” you giggled between kisses. “I was supposed to be on my knees this whole evening and worship you, babe,” you purred, fisting his hardness and jerking his slick cock,” but you got me sidetracked with your dirty words, tongue, and fingers.”

He groaned, eyes devouring your body and your hand pumping his cock. “Well, you were pretty irresistible, doll, in that slutty little Mrs. Claus dress. I couldn’t help myself, and you know how much I enjoy and love giving you pleasure.”

He moaned as you continued to pump his aching cock, slowly thrusting into your palm, chasing his second orgasm. “Hmm, how about we continue this in the shower, babe? I can show you exactly what my original intent was for your early Christmas present,” you purred. Bucky nodded eagerly, cock twitching, ready to burst all over you again, but with a giggle, you released him. “Not yet, baby,” you tutted teasingly. “Now it's my turn to tease and torment, just like you did me…”

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

I don’t do taglists so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

[aziraphales-library]

Hello there, thank you for all the work you do! I was wondering if you had any recommendations from smaller, less well-known creators? Like fics under 100 kudos or 1000 hits that you think deserve more love and attention! Thank you!

Hi! I did a similar post previously here, so check that out. I went back to my bookmarks again. These are all fics I've enjoyed that have around or less than 100 kudos/1000 hits (at time of compiling)...

Words not written by Ambra_Sue (G)

Aziraphale has a secret, something he has kept as close to his heart as possible for 6000 years. Something kept as close as the pages of a book pressed together, a piece of paper slipped inside a treasured tome, words left carefully blank in a notebook for that express purpose. What happens when Adam restores the world? Are some imprints of feelings powerful enough to be shaped into reality?

No Tartan Required by jars (G)

“You could do, you know,” Aziraphale says, soft-spoken and apropos of absolutely nothing. They’ve been sitting in the backroom of the shop for hours now in companionable silence, punctuated only by the rustle of old paper as Aziraphale turns the page of what must be his third or fourth novel of the afternoon. “Could do what, angel?” Crowley drawls easily from where he’s sprawled across the sofa. He doesn’t bother sparing a glance in Aziraphale’s direction, but he can feel the angel’s eyes on him from across the table all the same. “Look like you run a bookshop.” Or: nearly a week after the apocalypse that wasn’t, Aziraphale makes a rather surprising suggestion that leads Crowley to question first his sense of style, and then his place in the world.

Confused Serpent by Eigon (T)

Crowley has lost his memory, and he wakes up with an angel in the room.... Crowley also swears a lot.

Classic First Date by WittyWallflower (G)

Allergies are terribly inconvenient. Aziraphale would rather not spend his first date with Crowley sneezing unattractively, but taking a strong anti-histamine beforehand was perhaps not the wisest decision.

Paint a rainbow all around him by imaginary_glu (G)

Aziraphale takes up streaming. Crowley becomes "Mr. Teapot". They also really, really love each other, but that isn't new.

But you had to come along, didn't you? by Solimette (T)

At the corporate Christmas party of his new job as an editor, Aziraphale makes the acquaintance of the dashing Crowley from Marketing. Anathema, a mutual friend is convinced that there's something between the two men, but Aziraphale is a little hesitant. Time shows though, that even crappy Christmas parties can be the source of joy and euphoria, when being seen as who you are.

Percy by Jackie Thomas (NR)

A hundred years later, Adam Young has passed away and Crowley is still trying to save the planet. “Where do you think Adam’s gone?” Crowley asks Aziraphale. “I’ve been wondering.”

A Kaleidoscope of Butterflies by Inherently_human (T)

As part of his exposure therapy for his anxiety, Aziraphale is collecting positive experiences to teach his brain that things often turn out better than expected. He visits the local botanical gardens and soon finds himself enchanted not only by the gorgeous flora and fauna but also by the rather charming volunteer who seems more than eager to share his endless knowledge with Aziraphale. It doesn’t take very long for all sorts of things to start fluttering about, and it’s not just the butterflies in the glasshouse that are the source of this unexpected sensation.

- Mod D

[johnbomega]

All I Want for Christmas is Lou

Sharing as part of the BuckTommy Tevan fandom spreading some love this Christmas Eve with @alliwantforchristmasislou

2024 brought us the return of LouFerrignoJr as #TommyKinard on The911onABC as a new Love interest for #EvanBuckBuckley.

This pairing was a pleasant surprise & the public response was beautiful! When a couple comes along, you know it's meant to be when they just make you smile. And for Buck to come out as Bi has inspired many to also be true to themselves.

Mr. LFJ has been a pure ray of sunshine & an amazing addition to the cast. In November, the couple parted ways, & the audience response was clear: Bring Tommy back. Seeing Buck happy was beautiful & this story elicited huge emotional responses.

Their parting left an impact because it felt sudden & very open-ended. Both characters clearly want each other. This can't be over .Let's see BuckTommy finally find their happily ever after & explore all the trials & tribulations that come with it.

As part of the AllIWantForChristmasIsLou event this Christmas Eve, donations are being made to the TrevorProject in honor of the happiness & inspiration this couple brought and brings to the LGBT community. TheTrevorProject

Here's to hoping 2025 will bring these characters back together so we can see a beautiful love unfold & continue to be a source of light & smiles. Merry Christmas to all my BuckTommy Tevan peeps. Meeting you ALL made my year. I absolutely adore interacting with you and discussing our hopes and feelings on our boys! Let's keep some hope and keep spreading the same love we BuckTommy's have always done! xoxoxo

And a deep personal thank you to @nqueso-emergency for being a voice of logic and for their efforts to keep us all sane. It truly means the world.

Merry Christmas Everyone and Happy Holidays! xoxoxo

---John

[604to647]

Holidays in the 604

Hope everyone has been having a good holidays so far, however that looks for you or best suits your sensibilities 🥹🥰🫂🎄🎄

I started to write write some HCs for what the holidays might look like for the couples in a few of my series (Safest with You, The Rockford Portfolio, etc.) but for reasons below the cut, haven't had much energy or motivation to write (no need to read, it's a bit of a downer and kind of rambly!) - I'm hoping that I can find a little bit of both in the next few days and maybe get some thoughts down to still post.

For those same reasons, I haven't been on here much, to my detriment if I'm being honest - this place is a source of escapism for me and not being able to come on here for more than a few minutes a day has felt a bit offputting. I feel like I've missed a lot of amazing holiday stories that would have likely boosted my spirits a bit - I'll try to go back and find them but if you have or read any that you wish to recommend/share, please do let me know!

Similarly, thank you to everyone for your tags/mentions/asks - I want to get to them and maybe still participate in a few tag games if it's not too late when I muster up some energy. Thank you for thinking of me!! I truly wish that you all continue to have a lovely holiday season and look forward to ringing in the new year! You're all such a welcomed presence in my life and I'm grateful to each and every one of you for being here! Hope to see you soon 🥹 KISS KISS 😘😘

Ok, now as to why Emily has a bit of the holiday blues this year:

I didn't grow up with a lot of hard set Christmas traditions, celebrations around the end of the year didn't go much beyond the commercial and the holiday season was mainly appreciated for being time off (from school, work), a time to rest and relax. There was cheer and joy, but as the kids say these days, it wasn't that deep. I've since married into a family that puts A LOT of pressure on Christmas - with an emphasis on physical togetherness and adhering to traditions/customs, that (to me anyways) can feel at times more performative than enjoyable; I totally understand the comfort in doing things the way they've always been done, but a lot of times it feels like people are just checking things off a list rather than genuinely enjoying (for example) baking the Christmas cookies, you know what I mean? Couple that with my priorities for my kiddos' Christmas, the way we spend Christmas now can feel a lot like a season of obligation. Depending on what the particular plan is for that year, it can also be incredibly hard, draining, and not all that jolly for me.

This was one of those years.

I hosted the big Christmas dinner at my house and also had those from out of town staying with us for a week. I'm a Virgo who thinks of her home as her sanctuary, am a bit fastidious about her things, and sees value in being forthright. It's a lot for me to have people taking over my house, making messes, and pushing/crossing boundaries that I've tried to set due to previous visits, all while maintaining a certain level of holiday cheer and slapping on a facade of "it's fine" when I definitely don't feel that way. I'll admit I wasn't always successful this past week.

Mr. 604 is very supportive and knows his family can be a lot, but at the end of the day a) he's just a man 😂 (and not a miracle worker) and b) they are his family and he himself has had to "grin and bear" a great many things over the course of his life, so he has more practice at it but doesn't necessarily have any advice to impart on how to better cope with the chaos.

It makes me feel like a curmudgeon for not being able to suck it up more and pretend for the sake of the kids, or even to help maintain this performance of "family togetherness" that seems to be the whole point of whatever the heck everyone was doing. So this holiday season has thus far been exhausting, filled with guilt, and left me feeling a bit empty.

I am okay and recovering now, it will just take a few days I think. If you read this far - thank you! I just needed to rant a little bit - I don't feel much like myself these days and that in itself can be depressing, especially at a time when I'm supposed to be experiencing the opposite. Here's to some rest, some quiet, some peace in the last few days of 2024 for myself, Mr. 604, and anyone else who needs it! 🤞🏻🥰

[hplonesomeart]

Oh boy—this might start up some drama in the community but hopefully not??

It’s not my intention to dump accusations and throw knives. I’m only going to be sharing the evidence and facts compiled so far regarding the actions of a channel known as Mr. Puzzles/Puzzle00Vision. Nothing outright egregious, but it’s still worth discussing and shedding light on because a LOT of small creators have been screwed over.

It’s no secret that majority of the content on Puzzle00Vision’s YouTube comes from re-uploads. Reuploads in itself aren’t inherently bad. My main gripe with the channel is the lack of consistent credit for the original source, and not even asking for permission before reposting other animators hard work. Allegedly, the channel has also been deliberately deleting comments calling them out/asking to be given proper credit.

Yes I’m going to be using a lot of screenshot evidence for this btw. Here is a look at the channel right now. As you’ll notice, there’s a Christmas themed Puzzle animation that way uploaded on December 25th this year. If you look at the video description the original animator is credited as DarkFoxy29. HOWEVER DarkFoxy29 tried to leave a comment on the video complaining that they never wanted reuploads and weren’t even credited at first; they never gave permission to Puzzle00Vision. I say “tried” to leave a comment because if you go to the video currently….the comment is hidden. Or deleted. Only reason I know it existed in the first place was because I got there early while it still was visible. I could see it in the preview but couldn’t click on it or find it regularly. Which is a little odd don’t you think?

Below is a screenshot highlighting the hidden comment, publication date of the reuploaded video, and original animator credit listed:

Seeing the ghost comment peaked my curiosity, so I went to DarkFoxy29’s Instagram to investigate further. Turns out they published the animation several days beforehand and were openly opposed to the content theft. The animation only received 11 likes on Instagram in comparison to the 95 Puzzle00Vision got. Call me crazy but I think it would have been basic human decency if Puzzle00Vision had bothered to ask DarkFoxy29 BEFORE ripping the video from them?? I had asked DarkFoxy29 if it was okay for me to share this information on Tumblr. So that’s what I’m doing right now for their sake. Here is the link to watch DarkFoxy29’s animation on Instagram…please please show it support and love instead of the Puzzle00Vision one.

Click animation link here

And now I’m going to get into listing the several other instances of this happening….so click past “readmore” if you want the full details

Oh how funny would you look at that? This Puzzle00Vision reupload doesn’t even bother to give credit to Blen_dy’s Studio in the description. And yet it received so much more attention and a whopping 1,881 extra liked compared to the original that was posted a whole MONTH before.

Or what about this one? Apparently before I commented on the video ZorranTach wasn’t even AWARE that an animation reupload existed. Further proof that Puzzle00Vision didn’t ask permission from artists:

Hmm starting to think that excusing this as pure coincidence may be a little too generous. This last example though….man this just hurts to watch. How are you going to blatantly rip off a small creator so shamelessly. Not cool man :/

Admittedly this doesn’t come as a shock to me. I started noticing this pattern when Puzzle00Vision reuploaded a clip from tye774’s TikTok showcasing progress on the Mr. Puzzles “Insane” animation. Lo and behold I tried to leave a comment expressing concern about the lack of credit….I was smart enough to take screenshots back in October of my comment being visibly published. However it was untraceable when I tried to look for it a few moments later. You can say it was just a bug in the YouTube system or accuse that I purposefully deleted it to make up false proof. I don’t really care if you believe me or not. I’m just here to share this information—you can come to whatever conclusions you want about it.

I don’t really know if there’s a clear cut solution to any of this unfortunately? Not much else can be done besides trying to holding Puzzle00Vision accountable for content theft. In an ideal peaceful situation to resolve it, Puzzle00Vision would get better at giving credit for each artist and ASKING before reuploading. However this is the most I can mange to do to help with the situation. Spreading awareness and asking you to support the original creators directly rather then relying on these cheap reuploads. Reuploads are worse visual quality anyways. Check out the channels of the people who ACTUALLY animated please and spread this post if you wanna :P

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Pandora’s Melody” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| It’s your first Christmas Benefit since working for Vought and you’re starting to chafe a little at all the rules. Least the music’s finally getting good tho.

| SFW, office rules, workplace discrimination(?), Vought International’s dress code policy & casual disregard of The Crown Act

| Pic Source: The Boys (s1)

| 800+ words

“Don’t fuck this up,” Ashley had said, sweaty handkerchief that was far too drenched to mop anything else up clenched tightly inside her fist, and a closed lip smile straining her spotty red painted lips.

And for your part you’d smiled back, nodded your head like a heavily - and repeatedly - hit bobble head; eager to keep your position and even more desperate not to be seen as the unfriendly black girl lest you lose your job.

To your credit it’s not until far later in the evening when everybody’s inhabitions are totally fucked, the camera crews and reporters are gone, and even most of The Seven have left to do things far less beneath them than attending a company mixer that you loosen the hold your heart’s keeping on Ashley’s words just…a bit.

Suddenly the music gets a little less mind numbingly fucking boring too and your mood gets a little less sullen, and even with your mandatory three inch heels shackled to your feet you finally begin to feel the music. So bobbing along, and finally downing the singular glass you’d been nursing the whole evening, you find yourself searching out whoever’s creating the new and far more engaging melody.

Your heart almost stops when you realize it’s Black Noir at the piano, gloved fingers flying over the keys, quite literally the only hero still bothering to attend this thing.

When a quick glance up shows that even Mr. Edgar’s no longer in attendance - though never unseeing you’re sure - you start talking mostly out of shock. You’ve never really been this close to any of the hero’s before now.

“Good - ah - good choice,” you murmur, “Hapless is really just such a downer for a Christmas Benefit.”

Muscles tense and breath short, fingers clasped together behind your back like a vice, you wait a beat for his reaction.

When all he does is kind of glance your way though you nearly breath out a sigh right in front of him before catching yourself, and you feel so free that for a second you want to take your hair down from its “more professional” slicked back bun so you can really feel the music through you.

Instead you untuck your dress shirt to quell the urge. Fuck, your pantssuit was starting to feel increasingly more suffocating the longer you worked here. At this point you felt like you’d end up buried in the damn thing then forced to partially exist as a pantsuit wearing ghost for the rest of your forever unrest for good measure—

—annnd think positive thoughts. The music is good, you want to sway. You settle for keeping up your subtle head bop and adding a few soundless taps against your thigh to the mix.

After he doesn’t slice you in half - or some other such gruesome death dealing action - you take another few moments to identify the song Noir himself has begun playing.

It’s lovely, and as much as you want to close your eyes to visualize the song’s name a bit better in your mind you opt not to so you can continue watching the way that Noir plays.

It’s more graceful than you’d expect (but considering the way you’d seen him train that was a little foolish of you). The silent hero’s fingers move across the keys like a true virtuoso, hands gliding from note to note with hardly a thought but still exactly right. In the entire time that it takes you to place the song he doesn’t miss a single beat and doesn’t lose his tempo; not a thing about how he plays looks or even sounds off.

Normally you’d be remiss to label anything perfect, but if there were ever an exception…

…Noir’s playing was perfect.

A small smile stretches your plush lips.

Delightfully so.

“The Minute Waltz,” you say after finally placing the song, only shuffling in place a little.

Which is how in the next minute you end up seated next to him after his head had snapped to you - and honestly you’d half figured he’d stopped minding you by that point so you’d been plenty surprised to find out otherwise.

Black Noir had stared you into submission with exactly one incline of his head to convey his invitation in any clear manner until, with held breath and a prayer, you’d sat down beside him where he’d made room on the piano bench.

Then it’s touch and go as - with your heart firmly in your throat and hoping to god you don’t screw anything up - Noir takes to eventually wanting you as more than just a captive audience. He plays a few simple chords, pauses, then looks over to you until after not too long you begin copying him.

By the end of the function your heart’s settled and you can slowly, but steadily, get through the entirety of Gymnopedie No.1 - with Noir pushing the pedal of course.

He even gives you a little silent round of applause once you’ve played through it on your own.

Like that, Noir at your side and surrounded by all the drunk limp dicks you work with tripping and throwing up over themselves, is the first time you feel like a real part of Vought.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!

Um, I just wrote this tonight at random and with a cold so if there’s mistakes no there isn’t. Also, it’s Christmas and I figured I had a themed fic in me tonight so here you go and Happy Holidays (I guess)!

Don’t question how the Reader-Insert knows the names of these songs, it doesn’t matter.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[copepods]

ok arcane s1 act 1 misc thoughts (SPOILERS)

-i like that a lot of the rich characters (cait's family, some council members) have transatlantic accents. i didnt really notice at first but upon rewatch of ep 2 it was super apparent and i love it

-i never got super into vander's character bc by the end of ep 1 i was like Yeah this guy is super dead. the 2 other kids who died as well (never even learned their names lol). also there was a lot more vander + silco than i thought there would be? like they laid it all out at once. i kind of knew they knew each other in the past from fandom osmosis but i expected it to be more of a slow burn reveal i guess

-im interested to see what the show does with ekko specifically. i know he becomes more prominent later on AND has stuff going on with jinx/powder, which i was honestly expecting them to set up more? like have them be friends or like talk to each other once lol. anyway he was pretty minor thus far so im intrigued in what they're gonna do with him

-i know vi goes to prison after this, but the guard who chloroformed her seemed to be trying to save her??? so i have no idea what's happening actually

-i knew silco was gonna adopt powder but i was honestly expecting it to be more? calculated? on his part? like he finds out powder was the one who blew up the building, and is like ooooh new talent. hey kid. do you want to join my gang of evil drug warlocks. but nope he genuinely reached out to her in a moment of grief against his better judgement. kind of a baller move mr. lesbian i respect that

-also powders eyes turned purple for emotional reasons and not magic drug reasons? cool. didnt know peoplw could do that

-Heimerdinger War Flashback last episode was kind of really funny im sorry i cant take this guy seriously. but i also got distracted because there were horses in the flashback and for some reason that surprised me? it did not occur to me that horses exist in the arcane universe. they just don't fit the vibe. also this guy is transparently what if yoda were lorax

-also i wanna know how the fuck jayce and his mom and the wizard (viktor probably) got to piltover after all that in the flashback. did the wizard summon a honda civic to drive them home or what. also, what were they doing there??

-and jayce keeps saying "magic real. ive seen it" but refusing to elaborate??? if i got saved by a wizard who warped space and time then gave me a cool rock i would make it my personality. which i guess he kind of did but you'd think he'd be telling people about it more. maybe he thinks people won't believe him? silly jayce. magic tech isnt real. you escaped the siberian tundra through the power of science. athiests on christmas waiting for charles darwin to come down the chimney etc

-i cant tell if mel is just one councilmember and not like above all the others OR straight up the president or whatever? she clearly has influence but i cant tell if she's everyone elses boss or not. maybe they said something about that in dialogue and i missed it. also is piltover an oligarchy or do they inherit their council positions or what? somehow i don't feel like normal democracy is on the table here

-what is it exactly jayce (and viktor) were trying to do WITH the magic? this always bugs me in tv shows when they just say "im working on some Science Tech Inventions" and dont elaborate on what those inventions are. are the magic balls a source of infinite renewable energy??? please tell me what you're actually doing with the sparkly zero-g machine

-vander's dying words being "protect powder" and vi immediately doing the opposite of that is crazyyyyy sure hope that doesnt haunt her for the rest of her life lol

-was genuinely distracted by the cool ass crab logo on the abandoned building. that was sick as hell. i love crabs