#He's mister white christmas

[anunluckyginger]

Me the second the temperature drops below 50

[whorekneecentral]

The Flash Of The Camera

Daniel Ricciardo x Fem!Reader

Warnings: photographer/husband!dan, recording/filming consensually, boudoir shoot of sorts, stripe tease, masturbation (fem), oral (f!receiving), fingering, nipple play for a few seconds, penetrative sex (p in v), creampie + softness at the end.

Word Count: 1,617

Author's Note: okay so this one was an idea from pooks, all of you that are groaning about that - shut up. this one fucks tho if I can say so myself

merry smutmas series

--

You enlist Daniel to help you with your Christmas gift for him. 

That stupid camera was with him 24/7 - the only time he put it down was to shower, work out or sleep. Even then, you're certain he dreamt of it.

Daniel had somehow ended up on a photographer kick, thanks to Lando. As you two got ready for the holidays, Daniel spent more time taking pictures than helping you. You were a bit annoyed but you had an idea, a way to get him to put the camera that he so desperately wanted to be behind.

You had mentioned to Daniel that you wanted to take a few photos for a Christmas card, just some stuff for your family to send over the holidays.

He was more than happy to take the photos for you, bouncing around the house all day waiting for you to be ready.

"Are you ready?" He shouts from the bottom of the staircase.

You were just about ready, your hair curled and tossed over your shoulders, makeup done perfectly and you took one last look in the mirror to check your outfit.

"I'm coming!" You shout back, making your way downstairs.

Daniel was waiting for you in the living room, smiling at you as you sat yourself on the couch. Blue jeans and a silky white button up, "you look pretty," he smiles, fiddling with the settings on his camera.

"Yeah?" you smiled, glancing down at your outfit. "Thanks baby."

"Yeah," he nods, holding up his camera. "Ready whenever you are, superstar."

You nodded, sitting comfortably on the couch as you smiled for him, Daniel's camera flashes a few times before he directs you; move this way, lay that way, put this hand there etc.

"You wanna try another spot?" He asks as you stand, you shake your head.

You smiled, hands lifting to undo the buttons of your shirt. "I have a different idea,"

His brows furrow, watching as you toss the shirt onto the other shirt. "What- I'm not sure these are family friendly," Daniel mumbles, watching as you undo your jeans, stepping out of them.

"Mhm I know," you smiled, sitting yourself back on the couch.

The set was red, lace and silk covered your body and Daniel smiles to himself, watching as you make yourself comfortable on the couch.

"C'mon mister camera man, don't leave me waiting." You sit on your knees, fluffing your hair. Daniel smiles, nodding as he lifts his camera again.

He takes a few pictures, you smile at him, moving around a bit. It wasn't until a few moments later that you pulled the straps of your bra down, leaning forward; your hands on your knees as you smiled at the camera.

There's a twinkle in your eyes, something mischievous and Daniel can't quite place what it is but it makes his cock twitch. He watches, the camera flashing every few seconds and you unhook your bra, letting it fall off the couch.

"Wh-Babe.. what are you doing?"

"Just keep going," You flip over, laying on your stomach.

You look over your shoulder at him, Daniel moving around to get pictures of you. You smile sweet at him as if you weren't half naked, posing for him like a playboy bunny.

Now you're on your back, lifting your hips as your manicured fingers hook around the side of the lace panties you had on. "Y/n," he trails off and you look at him.

"Keep going, Daniel." You smile to yourself, rubbing slow circles over your clit.

His eyes fix on you, not moving even an inch. He watches your every moment and listens to every single sound that slips out of your mouth.

"Are you sure you want this on camera?" His words are hesitant but his movements aren't; moving closer to you as your fingers slip lower, exactly where he wished his fingers were.

You look over at your husband, his name slipping from your lips as your fingers go exactly where he wants them to. You don't miss the way he clears his throat, shifting a bit and the bulge on his shorts beyond obvious.

"Put the camera down, baby. C'mere, come join me."

There's a look on Daniel's face, one used by him many times before; the look that he gets when he's got some sort of mischievous idea, spinning around that big head of his.

"Why put the camera down?" He hands it to you, dropping to his knees.

Your eyes fixed on the man between your legs who settled himself between your legs, looking at him in awe. Something about Daniel always fascinated you; you could never put your finger on it but he was always an object of fascination, of desire.

He can feel your eyes on him, he reaches for the lace you’re wrapped up in and tugs it down your legs, letting it fall to the floor. He shifts to sit on his knees between your legs, leaving a trail of kisses as he works his way up to your cunt.

Your eyes meet his, he knows you’re looking; he wants you to look at him.

The camera in your hand clicks then flashes, taking a picture of your husband between your legs.

Your hips buck when you feel his tongue against your clit, your hand gripping his curly hair.

Daniel knew you like the back of his hand, gripping your thighs to keep them in place as his tongue lapped your clit. Your hips buck, your way of saying you want more and he gives in.

Two fingers pushing into you, he glances up to see your head tossed back onto the pillows, eyes fluttering shut and your free hand groping your tit.

Daniel pulls away, earning himself a pout from you along with a groan but he moves up, kissing from your hips to your stomach, up to your chest.

He shifts a bit, dropping down against your side when his lips wrapped around your nipple. You can feel the way his tongue moves, how gentle he is. Daniel's tattoo covered arm slips under you when your back arches. There's a half smile on his face, watching as you lift the camera to take a picture of him.

 “Hands and knees,” Daniel tells you, take the camera from you to give you a chance to re-situate yourself.

You're on all fours, face buried in the couch cushions with your back arched. The slightest clicking sound reaches your ears, followed by a smack to your ass and then another clicking sound.

"Did you just smack my ass so you could get a picture of your handprint?" You glanced over your shoulder at your husband.

The man smiles, lipped pressed together as he shakes his head. "Definitely not. I would never do that, babe."

You laughed, the giggle is cut off by a moan when Daniel pushes his cock into you. Your back arches, the curve of your spine evident when he comes up behind you. His hand rubs down your back, resting on your tailbone as he takes another picture.

The camera is set on the coffee table, both of Daniel's hands rest on your hips now.

Daniel pulls out and pushes into you again, his name falling from your lips. “God, Danny, like that,” the words tumble out, begging your husband for more as he fucks you. 

His hands squeezing your hips, nails digging into your flesh. Your hand reaching under you, fingers barely reaching to rub your clit. 

He pulls you up, his arm wrapped around your middle, your back pressed to his chest. His fingers dig into your side for a moment, squeezing you a bit. 

He whispers in your ear, "all mine hm?"

"Yours," you mumbles, holding onto him as he fucked you from behind.

“I love you, I love you so much.” He whispers to you and you smile, a hand reaching back to touch his jaw.

“I love you.”

Daniel's cock twitches when you clench around him, “oh fuck,” he breathes, forehead against your shoulder. “This pussy was made just for me, hm? Take me so well, my pretty girl.”

You can feel your heart skip a beat, no matter what this man always makes you so happy and feel so loved, even when his cock is buried in you.

“Come on sweetheart,” Daniel whispers, letting you drop back into the couch and it’s like you read his mind. You knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Mhm,” you breathe, “almost.”

It takes a few more sloppy thrusts and Daniel's orgasm follows yours. Your husband still buried in you when he drops down onto you, landing with an oof. You let out a giggle and whisper, “thank you.”

Daniel lifts himself up a bit, moving to lay beside you before looking at you. "What for?"

You shrug, at a loss for words. “For being you, for this.”

"No need to thank me, baby. What else is a husband for?"

"Uh.. a lot?" You laughed, resting your head on his chest.

Daniel smiles, reaching for the camera to click through the pictures. He shows you the ones you had taken at first, with clothes on - he points out his favourites as they become a bit more scandalous.

"What brought this on?" He asks, looking at you and you shrug. "Just an early Christmas gift, I suppose."

He turns the camera to face the two of you; you're pressed to his side, the throw blanket over the two of you, all dazed and in love. The flash makes you squint a bit, the two of you have sleepy smiles on your faces.

"What was that one for?" You asked.

"A final addition to the gift." He smiles, kissing you.

--

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[nonranghaes]

joshua thinks he loves you too much. that's why he's strolling up to this house 'late' for this christmas party, dressed up in a suit (rather than waiting for you in cozy sweats like you promised), and a bottle of wine he stole from jeonghan's apartment on the way over. this, in his humble opinion, is what a best friend is for: pretending to be your date when you see your ex with someone new at a christmas party you didn't know he'd be at. it's easy enough to find you socializing with this tight-lipped smile that melts into something genuine when you see him. he passes off the bottle of wine to the host and makes a beeline for you. you're a vision in blue and it's all too easy to look at you like you outshine everyone else in the room.

"hi, honey," he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your cheek. he lowers his voice to a whisper, "you owe me."

"i know." but you curl an arm around him all too easily, pulling him into your side as you immediately start introducing him and coming up with some casual lie as to why he's late.

the moment the two of you have a second to yourself, he leans in, pretending that all he's doing is stealing another little kiss and not also whispering to you. "where is he?"

"tall guy in the green sweater across the room. his new fiance looks like a candy cane."

joshua glances over, eyes widening a little at the red and white stripes that seem to jump out at him now. it's cute, sure, but still catches him off guard in a 'how did i miss them...?' kind of way. he turns back to you, and suddenly the word hits him harder. "fiance?!"

joshua remembers this guy too well: mister 'i don't think i'll ever get married again,' which wasn't a problem in the slightest in general, but it was one of the multiple reasons you ended up ending things with him. you just give him this tight-lipped smile, a hand coming to rest on his chest for a moment. you know. he can see the way you waver a little in front of him.

"fifteen minutes," he says to you. "and then we'll fake an emergency."

your hand slips into his, and he feels the way your lips press against his cheek and linger a few seconds too long. long enough to make him think a little too much about what it could mean. "thank you, honey. i owe you."

(his payment comes in the form of watching horror movies with him, dressed in your sweats again... and again when he feels you fall asleep against his shoulder, his heart fluttering in his chest.)

[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓞𝓫𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓷

SoftDark!Joel Miller x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Explicit pictures of you taken by a man you cheated with find their way to your boyfriend's father's desk. He isn't too impressed with the artistry. Good thing he can make it right. He’s a photographer after all.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. No outbreak, NONCON, DUBCON, coercion, blackmail, manipulation, power imbalance, implications of revenge porn [not by Joel], infidelity, girthy age gap [reader is in her early 20s, Joel is in his early 50s], explicit photographs and photography, petnames, praise kink, daddy kink, minor size kink, soft dom!Joel, sub!reader, fingering, edging, just the tip action, creampie, cumplay?, unprotected P in V [be better!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶

Word Count: 5.9K

A/N: Surprise Joel Miller smut because why not. This is my first time writing for Joel, so please be gentle. Going for the subtle horror meets porn vibes. Hope you nasties enjoy. mwah 💗

Masterlist

I never walk about after dark

It's my point of view

'Cause someone could break your neck

Coming up behind you

Always coming and you'd never have a clue

I never look behind all the time

I will wait forever

Always looking straight

Thinking, counting all the hours you wait

“S’ just a hobby.” Kind, gentle mister Miller had scratched the back of his neck modestly, towering over you as you inspected the black and white photo negatives freshly hung on his walls. He just seemed happy that someone appeared to be taking up an interest in his retirement activities. It was an interesting choice, you thought, to hang up the negatives. 

That was your first time visiting the Miller household, and had you known your boyfriend’s father was as unassuming and sympathetic as he turned out to be, you wouldn’t have been as worried about meeting him as you were. You surely wouldn't have been able to guess looking at his pictures. But his scowl melted away into a soft, subtle smile the moment you walked through his door, and so did your reservations. 

You learnt a lot from him that evening– about cameras and such. He indulged you in conversations about your life and interests– you had many in common. There were quite a few people at the Miller’s Christmas party, and he made sure you weren’t too lost in the crowd. It was nice to have a listening ear.

Humble as he was, it was only months later you discovered his pretty pictures in a photography magazine. At the hotel you were staying in while on vacation with his son. It was the last vacation you ended up taking together. Switzerland. 

Since that Christmas you visited him every once in a while, occupying the couch in his office to help him sort through his prints, tidy up his gear, and chart out subjects he wanted to capture. His son didn’t really like making the twenty minute commute back home, so you brought his well wishes with you. Mister Miller liked the strawberry puff pastries you baked, so you brought them along as well. 

He was a quiet guy, and after all these years alone seemed to enjoy the company of someone in the house. His face lit up just that little bit whenever you came over. Enough to let you know you were welcome back anytime. 

His office was cozy. With a large Persian rug at its center, and tufted, walnut brown, leather furniture. He had an expansive library of literature beside his desk, one that he’d fitted to the wall himself. Reading- another one of his retirement hobbies. 

His desk was tidy, almost completely empty save for a picture of him and his brother Tommy, sitting on a ledge with their arms slung around each other, an in-progress construction site for background. Judging from the lack of gray hair on his head, and the absence of the little crinkles beside his eyes, the photograph was at least twenty years old. It looked like it belonged to an alternate universe. 

Mister miller looked a far cry from the sophisticated, whiskey drinking, cigar smoking, middle aged man you knew. A regular ol’ Joe, or Joel, rather. He had this rugged boyish charm about him. He was smiling wide, he looked happy. There was a jarring absence of that tired look in his eyes. Whether he looked more handsome back then, or now– you couldn’t decide. 

It was late July. You watched the menacing, dark gray clouds drift lazily towards you from your living room window. It was 4pm, but you had the lights on, and the oven going in your kitchen. The younger Miller was not yet back from work, even though he was supposed to be off by 2:30. At times like that one you hardly regretted your unfaithfulness. 

You had your little dinner date with Mister Miller that evening, but from the looks of it you might have had to reschedule. A crack of thunder reverberated along the walls of your two bedroom, and had you reaching for the kitchen timer you’d abandoned on your center table– the dial dangerously close to hitting ‘0’.

It felt more wrong than it should, calling it a date, considering the circumstances. You couldn’t say you didn't feel guilty still meeting his father, telling him that things were going great when they really weren’t. You wondered what Joel would think of you if he ever found out about your little secret. 

It was difficult not to wonder how two people could be so similar and different at the same time. Why, save for some of his good looks, Mr. Miller’s best qualities did not seem to pass down to his son. Admittedly, you thought about it a lot. You thought about it when you found a shade of lipstick that surely didn’t belong to you stain the collar of his cream sweater. 

Things had spiraled far out of your control since that moment. Into your secret paradise of hotel rooms and weekend getaways. Worst of all, you knew your partner was living a parallel life to yours. You could have ended your relationship, but things were just never that easy. Especially when consciously, or subconsciously mister Miller was part of the mix. 

You reached in the oven and pulled out the pastries. Looking between the custard you’d put into your piping bag, and the strawberries you’d cut lengthways laying beside the powdered sugar. The clouds were closer than they were five minutes ago. Your backyard was no longer the lush Eden of green and purple it was in the morning. You thought of Mister Miller– spending the night alone at home, sitting at his desk, with no dessert to enjoy after dinner. 

You reached for the piping bag and sighed, beginning to assemble the sweet treats and lay them in the pink paper box you’d picked out for him from your kitchen cabinet. 

—

By the time you got to his house thick droplets of rain were already coming down from the sky. It was about three shades darker than it was when you left home, and the minacous clouds had caught up with you. You glanced at your phone. 

7:00 pm 

You felt a drop trickle down the side of your cheek as you ran up the front staircase leading to the main door. You rang the bell. It sounded full, and new. He must have fixed it recently. 

Mister Miller opened the door. He always wore some variation of the same flannel shirt and dark jeans. Like a cartoon character. It was quite charming. You liked it. It was soft, and smelt like his perfume. Tobacco, Sandalwood. He rubbed your back soothingly when you hugged him. 

You handed him the pink box. It had a darker pink ribbon wrapped around it, folded at the top into a big bow, with a small card wedged in between the loops. 

“To Joel Miller :) ” 

He chuckled, then smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.” You didn’t need his gratitude, he was nice enough to you as is, but you did appreciate it. In the past months he had become your only real excuse to bake. 

He welcomed you inside, and soon enough you were settled in the dining room. He’d hung up a new painting since you’d last visited, and changed the light switches on the wall. Every time you were over there was a new addition to the home. You figured he liked having something to do. 

By the looks of it he’d lit the candles there a while ago, and laid the table. He’d butterflied napkins in their napkin rings, and set out glasses for red, white, and dessert wine. You felt a lot better about not canceling. You noticed the brand new table runner against the table’s wood. He told you he bought it that morning. He sounded excited. 

You helped him bring in the pot of stew from the kitchen, as well as a plate of cheese and a loaf of warm bread set on a wooden board. He served you some stew, then cut a few slices of the bread he’d baked and placed them on your side plate. It was surprising that he’d taken up an interest in baking. He always said he preferred to cook on the stove. He did it well. 

“Taking after you.” he’d said, reaching for the wine decanter. 

You wondered if he ever taught his son to cook, and if he did why the latter never liked to do so. You recognised the cheese on the platter. It was from the shop beside your house. You’d served it when he came home in February, with berry jam, marmalade and grapes. He hadn’t been back since then. 

He was mostly quiet during dinner, as always. He listened to you ramble about the show you were watching, and how you found your grandmother’s recipe book in your attic. You assured him you’d be trying every recipe in that book. He said he hoped so. Other than that it was quiet. A comfortable quiet. And you watched wax dribble away from the candle wic, and pool at the base of the candelabra. 

He cleared up while you brewed some tea and placed your pastries on the hand painted porcelain tray you’d gifted him for Christmas. You padded across the hardwood floors to his office, and it was only then you noticed how heavily it had been pouring outside. 

You peeled back the white lace curtains to find a sheet of rain clouding your vision. You made out the dim, golden lights coming off the neighbor’s porch, and the street lamps flickering gently. You were glad you came. It was all quite welcoming, and warm and golden in the Miller household– far more than you would be if you decided to stay back home. 

The door clicked open, and you felt him walking up behind you as you stood at his bookshelf. You pointed to the clock on the wall above it. “It stopped.” He exhaled heavily, with his hands on his hips, and looked up to the pathetically stuttering hours hand. It looked like it was fighting for its life within the confines of the glass– spluttering, struggling. 

“Fixed it two days ago.”

You peeled your eyes away. 

He eased himself into his leather office chair, reaching below the mahogany table to lift a large cardboard box filled to the brim with film. Used, unused, polaroids, disposables. It had red electrical tape around its edges, and the words ‘32, spiral cord and wire’ scribbled in black sharpie. 

“Gotta sort these.” He looked at you apologetically, but you reassured him with a smile, and poured him a cup of tea while he inspected the box. Your eyes wandered to the wooden clock, the hand still pleading for help. You heard it's garbled tic. The contents of the box clattered to the desk, rhythmically with a crack of thunder outside. 

You placed a plate and cup in front of him, then took your seat on folded legs across the table. The white curtains momentarily set ablaze, followed by another hard, violent thrum. You foredged through the pile, lightly covered with residual dust. The rings on your fingers sparkled when they caught the light of his table lamp. 

Amongst the many treasures were some polaroids of the lake mister Miller liked to fish in, the cabin he built upstate, and the back end of Tommy's Miller’s orchard. They looked like test films to you. Not as fixed on composition as Joel was. The settings on the camera all over the place. 

In the pile, under an oversaturated photograph of an apple tree, two familiar eyes peered up at you– much of the face covered and lost to the clutter. You reached for it. Bound together with a thin, blue paperclip were three separate photographs flimsily hanging on to one another. 

You felt sick to your stomach.

The eyes were familiar, because they were yours. 

A mangled torso, waxy, glossy legs, a chest glazed with the sheen of sweat. You looked more like a deserted mannequin than you did yourself. The dark gray “lighting” rendered your body and its surroundings lifeless– ironically, you remember quite enjoying it in the moment. But the polaroids were far more reflective of what you felt of them at present– plagued with regret and shame, and lifelessness. 

How long had he known? Importantly, How did he find them? It hurt you to even think about it. The sound of the stuttering clock was deafening in your ears, ringing like an ominous, cruel joke. 

You distinctly remember taking those pictures. Worse, you remember thinking of mister Miller as your partner had clicked them. You thought of what he’d think if he ever saw them. You could have never guessed you would actually find out. 

“How long, sweetheart?” You forced yourself to look up, finding his eyes already boring you. He was upset, and angry, and there was something brewing behind his eyes. But worst of all he was disappointed in you. And out of all the possibilities, somehow that was the worst. You’d rather him be yelling, because there was something about that soft, gentle voice of his that unnerved you. 

“Why didn’t’ ya say somethin’?” It was like a car crash, you just couldn’t look away from the polaroids in your hands. Your spread legs, bare breasts, panties thrown to the side. You opened your mouth to say something, but you just couldn’t manage it. 

“Really shouldn’t let just anyone take those kinds of pictures.” Your eyes welled with hot tears as he reprimanded you. The whole ordeal had you feeling like you’d been sent to the principal's office, sitting across from him at his desk, both his forearms leaned on the table as he threatened you with consequences. He continued to speak, despite being met with your silence. 

“You’re lucky these ended up here, would be a shame if he found out about it before you did.” While your little affair hadn’t ended well, you surely hadn’t expected whatever this was from your ex partner. He must have still thought your boyfriend lived at his childhood address. Boy did he make a miscalculation. You didn’t know which outcome you preferred. 

You wanted to explain yourself, wanted to assure him you weren’t some cheating, lying piece of shit. That you and his son were just not working anymore, that you felt guilty, and never did it again, that the man who took those pictures was the last one you slept with. That you couldn’t just end things with his son because you didn’t want to lose him. “Mister Miller- I-” 

He cut you off, snatching the images from between your fingers. You watched with burning eyes and your heart hammering in your chest as he inspected them. The man would never look at you the same. He sighed, his downturned, disappointed eyes catching yours. That look, it broke your heart. 

“I mean, look at these babygirl. Ya’ look dead.” 

With your palms cold and sweaty, and cheeks set ablaze, you sure felt like it. The burning in your chest and neck had become almost unbearable. 

“Such a cute lil’ body ya’ got there. And this-” he shook his head, his unblinking gaze forcing your eyes to his. “This boy fuckin’ ruined ya.” He tossed the polaroids on his desk, and leaned forward. 

It took you about ten seconds to realize that mister Miller’s real quam with the pictures was, for better or for worse, not the fact that they existed, or worse, weren't taken by his son, but that they were bad. Not morally, or ethically, especially considering how they’d landed in his possession, but artistically, formally. 

“Would be a shame if my son were to say, find em, layin’ ‘round.” The room began to spin in slow circles. In a second a flash of lighting struck through the curtains in the window behind Joel, his frame completely backlit by the blinding light momentarily. You winced as another harsh crack of thunder descended upon the quiet office. 

“No, mi- Please-”

“‘Specially to see ya like this, catch ya like this. In these god awful pictures.” He took your chin between his fingers, eyes filled with faux concern, brows furrowed. But behind the obvious facade there was something sinister and cruel. Something you wished you had seen before. Because you were sure it had always been there. 

“How ‘bout we fix ‘em, huh babygirl?” your eyes widened at the realization, at the weight of his implication. His grip on your chin was unrelenting, a warning, a little taste of what was to come. Had he forgotten somehow that you were in fact his son’s girlfriend and not his? A girl who was to him, until about ten minutes before, his future daughter in law? 

“You gonna help daddy fix ‘em for ya?” Time seemed to lose its cadence, every moment  stretched endlessly as you remained trapped under his dead eyed, unwavering gaze. His words sent a jolt between your legs, that name sent a jolt between your legs, and had you squeezing them together shamefully as you struggled to blubber out a response. 

He raised his brows in question, once again offering you the artificial choice before you were sure he would take what he wanted himself. You swallowed thickly, and nodded. It was a lot less difficult than you let yourself believe. What were you going to do? 

“Hmm good girl. Get on ya knees sweetie.” Still gripping your chin he reached for the camera on his desk. A polaroid SX 70– the one he used to click a picture of you blowing out your candles on your birthday. In that same office, where he sang to you alone, because his son was on a work trip. 

He pinched your cheek, and got up to round the table. You knew better than to talk back. You were reminded when you saw how his frame towered over you, like that first night you’d met him. Except this time his broad shoulders and muscular arms were threatening, intimidating, and undeniably making you weak in the knees. 

Pushing your chair back you got on your knees on that once thick, soft Persian carpet. It’s weave like a thousand needles piercing your skin, and no longer the cloud on which you liked to sit. 

“Would’ve expected more from a smart cookie like you. Didn’t I teach ya better sweetie?” It was sick. You knew he was talking of not only your carelessness, but those pictures. You should have known to come to him. He would have helped you figure it out. Your relationship troubles, and how to take those photographs. He squatted down to your level, eyes raking over your body like you were already on display for him. 

“Lemme see ya sweetie.” You wished he would just rip off the bandaid and do it himself. It would feel less humiliating. Reaching for the buttons of your sweater you undid them one by one. He watched your every movement, eyes trained on your chest as you exposed the swell of your breasts. 

He reached forward, and brushed his thumb over your skin, hushing you soothingly when you shivered. Your hot skin burned further under his feather light touch. It was like you’d always imagined– gruff and rugged, but skillful. Just like him. His fingers were rough, and reminded you of the photograph of him and Tommy on his desk. He suddenly looked a lot more like the man in that picture.   

It was like he was eating you up with his eyes with each bit of clothing you discarded on his floor. He hummed when you got to your white, daisy print ankle socks, and caught your wrist when you reached to pull them off. 

“Keep em’ on.”

Once brimming with vitality, his brown eyes turned lifeless, devoid of any flicker of emotion or human connection. You found yourself questioning whether you ever really knew him– the gentle, unassuming man you adored. If he even existed in the first place.

Left in nothing but your bra and panties you sat on your knees in front of him, unable to meet his eyes. Pink lace. You’d worn them on purpose, because your little dates were always a special occasion. You weren't planning on him seeing them. 

By the looks of it he seemed quite pleased with your choice. 

“All f’ me, babygirl?” His voice had dropped three octaves, almost slurred thanks to his smooth southern drawl. You swallowed thickly, and nodded your head. As much as you hated to admit it, he was, in some convoluted way, one hundred percent correct. 

Excitement defiantly swirled in your tummy as he let his hands roam your mostly bare body for a few seconds. Like he was examining and inspecting you. He lifted your limp arm to get a better look at your bare waist, then let it fall by your side and reached for the straps of your bra– loosening them to the point they were barely hanging on to your shoulders. 

The room began to spin a little faster when he gently pushed you back against the carpet, one palm planted firmly on your stomach to hold you there, the other hand folding your knees and planting your heels on the ground. The cup of your bra slipped off your chest, your breast now bare to the cool air. You felt exposed, for reasons less obvious than they really were. 

You heard the violent swish of the wind outside. It felt far and distant, and like it was right in that room, all at the same time. 

He began inspecting you again. It was odd, surely he liked the sight of your body, you could tell when you eyed the obvious bulge in his pants, but he was looking at you like you were some prop– like a little sex doll for his little photoshoot. He was moving you around as he pleased, positioning your limbs and tilting your head like an inanimate object. You didn’t fight back, let him take control of your body. It made your stomach churn, your core tingle. 

He nudged and then kneeled between your legs, fully clothed, looking at you methodically. You felt the cool air brush the wet spot that had formed on your panties as you gazed up at the ceiling, far too ashamed to meet his gaze. 

You watched him reach upwards towards his desk, and shift the lamp there till it was barely hanging on to the edge. The light hit you in the face, and forced your eyes shut till he turned it away and towards your chest. You tilted your chin to get a look at him, despite your better judgment. 

He hummed, swiping your dripping seam with his thumb, only stopping to eye you in warning when your body understandably jerked at the contact. The dark look in his eyes reminded you you weren’t really there for your own enjoyment, and more for his. It was like your natural movement was some sort of inconvenience to him, something that was hindering and interfering with his creative process. 

It was nauseating. But despite the fear that bubbled in your chest, you couldn’t deny the thrum of excitement that ran through your system when he began adjusting the settings on his camera. A part of you, a much bigger part of you than you'd like to admit, was enjoying the entire experience. 

“Look at that.” He chuckled, presumably at the way the fabric of your panties clung messily to your wetness in spite of your seemingly unwilling demeanor.  You felt a drop of sweat roll down between your breasts in anticipation. 

He teased your clit over your panties, switching between watching your face intently and finding the best angle. Leaning backwards and forwards. You knew better than to move around this time. “That boy doesn't know a thing about angles does he?” He was mumbling, excessively concentrated on properly composing his shot. 

“‘S’ okay sweetheart, we’ll fix it.” Hooking two fingers under the seam of your panties he pulled them aside, exposing your bare cunt to the chilly air. “Daddy’ll fix it.” He watched himself run his fingers through your wetness, and you watched him swallow thickly at the view. You chewed on your bottom lip, summoning all your restraint not to wiggle your hips in his direction. 

“Thought ‘bout this cute lil cunt all fuckin week.” 

Your disobedient mind encouraged the desire that pooled in your core, and you turned your head side to side to rid yourself of the disturbing thought. 

He must have noticed your strained expression, the way you were so clearly begging to be touched, but refused to admit it. Your creased brow was not one of intense pleasure, but anxiety, uncertainty and perpetual frustration. His shoulders dropped defeatedly, and he looked at you like he was about to unleash on you another set of debased instructions. 

“Gotta look like you’re enjoyin’ yourself more than that babygirl.” 

Caught slightly off guard, but admittedly thankful nonetheless, a breathy sigh escaped your lips as he began drawing soft circles on your aching clit. “That’s it babygirl” His praise licked between your legs, going straight to your core. Fingers wet with your slick he rubbed your throbbing pussy, and you let your head fall back against the carpet. 

“So fuckin’ wet f’ daddy.” 

Increasing his pace ever so slightly his fingers moved to tease your aching hole, just barely pushing in. You felt a moan bubble in your throat, forcing its way out of your mouth. It was more than embarrassing to admit you were enjoying his attention. 

“Let go babygirl. Daddy’s gonna make ya’ look so pretty in his pictures- like ya’ really are, like ya' deserve.”

He bit his lip to keep from smiling when he heard the soft moan slip past your lips. “That's better.” You didn’t know if he was more pleased with your pleasure, or the fact that you’d look better in the photographs.  

As your chest rose and fell with his movements you were more and more convinced. It was undoubtedly better to play along and give in. There was little point resisting by the time the thought even occurred to you. Admittedly, embarrassingly late. At least that's what you told yourself when you moaned and sighed below him. 

“Shit sweetheart. Wish you could see what ‘m seein’.” You imagined what Joel could see through the lens. It felt dirty, and contrite, but also exhilarating, and warm and right. 

You felt the tension build in your hips, between your legs. He had been resisting fucking you with his fingers, and your need to be filled was only increasing with each touch to your sensitive clit– your aching hole clenching around nothing. Your mind wandered to the way you’d undoubtedly seen his cock twitch in his jeans at the sight of you. How you’d been wishing secretly for him to fill you up. 

The coil in your belly tightened, and tightened, and you felt yourself reach the edge, the very peak of your pleasure. You made out a beam of white lightning through your half closed, lust clouded eyes. 

He brushed his thumb over your clit, ever so slightly. You were so so close, feeling the tension reach its highest point in a split second and then dissolve entirely. You gasped, back arching off the ground. 

In the deafening silence you heard the shutter and click of the camera. The sound was menacing. And it made your tummy flutter.  

“That's it baby, good girl” 

Your slick pooled at your entrance, running down your thighs and making you shift uncomfortably. You felt numb in your toes, something in you prompting you to kick your feet just a little. At the lost pleasure. The word was leaving your mouth before you could even register it. 

“Daddy” 

“I know, I know-” Fuck. He sounded so gentle. Like the Joel you knew. The Joel you loved.  “just a little longer sweetheart, you can take it.” He rubbed the inside of your thigh. 

He rested his camera on his knees and reached forward to cup your cheek, stroking your warm skin with his thumb. His fingertips were ice cold, and made you wince. “Just think of how pretty they're gonna turn out-” The look in his eyes was pleading, like you even had a choice in the matter. You wondered if he thought you did. Either way it seemed to work on you. “How pretty you’re gonna look.” 

“C’mon be a good girl f’ daddy.” His words made you mewl. Joel pinched your hip in warning, but kept his voice steady. 

“C’mere” Hitching both your legs on his shoulders and on either side of his head he scooted forward on his knees. Your skin tingled in anticipation, and you wondered what it would be like to have his head between your thighs. 

Admiring your white ankle socks he ran his thumb along the base of your foot, making your squirm in his hold. He engulfed its arch in his large palm, placing a kiss to your soul and then your ankle, moving forward to nuzzle your calf with his nose. 

“Goddamn, such a cute lil thing.” 

You watched him palm his bulge through his jeans, then undo his belt with his eyes still trained on your messy, wet pussy. As if he’d caught you staring he reached forward and tilted your chin back up towards the ceiling. Surely, you straining your neck to get a good look at him was doing nothing for his shot composition. 

You felt him let go of your shin in favor of guiding his cock along your throbbing seam. His tip bumped your clit, making you mewl and inadvertently lift your hips in his direction. You wished you could see him, on his knees in front of you, his cock teasing your dripping cunt. 

“Poor thing, can feel how bad ya’ need it.” Exhaling heavily he continued to rub his cock against your wet folds, eyes fixated below him. He cursed lowly under his breath, and lined himself up with your entrance, pushing in just a little. 

Your mouth fell open in a wordless cry at the slow stretch of him, and you attempted to grab fistfulls of the carpet beneath you. He’d barely put it in , but it was enough to send your eyes fluttering shut. 

“Cute lil pussy can barely take my cock, baby.” 

He fucked you, giving you just the tip, over and over and over, unwilling to burry himself in you to the hilt. You felt him twitch inside you, the slow pace and minimal contact enough to keep you both on edge, and not enough to provide any semblance of relief. 

You whined in protest. 

“Shh babygirl, I know.” He fucked you in slow shallow strokes, hips barely moving. You felt his eyes glued to your face, as if he was waiting for the perfect moment to snap his shot.

He thumbed your clit, his own breath quickening when your walls clamped around his cock. 

You’d never reach your peak this way, and it looked like he noticed. It seemed to be quite a large part of his artistic vision, and you were more than glad. 

He groaned and thrust himself to the hilt in a single slow push, picking up his pace just enough to where you could feel him hit that sensitive spot inside you. His cock throbbed against your aching walls, the drag of him sending your eyes rolling back into your head. His hands gripped your thighs, lips dragging across your calves every now and then as he fucked your warm, wet pussy– slow and deep. 

You felt full, unlike you ever had before. With the way he was making you feel it was difficult to think of who he was, and how he’d got you into this position. Neither your boyfriend’s existence, nor the reality of his intimidation took away from the soaring pleasure that made your body sing. 

It was all too much to bear, and you could feel your orgasm building in your core once again. 

The ominous sound of the wooden clocks garbled tic found its way back to your ears, this time in rhythm with your pounding heart. It sounded oddly comforting, like it was pushing you closer to the edge. 

“Daddy-” you reached for his hand, bringing his large palm to squeeze your breast. He obliged, his free hand moving from there to tug and pinch at any part of you exposed to him. 

“Daddy, gonna cum-” Joel sat back just a bit, still fucking into your soft cunt. “Cum ‘f daddy babygirl, fuck, that’s it.” It was all you needed, the tension that had been building in your core for what seemed like forever finally snapping. Your body went rigid, eyes screwing shut and back arching off the ground once again, legs tingling. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he slowed his pace, coaxing you through it. He hit that sweet spot inside you over and over, seemingly enjoying the many waves of your orgasm just as much as you. 

Between the ticking and Joel's labored breaths, and ringing in your ears you barely heard the click of the camera, but the soft sound sent a jolt through your body, like an electric aftershock. 

You took more than a moment to catch your breath, face tingling and head buzzing. 

When your eyes fluttered open you noticed Joel had abandoned his camera on the ground beside him in favor of grabbing your thighs. Still sensitive you shivered as he fucked into your pussy, fast and hard. You looked up at his face, twisted in pleasure, the little wrinkles on his skin accentuated thanks to his frown and furrowed brow. 

“So fuckin tight babygirl” You felt him pulse and throb inside you, emptying himself in a few final, sloppy thrusts. 

He looked so handsome, with his hair just slightly out of place, and flannel wrinkled and messy. The thought of being filled up by him had your tummy erupting with butterflies. 

Still catching his breath he reached for his camera, pulling out ever so slowly. With your legs still on his shoulders he tucked himself back into his jeans and fixed his belt, slowly easing himself on his stomach in front of you, and dropping your legs on either side of his head. 

You couldn’t see him, but you felt him chuckle against your bare thigh, his breath tickling your skin. “Show me how full ya’ are of me babygirl– how messy ya’ are f’ daddy”. You bit your lip as you pushed, and heard yet another click of the camera echo across the room. 

“Fuck. look so fuckin’ pretty, full’ve my cum” His spend leaked out of your fluttering entrance, and you felt him swipe his finger against the cut of your pussy and push anything that escaped right back in. He shifted your panties back in place, the material already dampening once again, this time with both your and his juices.

He sat up with his legs stretched out in front of him, back resting against the legs of his couch beside you. He pulled you to rest your head on his lap. You watched him intently as he reached beside him for the photographs. They must really be something, because mister Miller sure looked impressed with himself. 

When he turned to you you were probably met with his most wide and genuine smile yet, the three fresh new polaroids pinched between his thumb and index. You watched as the white light from outside invaded the room, and struck his face, illuminating it for a split second. The garbled tic of the wooden clock had subsided into the white noise of the background, along with the steady hum of the rain. You relaxed into his embrace. 

“Make the prettiest little model, don’t ya think sweetheart? Daddy’s gonna have to use ya’ more often” 

And no, I'm not a jerk

I would ask if you could help me out

It's hard to understand

'Cause when you're running by yourself

It's hard to find someone to hold your hand

You know it's good to be tough like me

But I will wait forever

I need someone else

To look into my eyes and tell me

"Girl, you know you've got to watch your health"

See you on a dark night

See you on a dark night

See you on a dark night

Going to hell for this one. Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs keep me writing. I also want to re iterate please be careful about who you send or let take explicit pictures of yourself. Never show your face and stay safe. Dividers by @ saradika and @cafekitsune 💗🐝🫶

[smooth-perceval]

“You kissed Santa!”

Dad!Carlos Sainz x Mum!Reader

Summary: Your son catches you kissing Santa, and decided he was going to tell his dad in you.

Warning: Fluff, hints of smut- but no smutty scenes. Google translate.

Key: Y/N (your name) Y/L/N (your last name) Valentino (Your sons name) Vale (your sons nickname)

Word count: 732

A/N: Quick but cute, I can actually imagine Vale and Carlos teaming up in you.

“Be quiet- otherwise you’ll wake the kids…” giggling I smacked Carlos arm.

“I look so stupid-” throwing his arms in the air he glared at me. “I don’t think so.” Smiling wistfully I tugged on his red jacket pulling him closer. “What do you think?” He tugged the white beard down below his chin, a smirk gracing his lips.

“You make Santa look good that’s for sure.” Wrapping my arms around his neck I pulled myself closer to his face. “Why don’t we skip this whole fake Santa thing and go straight up to bed?” His hands slid slowly over my waist pulling me tight against his body.

Leaning I quickly pecked his lips before pulling his fake beard back up covering his mouth. “Let me get the kids- you play your role. Then we will discuss the bedroom mister.” Patting his chest I let him go breaking away from his embrace.

“Can you permanently wear that dress?”

“It was reserved for tonight’s dinner only, now tonight’s dinner is done so is the dress.”

“Please keep the dress on.” Humming I stepped away from him backing towards the stairs. “I’ll think about it- play your role correctly and there’s a high chance you can rip it off mister.”

Groaning he stepped closer to me chasing me practically towards the stairs, wrapping me back up in his arms lifting me off the floor slightly.

“One more kiss before you get the kids.”

Laughing a little, I pressed my lips against his delicately both closing our eyes and falling deeper into the kiss, keeping it PG-13… until Carlos bit onto my lip gently- humming against my lips.

“Santa?!”

Both eyes bulged open- lips still locked both trying to figure out a way to play this off.

“Mamá!” (Mum) And just like that me and Carlos pushed each other away, Carlos rushing over to the tree picking his red sack up on the way dragging the presents with him.

“Darling- why you out of bed?” Climbing the stairs, slowly approaching Valentino.

“You kissed Santa!” his eyes welled with tears as he slowly moved back to his room. “No- no darling…”

“I’m telling papá…” (Dad)

“Vale. I wasn’t kissing Santa… I was giving him a big cuddle.” Crouching down in front of him I reached for his tiny hand. “You see, Santa is Mamá’s friend… and I haven’t seen him in an entire year. I was giving him a big-big cuddle.” Sniffling he wiped his cheeks moving a little closer to me.

“Because he only comes at Christmas?” Nodding with a small smile, I pulled him into my arms standing up, holding him close. “Only at Christmas, mama just missed her friend”

“It okay mamá, I miss friends too.” Smiling a little he looked over my shoulder and down the stairs just about seeing ‘Santa’s’ boots. “What friends do you miss baby?”

“You and papá when I’m at school.” And I couldn’t tell you how much love I had for our little boy, squeezing him closer I kissed his cheek. “Santa- can you come to the stairs?”

Heavy boots were heard before Carlos appeared at the bottom. “Vale, you want to say goodnight to Santa?”

Nodding he waved before squeezing closer to me.

“See you at Christmas.”

Carlos waved, and jingled his little bell.

“His quite shy-” whispering to Vale I bounced him up taking him to his bedroom. “His got Rudolph Mamá. He be okay.” Smiling down at him, I placed him gently back into bed, sitting down at the bottom of his bed- leaning over and kissing the top of his head.

A small light creeped into the room from the door, entering Carlos- who changed very… very quickly into a pair of pyjamas.

“Hey buddy- why you awake?”

“Mamá kissed Santa!”

“Valentino! I was hugging him!”

“You kissed Santa?” A small smile was on Carlos lips as he sat down next to me on Vale’s bed. “I saw it papá.”

“I believe you.” Leaning past me he kissed vales head also, brushing his knuckles against his cheek. “Get some sleep pequeño.” (Little one.)

“Night papá, night Mamá.” Yawning he slowly drifted off into a slumber once again.

Smiling I turned to Carlos. “You are so dead.” Giggling like school kids we both hopped out of Valentino’s room and straight into ours.

Yes I did kiss Santa.

Put me on the naughty list I guess.

[ursuburbanmother]

I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Three

Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: Mothers and daughters?? Fathers and sons?!?

Word Count: ~4k

Find: Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Enjoy!

December 23, 1970

You’ve been stuck in your own mind all day. It's decided to shut down like a panic room and you can see Angus try to crack it open with his attempts at small talk. Mary and Mr. Hunham share uncomfortable glances at each other, slightly humored about the quiet lunch they are having that would usually be filled by chatter from you two.

Angus leans in close to your ear, “You said we would talk today.”

“After this,” you murmur, sinking into the wooden chair.

“If this is about yesterday, it was just a weird moment, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Stop talking,” you say as nicely as you can when you see Mary's eyebrow quirk up at Angus’s comment.

“I have a surprise,” Mr. Hunham suddenly announces. Your eyes snap to him, embracing the distraction. He brings out a platter full of Christmas cookies and places them on the table. “These were a gift to me, and I would like to share them with both of you.”

Angus is unimpressed and by the way he is scowling, he's upset too. “Look at them. Look at all the festive shapes. Snowflakes and gingerbread men. A tree. A little mitten,” Mr. Hunham picks up the red and white frosted cookie and takes a bite. “Mmm,” he looks pleasantly surprised.

“Thank you, Mister. This is really nice,” You reach for the snowflake. You’re not sure how well sloppy joe and sugar will settle in your stomach but you're willing to gamble on it. Mr. Hunham gives you a thin smile.

“May I go to the bathroom, sir?” Angus asks, already pushing away his dish and getting up from his chair.

“You may,” he sighs, watching the boy walk away.

“Well, I’m trying,” he says to the group, defeated.

You give him a weak grin, “These are good cookies though. If that means anything to you.”

Mary chuckles at your exchange. Mr. Hunham gets up and goes the same direction Angus had exited. Your eyes follow him until it is impossible for you to see him without breaking your neck. You turn to Mary who is close to finishing her cigarette. She blows the smoke away from your direction and pushes the packet towards you.

“Want one?”

“Oh. No thanks. That's Angus’s thing.”

“Alright. But don’t go asking for one later.”

“I won’t,” you laugh quietly. You hear voices in the hallway get louder. Angus shouts something you can’t make out and Mr. Hunham's response follows shortly after. Their noise fades away and you rub your tired eyes to snap you awake. You never could get enough sleep. You swear you could sleep for twenty-four hours and still feel groggy.

“What's going on with you two?” Mary asks.

“Angus and I?”

“No. You and the ghost that haunts the infirmary,” she took a sip of her coffee while shaking her head in amusement.

“My mother says I'm a bit of a blabbermouth. I don’t know if you want to hear the details,” you warn.

“Give me the reader's digest,” she pats the seat next to her. Bringing your coca-cola with you, you go cross over to her side of the table. “Okay. Tell me if you think I’m crazy-”

“I will.”

“-But Angus has been acting so weird. One second, he's all moody, a regular Holden Claufield, and the next he’s nice and being the Angus I’ve known all my life. I don’t know… Maybe he’s at the stage where his feelings swing around like a pendulum.”

“That's all-teenagers sweethearts. Even at adulthood, that pendulum never stops swinging. At some point it may slow down only for a gust of wind to return it into motion.”

“I mean he’s always been a little short-tempered, just never towards me. Yesterday,” you wonder if you are getting too personal now, “he called me selfish.”

“Selfish? The girl that just scarfed down a cookie to make an old man feel better.”

You shrug. You never knew how to take compliments. “I know I should just ask him what's really going on, but I don’t want him to blow up on me again.”

“If he does come to me. I’ll whip him into shape for you.”

“Thank you,” you giggle. “What do you think happened out there?” You tilt you heard towards the doors.

“Their usual bickering. That boy is probably paying the price for cursing Hunham out right now.”

“How long have you known Mr. Hunham?”

She paused before answering, “A while now.”

“Has he always been this… strong-willed?”

“Stubborn as a mule you mean? Yes, he has. Although the years have certainly hardened him more.”

“Why’s that?"

“Not sure. He’s a private man. I haven’t been able to pry anything out of him.”

“Not even when he’s,” you make your hand into a fist, extending the pink and thumb. You move it back and forth to mimic drinking from a bottle.

Mary cackles. “Not even then.”

…

The stupidest thing Angus had done was what he had done to you yesterday. He doesn’t know why he said it, why he had called you selfish. It just tumbled out. It was like he was a man possessed. But launching off a springboard in the gym in an act of rebellion was a close second.

He numbed the pain thinking of you. Granted if you were here, you would be lecturing him non-stop and telling him how he should have known better. But at least you would have been here, and he wouldn’t have to watch Mr. Hunham marinate in his misery. At least you would have been there to hold his hand as they popped his arm back into its socket.

Although his mouth had gotten him in trouble the last few days, it had been helpful in getting them out of the hospital insurance issue. And it was about to get him a free burger now too.

They had arrived at the local watering hole. It was jam packed with people getting tipsy with beer. He could hear the clink of billiards and the white noise on the TV.

“I think I’ll start with a beer. How about you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Tully. Get your cheeseburger.”

“They’ve got Miller High Life. The Champagne of Beers.”

“Oh?” Mr. Hunham said, but Angus could tell he was just trying to amuse him.

Angus shut the menu as their waitress came up the stairs to their little booth. “Okay, you ready to order? Oh!” she gasped as she turned to his teacher.

“Miss Crane,” Hunham touched his chest, “As I live and breathe. What-, what are you doing here?”

“Oh hi guys! Yeah, I always pick up a little extra work over Thanksgiving and Christmas,” Miss Crane explained.

It looked as if Mr. Hunham had been snapped awake, “Well, um, this is Mr. Tully,” he motioned his hand towards him.”

“Sure, I know you and your little girlfriend. You two are always glued together like gum on a pole,” Miss Crane said teasingly.

“Y/n L/n," he beamed, "she goes to the girl's school and we’re just friends. But um, we met outside Dr. Woodrup’s office. I was wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet,” he smiled as innocently as he could.

“I didn’t know about the wrongly part,” she shares a laugh with Hunham.

“He’ll have a cheeseburger,” he orders for Angus.

“And a Miller High Life please,” Angus adds quickly.

“Uh. No you will not,” Hunham says sternly.

“Where do you stand on Miller High Life, Miss Crane?”

“Well, like they say, it’s the Champagne of Beers.”

Angus turns to Hunham, “And she’s a professional.”

“Okay, one cheeseburger,” Miss Crane waits for him to fill the blank.

He relents and orders reluctantly, “And a Coke.”

“I’ll have a cheeseburger as well,” Hunham smiled.

“Two cheeseburgers,” she jots down the order on her notepad

“And a Jim Beam. On the rocks. Please.”

“Okay, you got it guys,” She smiles at them before exiting. Paul watches her go and Angus grins at the scene.

“Ouch. You two have chemistry,” he shakes his hand like he had touched a hot plate.

“Okay. That’s the Percodan talking,” Hunham dismisses.

“I don’t know. Seeing her like this, I think she’s pretty attractive,” he hopes his teacher will take the bait.

“Listen, you hormonal vulgarian, that woman deserves your respect, not your erotic speculation.”

Angus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, may I at least go to the bathroom? Sir?”

“You mean the payphone?”

They have a stare off before he runs off to the back of the restaurant. Angus scours any leftover change in his back pocket of his jeans. He finds enough to make a call. He scans the room, making sure that Mr. Hunham isn’t hunting him down like last time. He dials the number to the Barton infirmary and hopes you are lounging in your room.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he chants under his breath. Instead he gets the dial tone. He curses and slams the phone back to its original place.

…

You haven’t seen Angus since the morning. You've been spending all afternoon with Mary instead. You helped with the lunch dishes and are preparing the potatoes for supper later. Mary had a radio in the kitchen which you happily hummed to. Christmas music flooded your ears and reminded you of the holiday. In the halls of Barton there were no decorations, and one could probably convince a kid that the Grinch had stolen them in the dead of night.

“Mary, I'm done,” you proudly show her the bowl of potatoes. In your house most of the cooking was done by private chefs who came in and out so irregularly that you could never learn their names. Understandably, they didn’t have time to entertain a ten-year-olds insistent questions about what it meant to julienne a vegetable.

“Great. Why don’t you start boiling them and get started on chopping those mushrooms.”

“Okay,” you add water to a pot before adding the chomped potato. You find the mushrooms and cut them as thinly as you can. After you place them on the counter next to Mary who has already prepared everything else.

You admire as she adds them to a pan of melted butter. She drops salt, pepper, Italian dressing and other spices you can’t name, without even having to use measuring tools. “You’re Julia Child!” You praise.

“Just years of practice.”

“Hey, when do I get to sauté and mix things?” You get on your tiptoes to get a better look at the mushrooms turning a dark brown.

“When I know you won’t hurt yourself doing it,” she gave a pointed look at the bandaids on your fingers. You may have cut yourself in your first attempts at handling a knife. You hide the hand behind your back. “Sorry.”

You go to sit in a stool by the oven. You open a borrowed copy of a Kerouac book that Angus had in his suitcase. The Subterraneans, written in three days apparently and no offense to Jack but it shows. Mary notices your squinting as you go try to make sense of the writing, inching your face closer and closer to the paper.

“Are you planning to do something with that? The books.” Mary stops her stirring and lowers the heat of the stove. She walks over to you and glances at pages.

“What? Like with writing?” You ask, “I’m not sure. I know I should have figured it out by now but I just never got one of those woosh moments,” you sway your hands in the air.

“Woosh moment?”

“It's like what we talked about with the pendulum. I feel like I've been hanging still and waiting for the wind to send me on my way. I wait for it to push me with the strength of a tornado. Woosh. Almost to flood me with a feeling of knowing? I’m not the best at words…” you trail off.

“You're telling me nothing interests you?” She raised her eyebrow.

“No, a lot of things do. I want to do everything. Right now, for example, I feel like becoming a renowned chef,” you pick up a random bowl and start stirring it slowly.

“Try learning how to handle a knife right first,” she tuts.

“Practice makes perfect Mary,” you smile and look down into the chocolate substance you were messing with. “Cake or brownies?”

“Neither actually. It's more doughy than liquid honey,” she lectures you kindly.

“Right,” you say sheepishly, “I swear I’m smarter when it comes to other things. You should see me in civics class.”

“I believe you,” she winks, “Now get to preheating the oven, Betty Crocker.”

…

Angus goes off to play a game on the Pinball machine and to take his mind off you. It certainly helps him. Avoiding the prospect of getting beat up by locals and injuring another part of his body allows him to momentarily forget the stress he feels when he remembers how pissed you are at him.

Mr. Hunham and Angus eat their burgers quickly. To repay Mr. Hunham for saving his ass, Angus keeps his mouth shut every time he orders a Jim Beam. They leave after Hunham drops a rather generous tip for Miss Crane.

They're walking towards Hunhams car and Angus can’t resist the urge to ask, “Why’d you buy those guys beer? They’re assholes.”

“That’s one way to look at it. Hey. Catch,” he tosses his keys at Angus, who catches them on instinct.

“How many boys do you know who have had their hands blown off? Barton boys don’t go to Vietnam. No, they go to Yale or Dartmouth or Cornell, whether they deserve to or not."

“Except for Curtis Lamb.”

“Except for Curtis Lamb.”

“Were you ever in the military?” Angus’s curiosity peaked.

“I tried to enlist in ‘41, but was rejected,” Mr. Hunham pointed at his eye, as if to say obviously. He tries to unlock the door of the driver's side to no avail. He points towards Angus,“I have to get in through there. Anyways, they made me an air raid warden. Gave me a whistle and everything. Helmet. Arm band.”

Angus opens the door, handing the keys off as Mr. Hunham slides in. He catches a whiff of Mr. Hunham unmentioned scent.

“Before we get going, can I be candid with you?”

“Mm-hmm,”

“You smell,” he states bluntly and Mr. Hunham deflates. Angus joins him inside the Nova, “Like fish. And it’s really noticeable toward the end of the day. I even smell it on your coat. Mind if I crack the window?”

“Trimethylaminuria.”

“Huh?” Angus frowns.

“Trimethylaminuria. Means my body can’t break down trimethylamine. That’s the smell. And, uh, yes, more toward the end of the day.

“Wow. Your whole life? No wonder you’re afraid of women,” he concludes.

“I am not afraid of women,” Hunham says, clearly offended. “Jesus H. Christ.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Dr. Gertler says I don’t always give consideration to my audience,” Angus exhales.

“Who’s Dr. Gertler?’’

“My shrink,” Angus wants to disappear.

“Has Dr. Gertler ever tried a swift kick in the ass?”

Angus figures he ought to level the playing field. “Okay, all right, now your turn. Go ahead, tell me something about me. Something negative.”

“Something negative about you?”

“Sure. Just one thing.

“Just one?”

Angus nods and he probably should be offended that he is taking an awful long time to say anything.

“You’re obtuse about your social relationship.”

“What the hell is that supposed mean?”

“You didn’t say I had to elaborate Mr. Tully.”

“Okay well now I want you to. Spit it out.”

“No,” he backs out of his parking spot and hits the road.

“Come on! Explain,” Angus tugs on Hunhams jacket.

“I hope you don’t plan to pester me all the way to Barton. It'll be an awfully long ride.”

He presses down harder on the gas pedal.

…

You had burned the cookies. Not that you could tell when you took a bite of it. The cocoa had disguised it and you had just finished patting your back when you had to spit the whole thing out into the sink. Mary relishes your misery and apologizes through her laughs, wiping the tears in the corner of her eyes.

So your two-course meal had been reduced to just an entree. After thirty minutes of searching and waiting on Angus and Mr. Hunham, you ladies decided to leave the capacious mess hall and have a TV dinner. If your mother could see you now you were sure she would have you arrested by the etiquette police.

Mary was flipping through the channels to tune in to her daily rewatch of the Newlywed Game. You stopped her suddenly, your hand on top of hers to stop her from operating the remote.

“Cactus Flower! I love this movie. Please can we watch it?” You beg, clasping and shaking your hands together.

“What’s it about?” She asks hesitantly, clearly wary about abandoning her favorite program.

“You’ll love it! Ingrid Berman has to pretend to be her boss's wife because he lied to his lover about being married and having kids and shit-,”

“Language.”

“-Sorry. And so now he has to pull off this big con, so she won’t leave his lying as-, butt,” you correct yourself. “Goldie Hawn is sooo good in this. She won an Oscar I think.”

“I supposed I could give it a try. If it bores me we are switching right back though.”

“Deal,” you giggle and scoot the plate balancing on your lap closer so you can dig in.

For the next hour, Mary seems content in watching the characters in the movie ignore and miscommunicate their feelings. Even shaking her head when they do something she finds ridiculous. Your eyes get heavy as the ending nears, your stomach warm and content with the meal you had and the glare of the television tiring your vision. You lean your head back into the couch cushion and close your eyelids. Distantly you hear Ingrid Berman and Walter Matthau confess their love before your world goes dark.

Slumped against Mary, you wake up for the second time that week by the same hands. Angus is shaking your shoulder gently. Your gaze falls immediately to the sling his arm is in.

“Angus! What the hell?” You whisper- shout, fixing your posture and wiping the potential drool off your face. You check to make sure you didn’t wake up Mary.

“It's okay, it's okay,” he reassures. “It’s not broken, or anything just dislocated.”

“What happened?’’ Your arm trails down from where the sling starts to where his hand hangs lazily out. "Is this why you weren’t at dinner tonight? Hunham too?”

“Uh yeah. I jumped off a springboard in the new gym,” he answers bashfully.

“Wow… you are so stupid sometimes.”

“I prefer spontaneous thank you,” he sits down next to you on the couch and lets out a sigh. Using his good arm, he lifts a plastic bag. “We went out to eat and I got you something.”

“Ooh,” You snatch the bag and open it as quietly as you can without crinkling the plastic. Inside the Styrofoam box there's a half-eaten burger with some cold fries. You snack on it anyway offering some to Angus who shakes his head.

“Mr. Hunham thought buying another would be wasteful. He assumed you and Mary would have probably eaten by then so I saved what I could.”

“We did and,” you motion to the plates, “I helped cook it!”

“Really?” Angus's eyes widened, “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“I saved you some cookies,” You pick up the dish of the burnt dessert. You have brought them over believing you had been exaggerating the taste.

You hadn't.

He takes one, clueless, and bites almost half the cookie off. You see him wince but still he continues to chew. He chokes it down and nods, “Not bad?”

“You’re such a liar,” you shove his head lightly. “I forgot to turn on the timer.”

“Yeah I can tell,” he takes your confession as his cue to spit the rest out into a nearby napkin.

“Thanks for this though,” you take a bite of the burger, “I had forgotten what fast food tasted like.”

“Don’t tell him I let you have it. Or that you saw me in fact. The whole arm thing is supposed to be secret.”

“Got it,” you extended your pinky for him to intertwine. He takes it but doesn’t remove his pinky after, instead he lets your connected hands fall between the both of you.

The TV is still on, except the volume is lower and an old black-and-white movie is on. You finish the burger and put the trash aside to throw away in the morning.

“Where is Mr. Hunham now?”

“Crashed as soon as his head hit the pillow.”

“So you want to talk now?” You look up at him.

“Umm, somewhere private though. Incase Mary wakes up,” he gets up, still connected to you by your fingers and pulls you alongside him. You pick up a discarded blanket along with you

“Okay. Where do you want to go?”

He walks you two out of the staff common room and you let him take the lead. Barton is cold even without all the large windows closed. It’s like walking through a haunted mansion, passing by old dusty trophy cases and pictures of past alumni. When you enter what you recognize to be the auditorium, thanks to the plaque next to the door, Angus strolls you two over to the stage. You sit on the piano bench and when he joins you, you cover him with your blanket.

You hear Angus let out a shaky breath and then see the winter air turn it into a small cloud of smoke.

Angus starts to speak, a tremble in his voice, “You’re the only person who thinks of me first know? Even when we were little, and we had a free pass to be totally self-centered you still never-. Like in middle school when you’d give me biology answers, or just now with the blanket! I have a jacket! I should be giving you the entire blanket. In fact, let me give you -, your just-.”

“It’s alright Angus,” you stop his rapid rambling, holding his face between your hands. “I already forgave you a long time ago.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” he chuckles, trying to divert his gaze but the soft hold you have on him keeps him still.

“I forgave you the second you walked in looking like a kicked puppy.”

He laughs at your words.

“Although I just want to ask what has been going on with you? I know you hate school and you're not incredibly fond of Stanely marrying your mom, but I feel like something has been bothering you. Something big.”

“I need to go to Boston Y/n,” he admits, hitting some random piano keys. The notes echo around the room.

“Okay,” you bite the inside of your cheek, “why?”

“It's snowing outside but it doesn’t feel like Christmas. But my dad, he would make it feel that way. So I need to see him and my mom had promised but you see how that turned out.”

“Oh Angus. This is why you kept bringing it up,” you gasp. “Jesus. And I had called you stupid, I’m the dense one for not connecting the dots.”

“No no. You’re not. I was being evasive. I guess I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I would have stolen Jason Smith's car keys had I known! We could be there by now, eating Clam Chowder by the bay. ”

“Nuh-uh. You’re way too of a goody-two shoe for that.”

“Well I would have followed you. Given an hour's notice, of course, to build my confidence.”

“I don't know,” Angus hits a few more keys, “Maybe this was fate like you said. It definitely didn’t deal me a cruel hand having me holdover here with you.”

“Yeah, the universe was certainly on our side for this one,” you move closer to him and put your head on his shoulder. “Hey, you think you can still play even with only one working hand?”

“I’m willing to try it,” he stretches his fingers, “What shall I serenade you with?”

“Something Beach Boys. In My Room?”

“You got it L/n.”

He plays much slower and his jaw is sharp, fully determined to get through the song for your enjoyment. He plays so gracefully you don’t even notice when he slips on occasion. You don’t mind it. It’s almost as sweet as a lullaby.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in October 2024 🌈

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Happy reading!

❓What was the last queer book you read?

[ Release dates may have changed. List below! ]

❤️ Back in the Hunt - K. Sterling 🧡 The Connoisseur's Christmas Courtship - L.M. Bennett 💛 Shoestring Theory - Mariana Costa 💚 The Black Hunger - Nicholas Pullen 💙 Wild Fire - Radclyffe 💜 Because Fat Girl - Lauren Marie Fleming ❤️ The Ace and Aro Relationship Guide - Cody Daigle-Orians 🧡 Soul Survivors - River Kai 💛 Stolen Hearts - Michele Castleman 💙 Reverence - Milena McKay 💜 Love Immortal - Kit Vincent

❤️ Take a Sad Song - Ona Gritz 🧡 Showmance - Chad Beguelin 💛 Redundancies & Potentials - Dominique Dickey 💚 Alexander - Karla Nikole 💙 Rest in Peaches - Alex Brown 💜 Rise of the Wrecking Crew - Kalynn Bayron ❤️ Language Lessons - Sage Donnell 🧡 Legend of the White Snake - Sher Lee 💛 Sorcery and Small Magis - Maiga Doocy 💙 Cried Out - Kate Hawthorne 💜 Skysong - C.A. Wright 🌈 No Rules Tonight - Kim Hyun Sook, Ryan Estrada

❤️ My Mother's Ridiculous Rules for Dating - Philip William Stover 🧡 I Shall Never Fall in Love - Hari Conner 💛 Castle Swimmer - Wendy Martin 🧡 The Hollow and the Haunted - Camilla Raines 💙 How Does That Make You Feel, Magda Eklund? - Anna Montague 💜 The Arizona Triangle - Sydney Graves ❤️ Every Rule Undone - Nancy S.M. Waldman 🧡 Mister Nice - Jamie Jennings 💛 Under the Mistletoe with You - Lizzie Huxley-Jones 💙 How to Fall in Love in a Time of Unnameable Disaster - Muriel Leung 💜 The Snowball Effect - Haley Cass 🌈 This Will Be Fun - E.B. Asher

❤️ Our Evenings - Alan Hollinghurst 🧡 Don't Let the Forest In - C.G. Drews 💛 Finding Delaware - Bree Wiley 💚 The Reeds - Arjun Basu 💙 The Bloodless Princes - Charlotte Bond 💜 Women's Hotel - Daniel M. Lavery ❤️ Alex McKenna and the Academy of Souls - Vicki-Ann Bush 🧡 A Vile Season - David Ferraro 💛 Synchronicity - J.J. Hale 💙 Writ of Love - Cassidy Crane 💜 Di-Curious - Erin Branch 🌈 Swordcrossed - Freya Marske

❤️ Stand Up! - Tori Sharp 🧡 Haunt Me, Baby - Rose Santoriello 💚 Planet Drag: Uncover the Global Herstory - Various 💙 Until We Shatter - Kate Dylan 💜 Metal from Heaven - August Clarke ❤️ Vicious Fates and Vast Futures - Tilly Bramley 🧡 The Daughter of Danray - Natalia Hernandez 💛 If I Stopped Haunting You - Colby Wilkens 💙 The Darkness Behind The Door - Mira Gonzalez 💜 Hunt Monsters, Do Magic, and Fall in Love - A.M. Weald 🌈 Jasmine Is Haunted - Mark Oshiro

❤️ Model Home - Rivers Solomon 🧡 Haunting Melody - Chloe Spencer 💛 The Door in Lake Mallion - S.M. Beiko 💚 The City in Glass - Nghi Vo 💙 Fang Fiction - Kate Stayman-London 💜 The Merriest Misters - Timothy Janovsky ❤️ Make the Season Bright - Ashley Herring Blake 🧡 My Kind of Trouble - L.A. Schwartz 💛 To Become A Flower - CEON 💙 What Was Lost - Melissa Connelly 💜 The Forbidden Book - Sacha Lamb 🌈 This Dark Paradise - Erin Luken

❤️ The Sound of Storms - Anya Keeler 🧡 Country Queers - Rae Garringer 💛 A Spell for Heartsickness - Alistair Reeves 💚 The Stars Inside Us - Kristy Gardner 💙 October's Ocean - Delaine Coppock 💜 Haunt Your Heart Out - Amber Roberts ❤️ The Dark Becomes Her - Judy I. Lin 🧡 Power Pose - Emily Silver 💛 The Magic You Make - Jason June 💙 House of Elephants - Claribel A. Ortega 💜 Tegan and Sara: Crush - Tegan Quin, Sara Quin, Tillie Walden 🌈 The Brightness Between Us - Eliot Schrefer

❤️ The Spring before Obergefell - Benjamin S. Grossberg 🧡 Pray For Him - Tyler Battaglia 💛 Coup de Grâce - Sofia Ajram 💚 Coal Gets In Your Veins - Cat Rector 💙 He Who Bleeds - Dorian Valentine 💜 The Revenge of Captain Vessia - Leslie Allen ❤️ Camelot's Tower - Brooke Matthews 🧡 The Manor - Tiffany E. Taylor 💛 Arcanum - Ashlyn Drewek 💙 Strange Beasts - Susan J. Morris 💜 On Vicious Worlds - Bethany Jacobs 🌈 Death Song - B. Ripley

❤️ Best Hex Ever - Nadia El-Fassi 🧡 I'll Be Gone for Christmas - Georgia K. Boone 💛 Make My Wish Come True - Rachael Lippincott, Alyson Derrick 💚 Gentlest of Wild Things - Sarah Underwood 💙 Troth - E.H. Lupton 💜 Solis - Paola Mendoza & Abby Sher ❤️ Lucy, Uncensored - Mel Hammond, Teghan Hammond 🧡 Mama - Nikkya Hargrove 💛 Under All the Lights - Maya Ameyaw 💙 Reclaimed - Seth Haddon 💜 The Devil's Dilemma - Alex J. Adams 🌈 The Jovian Madrigals - Janneke de Beer

❤️ Blood Price - Nicole Evans 🧡 Worship Me - K.C. Blume 💛 All the Hearts You Eat - Hailey Piper 💚 The Nightmare Before Kissmas - Sara Raasch 💙 Rogue Community College - David R. Slayton ���� Mistress of Hours - Emma Elizabeth ❤️ The Dog Trainer's Secret - Sav Uong 🧡 Most Wonderful - Georgia Clark 💛 Antenora - Dori Lumpkin 💙 House of Frank - Kay Synclaire 💜 Sir Callie and the Witch's War - Esme Symes-Smith 🌈 Prince of Fortune - Lisa Tirreno

[getmehighonmagic]

“Hi, Mister Henry!” Rory shrieks. “Papi said you’re alone and we don’t want you to be alone, because it’s Christmas, so now we brought you dinner! Can I play with your doggy?” Henry’s eyes widen the longer Rory yaps at him. His mouth opens and closes a few times, before he helplessly looks up at Alex. Alex smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, what she said,” he says like a total dork, because Henry’s eyes are really fucking blue and Alex is really fucking screwed.

Merry Christmas, friends! Chapter two is coming in the upcoming days ♥

@blueeyedgrlwrites @sparklepocalypse @kiwiana-writes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @affectionatelyrs

@indomitable-love @heysweetheart-writes @orchidscript @wordsofhoneydew @firenati0n

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @anchoredarchangel @clottedcreamfudge @anincompletelist @cricketnationrise

@lostcol @matherines @thinkof-england @inexplicablymine @three-drink-amy

@priincebutt @nocoastposts @littlemisskittentoes @cha-melodius @freyjaexplores

@itsmaybitheway @saturntheday @bitbybitwrites @ninzied @porcelainmortal

@firstsprinces @suseagull5914 @thesleepyskipper

[anika-ann]

Underneath the Christmas Tree (A.B.)

Type: one-shot, drabble-ish, floof

Pairing: Andy Barber x reader WC: 1100

Summary: Your Christmas might not be perfect, but the person you celebrate with is.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw for allusions to smut, clichés and huge amount of fluff, mentions of insecurity in reader, celebrating Christmas

A/N: a little something to raise the holiday spirits, in the honour of @stargazingfangirl18 who slipped into many inboxes to spread the hoeliday cheer 💕I hope she and all of you can profit from a sweet moment with one mister B🎄// divider by @firefly-graphics

“You’re being a grinch,” he teased you lightly, thick arm wrapping around your waist from behind to keep you flush to his front.

You only frowned harder as you placed the single box under your Christmas tree. It looked absurd among the five boxes from your lovely devoted irritating fiancé – of course you’d be a little grinchy about it.

This Christmas was supposed to be perfect – because Andy Barber was and he deserved nothing less than that in return. You had prepared three presents for Andy in total – or you had tried so. Until the most important one, one you ordered and had custom-made took longer than expected. You ordered two months in advance, so proud of yourself for figuring out the gift for the man who stole your heart without intention of ever giving it back… and then came December, than half of it went, and then the day before Christmas Day arrived, ten a.m., three p.m., eight p.m. and since the clock was about to struck midnight, something told you your package wasn’t about to arrive in time. All your insecurities about deserving the wonderful man momentarily soothing you in his generous embrace resurfaced, making you feel inadequate and just… not enough.

So yeah, you were scowling a little. Especially since Andy was maybe not laughing at your misery, but was definitely at least slightly amused by the way you were expressing it.

“It was supposed to be perfect,” you echoed your thoughts wearily, feeling the stupid tears gather in your eyes. Dammit.

It was just… Andy truly was your Prince Charming. Your one. A kind, caring man with the biggest heart you had ever encountered, a bit dorky, but with maturity most men at any age couldn’t even dream of, and with sweet, almost gentlemanly ways that went out of the window once the door of your bedroom closed behind you. Assuming you’d make it as far as the bedroom. Or even into your house.

He deserved everything that was good in this world and more and there were times when you doubted you were the one able to give it to him.

You felt him smile against your cheek as he pressed a soft kiss there, pulling you back from your thoughts – and to fall on your ass – to sit between his legs on the floor with a tiny yelp on your part.

“It is. ‘cause you are, sweetheart,” he whispered to your ear, causing you to side-glance him at his sappy ways.

A soft smile was playing on his lips indeed, serene face illuminated by the warm lights on your Christmas tree, eyes shining with contentment.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, suddenly at peace. Damn, he was gorgeous. Ruffled hair, pretty lips framed by his perfectly trimmed beard, white tee and simple grey sweats, like a god of domesticity and happiness in the most ordinary moments. How could you protest, how could you doubt anything at all when he was like that?

“I love you,” you said instead, earning a soft peck to your lips, a whispered declaration in return. “I just… I was really excited to give you the present you deserve.”

Andy’s plush lips stayed but a breath away, closing the distance again at your admission, last remnants of your gloomy mood evaporating as he kissed you again, this time slowly, deeply, loving.

Then, he inched away, your eyes fluttering open only to meet the mischievous sparkle in his eye.

Your heart skipped a beat. Ah-oh.

“What-“ He reached for the single gift you had placed under the three, pulling at the bow and stealing it for himself. “Andy!”

He laughed at your scandalized expression, taking your left hand – the one adorned by a charming ring he had placed there barely a month ago – and swiftly wrapped the ribbon around your wrist, tying another perfect bow.

Your shoulders sagged, your face probably revealing as much of your exasperation as adoration.

“Here. My perfect gift, in all its glory.”

“You, mister, are an old sap.”

He grinned. “And yet, you agreed to marry me.”

Your gaze flicked between the bow and the gorgeous diamond on your finger, the widest of smiles tugging at your lips. “Yeah, what was I even thinking-“

“Hey!” he protested, deft fingers sneaking under your silky bathrobe in a vicious attack at your most ticklish spots, having you try to squirm from his hold – only accomplishing changing your positions until he trapped you under him lied flat on the fluffy carpet, his weight on you as warm as his gaze.

“See? My perfect gift, now even lying under the Christmas tree, all mine to unwrap. I’m a lucky man, aren’t I?”

His fingers sneaked lower, brushing over your hips and to your thigh, his hand freezing. The sweet warm gaze turned heated, drawn to your lips as your tongue peeked out to wet them. You felt your face flush with heat, even as your chest puffed with pride.

Cat got his tongue now, did it?

“Sweetheart?”

“There’s… I thought we might cheat a little. I didn’t wrap this one,” you admitted, a little disappointed when his weight disappeared and he only straddled your thighs – but the feeling was quickly replaced by satisfaction when Andy tugged, peeling your robe off, eyes feasting on your body adorned with the new lingerie you had bought, your nipples instantly hardening under the see-though material under his appreciative gaze.

“So…” you hummed innocently, fully aware of the way his sweats barely hid his growing arousal, just like your excuse of panties couldn’t hope to hide the growing wetness of your core, “what do you think?”

Andy’s lip curled in a smirk that had you stomach somersault, his eyes dark as coal, soft fingertips trailing over the soft curve of your breast, brushing your nipple with clear intent.

“Well, sweetheart, I think you just almost made it to the naughty list,” he mused, his other hand toying with the little ribbons on the side of your panties, lightly puling on it until fell apart smoothly.

Your breath caught in your throat, heat pooling in your belly as his fingertips followed the pattern of lace above your mound.

“Almost?”

Andy’s smirk was positively devious as he leaned down to press a kiss to your cleavage, dextrous fingers undoing the bow on your other hip as well, baring you to his greedy touch.

“But when I’m done with all the things I want to do you, sweetheart, when you let me do every filthy thing I have on my mind now… I promise you that’s you’ll be right on the top it.”

And Andy Barber was a true gentleman; when he made a promise, he always always delivered on it.

Misc characters masterlist

Full masterlist

Again, many thanks to Siri - and happy peaceful holidays to us all 💕

Thank you for reading 🥰

[daughteroftheteleri]

A little Christmas gift for you all

Wow guys, I can't believe the year is practically over. I've had such an amazing time on this account, I've made some amazing friends, reblogged so many amazing things from other members of this wonderful community, and received more love and appreciation than I ever expected I would over my fanfics and fanart - thank you, all of you, for this year and warm welcome you've given me to this website. My Christmas gift to you is a bit of festive bagginshield reshirement drabble (with no plot in sight) that hasn't been beta'd but was fun to write:

"Hold still, Uncle Thorin!" Frodo chastised the dwarf below him, who merely grunted in response as he fought to keep his balance with the fauntling perched on his shoulders. "I'm not done yet!"

"I don't know about this," Bilbo stood nearby nervously, wringing his hands. "I'd hate for you to fall, Frodo."

"What, don't you trust me, my love?" Thorin teased, earning him a playful eye roll from his husband. He could see the sassy retort already forming on the hobbit’s lips, but their nephew cut him off with a triumphant declaration:

"There! All done!"

Thorin bent down, allowing Frodo to jump off his shoulders. Straightening up, he nodded in approval at the sprig of mistletoe the little hobbit had tied onto the arched doorway. "Well done. But I believe we should still test it out, right, Bilbo?"

"I certainly think we should," his husband smirked as Thorin pulled him into an embrace. As they kissed, Thorin savoured the moment, taking his time to appreciate the warmth of his one in his arms, the taste of the gingerbread they had made earlier still fresh on his lips. Thorin did his best to ignore the gagging sounds Frodo was making.

The sound of the doorbell pulled them apart, but even without him in his arms, the gorgeous smile that Bilbo shot him filled Thorin with warmth regardless. "That'll be the Gamgees."

Upon opening the door, Frodo immediately grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him away to play in Bag End’s snow covered garden. Thorin left his husband to entertain the other Gamgee family members while he followed the fuantlings outside.

The two best friends were engaged in an intense snowball fight. Thorin was proud to see that Frodo was winning, as he lobbed a projectile at the blond hobbit while his back was turned.

"Ow!” Sam rubbed his head indignantly. “That is not fair, Mister Baggins!”

"Sam, stop calling me that! We're not boring grown ups," Frodo laughed. Thorin lit his pipe, watching the scene unfolding before him with fond amusement. "Call me Frodo!"

"Ok, Mr...um..." Sam stumbled over the words awkwardly. "Mr…Mr Frodo."

"Close enough!" Frodo giggled, and the fight resumed.

The two continued to throw balls of snow at each other until Frodo, his raven hair speckled with white, paused mid throw. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then promptly shut it again, grabbing Sam's hand. He dragged both of them over to Thorin, who snuffed out his pipe, curious as to what inspired Frodo's sudden silence and wide eyed look.

"Uncle Thorin," The fuantling whispered in awe, pointing just beyond the fence. "There's a reindeer here!"

Thorin squinted at the brown shape his nephew was gesturing towards. The dwarf couldn't see well at the best of times, let alone in the gathering darkness of the winter dusk while flecks of snow fell softly down. Carefully, he crept closer, keeping his footfall quiet. Thorin wasn't nearly as good at sneaking as his husband was, (he could admit that), but he could still move with a surprising degree of stealth when the situation demanded it.

The shape grew more defined as he got closer, and a smile tugged at the dwarf's lips. It wasn't a reindeer, but a young faun, with red brown fur and big, nervous eyes.

"It's a reindeer, right, Uncle Thorin?" Frodo's tiny hand had found his own.

"Indeed it is," The dwarf smiled, unwilling to dampen his nephews’s enthusiasm or discourage his imagination. "Come now, it's getting cold. Back inside, the both of you."

They returned just in time to hear the doorbell ring again. Bilbo, returning from delivering cups of hot cocoa to the rest of the Gamgees, exchanged a confused glance with Thorin. They were not expecting anyone else over for yule this year. Before they could wonder any further, a playful shout from behind the door interrupted them:

"Hurry up and open the door, it's freezing out here!"

With a delighted laugh, Bilbo pulled open the door. Thorin couldn't keep the goofy smile off of his face as Fili and Kili piled in and pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned fiercely.

"I thought the road over the Misty Mountains was not safe for you to travel through this year?" Bilbo asked when they had finally separated.

"Pfft! As if a little snow is going to keep us from seeing our favourite cousin!" Kili replied joyfully. "Where's Frodo?"

"I'm here!" Frodo ran into the waiting arms of Fili, who scooped him up and onto his shoulders. "Wait a minute! Aren't I your only cousin?"

Thorin laughed alongside the others before a serene, feminine voice drew his eyes back to the door. "What, do I not get a hug as well, brother?"

Dis stood framed by the doorway, her fur coat speckled with snow and her midnight green eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. Thorin ran to her, pulling her into a tight hug which she returned gratefully.

"I'm glad you could make it, sister," he murmured into her hair. She just giggled, pulling away from him and lightly punching his shoulder.

"Like my youngest said. No amount of snow is ever going to keep us from visiting you during Yule."

"I hope you still have our presents!" Fili joked, Frodo swaying dangerously on his shoulders. Bilbo swatted him away, a faux scowl on his face.

"Drop my nephew and I'll replace them all with lumps of coal," he playfully snapped. As soon as Frodo was safely back down on the ground, Thorin’s husband led their new guests into the lounge, where the yule tree stood proudly beside the fireplace. Everyone began to settle into comfortable chairs around the hearth, save the fuantlings, who sat on the ground playing, and Fili and Kili, who had decided to play with them. Bilbo, noticing that only one person had yet to join them, turned back to his husband and held out his hand expectantly. "Are you coming, Thorin?"

Filled with contentment, Thorin took his hand, lovingly weaving their fingers together. "Of course, Amrâlimê."

[homestuckreplay]

If WV And PM Have No Fans I Must Be Dead

(page 1032-1039)

The mirroring of Jade (Prospit; dreaming) and Jade (Earth; robot) has been expanded to also mirror PM (Earth; years in the future) and PM??? (Prospit; now) with more identically-composed panels. It is actually a really smooth transition, and I do think that having time to sit between updates makes it easy to keep track of different versions of the same character, where and when they are, and how they can interact. I’ve seen in forum threads that some people have blasted through the first 1000 pages in a day as they discover the story which must feel like a very steep and confusing learning curve (even if it’s technically more accurate for representing the kids’ story, which for them is still a single day).

The imps in John’s house all look similar enough that this could be a fakeout, and this Prospit white chess piece is not PM, but they have the same build and eyes (see above from pages 723, 844 and 1033). Whether or not this is PM, I love their design. The blue/green stripes hippie two piece with matching hat feels like something I would see on a middle aged woman at a music festival who turns out to be the loveliest person I’ve ever met. But back in Homestuck the angle on page 1033 makes it look like PM(?) has boobs which, cmon, they are a bug/chess piece and I’ve never seen a busty chess piece and this is the laziest possible way to indicate a character is female.

I really do love these futuretime folks like WV and PM, I think their story is so interesting. They’re aliens, they’re bugs, they’re chess pieces, they’re video game NPCs, they’re time travelers, they’re irresolute wanderers through the wasteland, they’re the fabric of freedom and democracy and they’re carrying out the orders of a mysterious thirteen year old girl from a different species who lived centuries ago. That’s fascinating, and all their quirks and strangenesses put them in contrast to the kids who – while pretty weird themselves – are fundamentally just humans on the internet, and so are more grounded much easier to relate to then WV and PM.

I don’t know if they are fulfilling time loops or trying to actively change the past, but they seem naturally drawn towards these bunkers, like they instinctively still interface with the video game world after leaving it.

The narrator also talks directly to WV again on page 1036, something they did a lot while WV was commanding John in Act 2 (p.258, for example), though this hasn’t really happened with PM (yet). In fact it better parallels Jade, the character who most often speaks to the player. Today she actually tries to command WV, using several ==> commands in her note – I wonder if he is programmed to respond to these in any context, not just via computer terminal.

But for real, it must be so hard for WV not to eat those tasty greentext envelopes Jade has made him. And Jade absolutely called this right down to the position of the clouds and the fact that PM would be wearing the postal hat. (I guess Jade doesn’t need to feel guilty about causing the bunker to explode if she knows PM will survive, and that has interesting implications for her perspective, if she thinks it’s okay to cause harm in the moment because she definitively knows it won’t have a major, long term impact). But her predictions are eerily specific, not only in their detail, but also in her knowing exactly what guidance WV (Mister Mayor!!) will need to carry out this plan. Her ‘the freedom of your people depends on it’ is a really good way to manipulate WV, as I’m sure she knows he would never neglect his critical mayoral business no matter how tasty the letter is.

So, there’s going to be an important gift exchange, and it might be relevant that this page drops six days before Christmas. These two were on different sides of the Prospit vs Ominous Planet war, but the hearts and spirit of giving in the note suggest a peaceful exchange, two sides transcending a former antagonism. PM reaching for their sword on page 1039 isn’t a good sign, but I’m sure that as soon as they see the mail, the critical mail business will take precedence.

A more dangerous antagonism comes from the mysterious Aimless Renegade, whose gun remains pointed at the other two. I don’t think either WV or PM has noticed them yet. More importantly, has Jade seen them? They’re not mentioned – or warned about – in Jade’s note, and so could be somehow invisible to her powers. This isn’t unheard of; Jade has ‘never had any sort of feeling about [the trolls] or what they want’ (p.1000) and says that ‘if [Bec] wants to be found, he will find [her]’ (p.942), so the trolls and Bec both have some defenses against her. AR could be associated with either the trolls or Bec, or immune for a secret third reason.

Either way, I’m nervous. I like this beautiful WV-PM friendship predicted by Jade’s note, and I don’t want either of them to get blasted with an assault rifle. So whether or not this element has been accounted for by Jade, I’m hoping for some sort of holiday miracle.

> PM: Draw sword; look upwards.

[twola]

All is Calm, All is Bright

This is my entry for the @rdrevents #rdrSecretWinterExchange! Its the first time for me to participate in something like this and I had a ton of fun doing it!

the prompt was: johnigail and/or marston family centric - marston family’s first christmas on the ranch

PG13-ish? Language (hey - it’s Red Dead) and there’s some insinuatin’ of things that married folk do. Happy holidays @vittoriaisfuckingpathetic!

God damn woman, goddamn woman with those goddamn pretty eyes, and evil smile and…

Oh, who is he kidding? That woman’s got him wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. That’s why he’s heading into Blackwater when the prairie is cold as dickens and he feels like he froze his ass off on this ride into town. The grey clouds cast darkness over the land, and though sunset is a few hours off, it is dark enough to lose one’s way easily.

John Marston groans underneath his heavy coat, tucking his head into the open collar, “C’mon now boy, just get me into town and I’ll getcha all the damn treats that you want.” 

The roan Tennessee Walker beneath him nicks its head up, neighing in discomfort against the wind rolling off Flat Iron Lake. Blanketed in white, snow covering the prairie, he can barely see the trail ahead of him, having to rely on muscle memory and his sense of direction to get to Blackwater.

“It’s Christmas. The first time the boy’s been in a home for one, hell, it's the first time I’ve been in a home for one. Probably you too.”

Abigail, as always, was right. Her voice rings in his ears, and though he wants to grumble terribly, it warms him to see her smile as he leaves. Seeing excitement in Jack’s eyes, for the first time in a very long time. Fortunately, It's not long before he comes upon that old white church on the top of the hill heading into town - he’s able to urge his horse to trot faster down the well-traveled road, where hoofprints and wagon tracks have the ground visible underneath the snow. 

The plod of his horse's hooves change their tenor as he reaches the cobblestone main streets of Blackwater. It's a sound that he bites back a derisive comment to - much preferring the soft, muted sound of his horse walking on the open prairie. When John reaches his destination, he slides out of the saddle and hitches his horse to a post in front of several shops. He brushes snow off of his shoulder as he quickly moves toward one of the shops.

Blackwater Sundries - Family Owned since 1895

The bell above the door rings as he pushes the door open, quickly closing it behind himself to stave out the cold wind.

“I’m here to pick up an order under the name Marston.”

The young woman behind the desk smiles before turning to the table behind and her, grabbing a wooden crate. She struggles, slightly, hoisting it to the counter, and John leans over the counter to steady her by taking the crate's edge. 

“Thank you kindly, Mister Marston. This here’s got a smoked ham, a can of candied yams, a can of asparagus, a wrapped fruitcake, and a bottle of my momma’s mulled wine. She just made it this morning. A Christmas gift for everyone who made an order with us.”

“That’s mighty kind of her, Miss.” John slides the crate closer to himself on the counter. He digs one hand into his satchel for the envelope of money that Abigail had sent with him for the order. Placing it down on the counter, he gazes once over the crate and its contents, “Miss, do you possibly have a sack to put this all in? I only have my horse, ain’t brought my wagon.”

“Course, Mister. Let me wrap up the bottle in extra canvas.”

After the girl wraps all of the items carefully in canvas and finally in a large sack, she holds it out for John to take,  “Ham is already spiced and smoked, so just have your wife warm it up in the oven. Yams and asparagus just on the stovetop. Shouldn’t take more than an hour and you’ll have a nice spread.” She states cheerily as John shoulders the sack.

He snorts to himself as he nods a farewell, striding back to the door and the howling wind outside. Blessedly, this was one meal that Abigail would not be able to ruin. He loves that woman from here to hell and back, but Lord, cooking wasn’t one of her strong suits.

John braces himself against the cold as the door swings open, gritting his teeth against the blustery wind that rushes through the city street. Cursing to himself again, he quickly secures the bag to his horse’s rump, taking a moment to dig in his satchel for a peppermint candy that he feeds the Walker before unhitching him and climbing up.

It’s a cold, long ride back to Beecher’s Hope, and night has truly fallen by the time John can see the glow of lights from the main house. He leads the horse to the barn, opening the two large doors and bringing the Walker to one of the stalls where he had shoveled fresh hay into. John brings his hand down the horse’s mane affectionately as he unties the bag of items and pulls the saddle from the horse’s back. Once the Walker is settled, John shoulders the bag and heads back outside, walking quickly up to the house, pushing inside the door seeking warmth.

“Pa’s back!”  John hears his son shout from down the hall as he closes the door behind him. He shrugs some of the snow off his shoulder before kicking his boots off on the threshold. 

“Go on and help him then!” Abigail shouts from the kitchen.

“Sir -” Jack bounds into view and holds his arms out and John hands him the sack of goods, “Mind the bottle in there.”  The boy nods and carries the sack carefully toward the kitchen.  

John finishes kicking his boots off and shrugs his wet coat off as well, hanging it on a peg near the door. He treads forward, further into the house, where the main room is brightly lit with sconces, candles, and oil lanterns to fend off the darkness of the night. Abigail has hung pine boughs on the mantle, cut from the trees on the furthest north reach of the ranch, right as it borders Tall Trees. The scent of pine wafts through the house, and John has to stop and survey the room, so filled with life, even in the darkness of the season.

Abigail flutters around the house like a madwoman, taking the bag from Jack and immediately running back into the kitchen. She orders the men of the house around as if she is in the army - wash up, change your shirt, Uncle, I swear to god if you drank John’s good whiskey you will sleep in the barn tonight -

By the time that he, Jack, and Uncle return in some state of cleanliness, Abigail has warmed up the food and placed it out on serving plates on the table. John cannot help but to stare at the bounty of it all - he was so far removed from the starving kid stealing bread at Jack’s age. Even far removed from eating Pearson’s stew around a campfire.

“Sir?” Jack waits patiently, his hands on the chair in front of him.

“Go on now, sit down and let’s eat.” John waves his hand at the table as he pulls out his own chair, and the clank and clatter of forks and knives on plates as food is served fills the room.

“And look at this - the Christmas spirit has even gotten to a sour ol’ bastard like John Marston o’er here.” Uncle guffaws between swigs of whiskey straight from the bottle, obviously having had quite a few sips before dinner even started.

“Old man, I swear-” John points his fork menacingly at Uncle.

“It’s Christmas, John. Have a heart and don’t abuse the elderly, for once.” Uncle retorts, to which John rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to threaten the old man, as per usual.

Abigail glares from across the table and John swallows his insult, breathing out his nose as he spears a piece of candied yam.

Soft conversation continues through dinner, the teasing and retorts that usually take up the table are blessedly absent - for once. John glances up from his empty plate across the table to his wife, and the smile that she gives him makes the hardened gunslinger blush - blush - of all things.

She mouths a “thank you” as Uncle drones on about how his stories are better in every way than Jack’s books - his son interjecting about how Uncle is no literary luminary. Laughter floats through the house - flashes of the quiet, empty room when he had just built the house dance behind John’s eyes - he is so thankful those days are behind him.

The dessert is served and eaten, conversation remains light and cheerful. For tonight, at least, work at Beecher’s Hope is forgotten - the crush of debts or ‘success’ at ranching. 

“Alright now, Jack - go on and wash up and head to sleep. It's past your bedtime.” Abigail points one finger at her son as she finishes her glass of mulled wine and John can swear he sees a blush in her cheeks that he had not seen in years. After Jack grumbles for a moment and bids everyone good night,  Abigail clears the table and with a yawn, retires, walking behind John and kissing him on his brow on her way back to their bedroom.

John has a few more glasses of whiskey with Uncle before they retire, recalling glory days gone by. Uncle’s storytelling gets more and more ridiculous with each drink - One-Shot Kid my ass. Mumbling something about how his lumbago ails him, Uncle schleps over to the couch. For once, John does not scold him about getting up to his place in the attic. Perhaps it was this ‘Christmas spirit’ that Abigail had gone on about. Standing up from the table, John rights the mostly empty bottle of whiskey as he looks up at the clock on the wall, another contraption Abigail insisted on furnishing this house. It’s past midnight - technically Christmas at this point. He sighs, slowly strolling down the hall to his son’s room.

He checks on Jack, pushing his door open ever so slightly. The boy has fallen asleep with his oil lantern next to his desk still on, a book open across his chest. John frowns, stepping fully into the room and making his way over to the bed as quietly as he can. He gently, carefully extracts the book from Jack’s grasp, placing it down on the bedside table; open to the page that his son had been reading. 

John lingers, his finger on the switch to the lamp. The orange glow of light casts shadows through the room, and for a second, he swears the boy in the bed is a ragtag child, dirty and angry, saved from the gallows by wayward outlaws.

He shakes his head at the vision as he turns off the lantern, plunging the room into darkness. As his eyes adjust, he quietly makes his way back to the hall, pausing once again to look upon his son, silently swearing to himself that Jack will never have to live as he did at this age.

He yawns, rolling his shoulder as he walks back into the dining room, past the leftovers of the veritable feast they had for the Christmas meal, not bothering to clear it up until morning. Idly scratching his bicep, he winces slightly at the pull in the muscle - even after all these years, there are dull aches from the bullet wound he obtained in Roanoke. Brushing off the pain, he continues down the hallway, to his and Abigail’s bedroom. He quietly opens the door, expecting his wife to be fast asleep this late in the night.

He’s surprised when she isn’t, the fireplace blazing and sconces lighting the room.

Abigail lounges upon the bed like some expensive lady of the night, her long chemise lacy and near translucent in the night. Jesus, she’s as beautiful as she was at eighteen when he couldn’t have enough of her. 

“Thank you, John.” She whispers softly. He almost can’t hear her, so enraptured by the sight of her with her long hair unbound, laying out on that bed.

Abigail nicks her head upward with that sly grin that stole his heart. John raises his eyebrows in questioning as he follows her motioning - finding a bright green sprig of leaves hung over the bed frame, tied with a red length of yarn.

“C’mon over here, gunslinger.”

[yamada-ryo]

He's Mister White Christmas, he's Mister Snow.

[emiplayzmc]

HE'S MISTER WHITE CHRISTMAS, HE'S MISTER SNOW

He's TOO MUCH~

[f0point5]

intro throughts

Logan being a little pookie, a bit like cute hamster, but he got BUFFED over winter break, wouldn't recognize him if compared to his first race last year

Kevin looking normal, would appreciate maybe a little bit from distance, having his face that close was almost uncomfortable, not bad though

Zhou looking good, I love his hair

appreciate Daniel just smirking, not actual wide smile that close to the camera, love his beard, gives "your daughter calls me daddy" vibe

Nico challenging his pose for future political career

Valterri and his mullet plus his highlighter green suit, not great not terrible, looks better with the bleached hair (at least in my opinion)

Yuki looking like a robot, sorry our Japanese sweetheart they did you dirty

Alex and his natural hair, appreciate it, plus loving the white suit

not gonna lie, that shot of Ocon did things to me that I'm not so sure about

Pierre looking like he wants to kill you (knowing how tall he is, it's how he would have to look up to me as well, makes it quite funny), great shot of his eyes

Lance... where did that hair come from man?!

Oscar, oh my adored Mr Koala. not a bad word about you (insert Kris Jenner's "you're doing great sweetie") - his eyes his neck his hair, consider me dead thank you

George's eyes look so huge there, for some reason he reminds me of The Boss Baby 😂 good thing he didn't do anything stupid or cringe-y this time

can we talk about how proportionally perfect Carlos is? also those eyes see to your very SOUL you perverts!

they did Lando dirty, kinda sad that they did him from afar

Charles being Charles. no other words needed

NANDOOOO! Grandpa of the grid looking amazing, whoever decided to use this shot deserves a raise

Lewis looking like he's preparing for a boxing match, but in a weirdly hot way

not sure about Checo, he stands there kinda like a 🧍🏻‍♂️, love his eyes though

and Max. oh mister please have a mercy with my poor heart, that little smirk and those eyes will keep me awake at night!

that's it, I'm done 😂

Logan did indeed bulk up. I keep seeing videos of him in the paddock and I’m like damn son you had a lot of steak over Christmas.

Don’t talk to me about Ocon. I’m going through something with him at the minute and I’m deeply ashamed.

Oscar is really having a moment. I hope it lasts all year.

They need to stop doing close ups of Daniel.

I liked Lando’s actually. He is a short king but he’s a cutie, and Orange is his colour.

Fernando has definitely had Botox or a chemical peel and he is looking incredible. INCREDIBLE.

Lewis looking kinda hot ngl he isn’t a bit of me but that promo really was.

The Ferrari boys and just models. You can’t even judge them against the rest of the grid they’re just beautiful. The way this team has the two best looking drivers and Red is their colour…I’m going to miss Carlos next year.

Max. That smirk is going to haunt me. In there very best way.

[duckymcdoorknob]

MERRY CHRISTMAS DESSIE POO!!!!!! SURPRISE!!! IT’S ME!!!I’M YOUR SECRET SANTA THIS YEAR!!! @fanfic-chan

IM SO GLAD THAT WE’VE GOTTEN CLOSER OVER THESE PAST FEW MONTHS!! ILYSM BESTIEEE!!!

Double surprise!! It’s the fic idea we had in discord ❤️❤️

Send help why is this like the only gif of these two on this site 😭

I hope this isn’t too OOC; I haven’t seen Tengen in a whole season.🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

Enjoy your novel-sized gift!!!

Helpful Distraction

Ships: NONE! Zenitsu Agatsuma & Tengen Uzui.

Warnings: this do have tickles in it ngl, mentions of fears and sensitivity to sound.

Prompt: When Tengen notices that Zenitsu is having some trouble in the Entertainment District, he offers a distraction that he remembers from a long-time friend of his.

Tags: REITERATING WITH THE LOVELY @fanfic-chan HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! THANK YOU TO @nataliewritez FOR ALL OF THE IDEAS ❤️❤️❤️ KNY Taglist: @ticklish-n-stuff, @giggly-squiggily.

Tengen was not anticipating having to take the three brats with him to the Entertainment District. He wanted to just take the pigtailed girl and make the mission easier. Of course, white-knight Kamado had decided to rescue the girl that he was “tormenting” so harshly… What a job this has turned out to be.

So, here he sat. The moon was high, and the four men were seated on a rooftop, enjoying some shrimp tempura that Tengen had purchased for them.

“Thank you, Mister Uzui!” Tanjiro had beamed when he was handed the small package.

The sound pillar had smiled; he liked this kid’s manners.

Inosuke was… well… Inosuke.

And the little yellow-haired kid... He had muttered a “thangkyou”, but he seemed a bit scared of the city.

Why so?

Well, it seemed like whatever was troubling young Zenitsu was long forgotten. The thunder breathing user was smiling happily on the rooftop, talking ecstatically with his friends and kicking his feet above the absence of ground below them.

All seemed to be going well until a firework went off…

Zenitsu squeaked in discomfort, hands shooting up to cover his ears. When he realized what he had done, a tiny whine of protest escaped his lips as he defeatedly watched his tempura topple off of the roof and plummet into the pit of darkness below his feet. He sighed and stared at it, watching it disappear as it was engulfed by the void. His hands were folded in his lap, his feet stopped kicking, and his eyes that had previously been crinkling shut in joy were now dull and unblinking.

Tengen frowned a bit; poor kid…

He wordlessly held out his own second tempura, shaking his wrist in front of the pouting boy.

The sound pillar was shocked at what happened next. Zenitsu looked up at him with disbelief before smiling and taking it, breaking off a small piece and handing the rest back to the hashira. “Thank you!” He chirped.

Tengen smiled, “No, no. Just take it. I ate before we left this morning.”

“Yeah, but that was this morning. You’re super strong, and you need it more than me,” the blonde argued, shaking his wrist in the same way.

The white-haired male exhaled fondly. He picked up the tempura, but chose to hide it inside of the package. He feigned eating motions, side-eyeing the young slayer, who was much happier and chatting with his friends again.

After a few more minutes, the thunder breathing user’s tummy growled loudly, causing Tanjiro to giggle. “Sounds like someone’s still hungry!”

“Tanjirooooo!” The blonde whined, “don’t embarrass me when Nezuko might hear meeeeeeee!”

The hashira broke into boisterous laughter as Zenitsu hid his face in his hands. He whined as his tummy growled once more. Tengen shook his head with a smile as he tapped the boy’s shoulder. When the blonde looked up at, he was met with a grinning Mr. Uzui offering the other half of the tempura that Zenitsu was sure he had eaten.

He was about to take it when another firework flashed across the sky, causing the blonde to flinch violently.

Tengen frowned. That bad, huh?

The thunder breathing user simply carried on and hesitantly took the tempura, munching on it silently. The other two slayers watched in awestruck silence as the colors illuminated the dark air.

Mid bite, another one crackled, and Zenitsu’s breath hitched a bit. The boy began to cough, and Tengen’s hand found itself on the small of his back, rubbing reassuringly. “Are you okay, kid?”

Before the blonde could reply, a set of three loud fireworks popped and forced the poor slayer’s eyes shut as he whimpered quietly.

A look of remorse found its way to the sound pillar’s face when he heard barely audible sniffles.

“Tanjiro, Inosuke,” he called to the two novice slayers, “here’s some money. Please go get some more food for us; it is evident that our little friend here needs more food to be as flashy as he can!” He dropped a decent amount of coins in the brunette’s hands, shooing the two off. When he could no longer hear their footsteps, he turned to the blonde. “Hey, little man… how’re you hanging in?”

Just then, a giant firework exploded before them. The tears that had been pricking the young slayer’s eyes had fallen as he covered his ears. He buried his head into Tengen’s side, seeking any immediate comfort. “Make them stop… please.”

“Shit- it’s worse than I thought…” he breathed, “It’s alright…” the sound pillar soothed as he lifted his arm to let the boy against his chest. Tengen placed his own hands atop of Zenitsu’s hoping to further muffle the sound. Neither said a word as the boy choked out a cry every time another firework would explode. “I’ve got you, it’s okay…” Tengen would repeat.

The fireworks continued at a torturous pace, with each boom being sporadic enough to keep both on their toes, but routine enough to show both slayers that there would be more coming. Zenitsu blinked away a few of his tears, noticing Tengen’s right eye squinting whenever a firework would boom.

He could hear them tenfold too… and here was Zenitsu who was crying a baby.

It was almost as if the pillar could hear his thoughts too. “Don’t worry about me, kid. I’ve heard much louder through my time as a hashira.”

Zenitsu nodded, shoulders coming up as he cringed from another torturous sound.

Minutes passed and the show seemed to be calming a bit. The sound pillar removed his hands carefully, gently cupping the young boy’s cheeks and swiping his tears away. “Are you feeling any better?”

The blonde nodded, hesitating to pull his arms down. “T-Thanks, Mister Uzui, sir.”

“Don’t mention it.”

A solemn silence passed, and a quick glance from the hashira let him know that the thunder breathing user was still shaking like a leaf in apprehension.

“You know,” Tengen mused, “Kyo has this distraction method that he uses with Senjuro all of the time. Would you like me to try it on you?”

A hesitant nod from the boy—who was still squished against the sound pillar’s side— allowed Tengen to begin to plan his course of action.

“Okay, so I’m going to have to touch you for it, that okay?”

The blonde but the inside of his cheek as he thought. “Y-Yeah,” he finally answered.

“Okay! Time for the flashiest distraction you’ve seen, little man!”

With that, an arm locked over the young slayer, and five fingers found their way to his sides, wiggling with a gentle intensity. The thunder breathing user squeaked a bit and was holding in his giggles.

“I-Is - pffehehe- this a p-part of the- ehehe- the dis-distraction?” Zenitsu managed, body squirming from the ticklish touch.

Another belly laugh erupted from the hashira. “Kid, this is the distraction.”

Zenitsu’s face flushed as he kicked his legs, resting his cheek against the arm ensnaring him. “B-But it— kyeahaha- i-it ti-hihihickles.”

The white-haired male smiled fondly. “Does it? I don’t remember that happening with Senjuro…” he feigned a bit of innocence as his hand moved over the boy’s tummy, clawing at the softness.”

The poor young slayer couldn’t hold it much longer…

“M-Mihihihisteheher Uhuhuhuzuihihihi!”

“That’s me!”

“Ihihihihit- hehehehe- ihihihit tihihihickles!”

“Aw jeez, I would hope so,” the sound pillar replied with fake relief on his tongue, “If it didn’t, I would be letting Kyo down.”

Zenitsu, cheek still resting on Tengen’s arm, giggled helplessly as the hashira prodded around his tummy. His legs were still lightly kicking, but there were no signs of protest from the boy.

“You feeling any better, little guy?”

“M-Mhmhmhmhmhm!”

“Good, good! We’ll get you feeling flashy as ever, and then you can-“

A loud boom penetrated the playful atmosphere, causing Zenitsu to whine and both males to rest his hands over the boy’s ears.

“Damn… I was hoping they’d be over by now,” Tengen grumbled, removing one of his hands to rub the young slayer’s back. “It’s okay… just keep your hands up, alright?”

The blonde nodded; all previous giddiness that he had seemed to have evaporated.

“You’ve never been around fireworks before…. Have you?” Tengen inquired, grabbing Zenitsu and holding him in his lap.

The boy shook his head ‘no’, and Tengen sighed.

“Why don’t I keep distracting you, hmm?” A glint of mischief laced the sound pillar’s words as a smile found its way to his face again.

Zenitsu nodded, eyes still closed.

The white-haired male chuckled at the blonde before pushing some hair out of his face. While he was fourteen, he looked so young in the moment. “Alright, I’m gonna start again…” After the warning, Tengen’s hands descended back onto the boy’s tummy, wiggling against his uniform.

Zenitsu began to giggle softly once again, squirming out of instinct. His hands remained over his ears as his eyes remained shut.

Tengen continued to prod and squeeze at the little guy’s tummy, happy to provide him any relief from the amplified sounds.

As the fireworks boomed, Zenitsu’s own hands and giggling managed to successfully block out the amplified sound. “M-Mihihihisteheher Uhuhuhuzuihihihi! Ihihihits wohohohorkihihihing!”

“Great! Now you make sure you keep your hands up, or else we’ll be back in the same spot,” the sound pillar chimed. “Yep… just keep those arms up!” With that comment, Tengen moved his hands up to scribble at the boy’s ribcage.

The young slayer curled against the hashira, his giggles growing in volume. His legs came up to meet his chest, desperately not wanting to put his hands down. “Hehehehey! Thahahats nohohohot fahahahair!”

“Fair? Oh, kid, you should know by now that not a single bit of me plays fair,” the white-haired male chimed as he lightly prodded at the sensitive bones.

“Eep! Ihihihit tihihihickles!”

“But isn’t it helping? You seem so much more relaxed, little man!”

“B-Buhuhuhut! Hyeahahaha! Tihihihickles!”

“Just keep your arms up, and it’ll be fine!”

After a few more seconds on the young slayer’s ribcage, the sound pillar moved his hands up to scribble under the boy’s arms. Zenitsu squeaked and kicked his feet to the best of his ability.

“M-MihihiHIHISTeheheher UhuhUHUHUHUZui!”

“Oooh! Bingooooo!” Tengen cooed at the blonde, “Someone’s ticklish here!”

“Yehahaha! IhiHIHIHITs sohohohoOHOHO BAHAHad!” Zenitsu wiggled about, but never putting his arms down, or asking for it to stop.

“But would you rather be listening to those fireworks? They getcha’ pretty bad, Mm?”

“NohohOHOHO Wohohohorse thaHAHAHAN yohohou!”

“Ohoho! Some lip! Little guy’s got a bit of sass to him!” Tengen’s playful side—courtesy of Kyojuro—was fully out. “Looks like I’ll have to tickle the attitude outta ya’!”

“WahaHAHAHAIt! NoHOHOHohoho!” Zenitsu’s legs were kicking more rapidly, and yet he still seemed to be completely on board with the tickles.

“Mmm, shoulda’ thought about that, kid.” The sound pillar dug in with a bit more fervor, having to work against the thick uniform. “These damn element-proof suits are annoying… they’re also Tengen-tickle-proof!”

The blonde squealed, feeling the increased sensation instantly. “OHOHOHO MY GOHOHOD. DOHOHO NOHOHOT SAHAHAY THAHAHAT.”

“Oooooh?? Looks like they aren’t quite Tengen-tickle -proof after all!”

The boy’s arm threatened to fall many times, but he kept his hands safely planted on his ears. With little legs kicking, Zenitsu squirmed and laughed with his eyes shut, cheeks dusted pink with mirth.

“Soooo… You wanna tell ol’ Tengen why you haven’t asked me to stop yet?”

Ah! He’d been caught!

“Nohohoho reheheasohohon!”

“Mmm, someone forgets where he is…” the white-haired male brought one hand down to squeeze at the blonde’s side at the same time.

“OKAHAHAY- OKAHAHAY- IHIHIHIHIT MAHAHAHAKES MEHEHE FEHEHEEL SAHAHAHAFE!”

Tengen’s own eyes closed and his lips fell into a pouty frown at the adorable reaction. “Well, little man, seems like you came to the right hashira. This flashy guy is happy to make you feel as safe as you need.”

With both hands returned to the young slayer’s underarms, Zenitsu chuckled a few more times before his arms finally trapped Tengen’s hands.

The sound pillar chuckled. “Hey, I need those.”

“N-Nohohoho! Tihihihickles!”

“Well duh. That’s the whole point of-“ a familiar noise caught his attention, a sense of urgency came across his tone. “Zenitsu, give me my hands.”

“Noooo! You’re gonna tickle me agaaaain!”

“I’m serious, kid, quickly.”

With a look of confusion, Zenitsu hesitatedly freed his attacker’s hands. Within a second, he felt warm palms lightly smack over his ears.

He knew Tengen seemed frantic, but was this really necessary? What was he-

At that moment, the brightest firework the two had seen all night erupted into the air, producing an ear-splitting boom.

Zenitsu looked up at the flinching sound pillar with guilt. “Mister Uzui-“

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” the man answered frantically, more worried about the boy in his arms, “Did I get you in time? I heard the fuse going off, and I knew it would be a big one.”

The boy nodded as he moved to sit up, removing the hashira’s hands from his ears. “You cover yours. I’m okay now.”

The white-haired male chuckled. “No can-do, you’re clearly affected more.”

The blonde bit the inside of his cheek as he sighed. “Yeah… sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. We were blessed with one of the greatest heightened senses. It just sucks a bit during firework shows.”

“How’d you know what to do? I mean… you really knew how to take care of me.”

“Only a heartless human would let a little kid cry. Hina’s been helping me to be more of a caretaker; the four of us have been talking about having some kids of our own one day, and I need to be prepared.”

Zenitsu smiled at the thought of a baby Tengen toddling about. His smile soon turned to a frown when the man’s words registered. “Hey… I’m fourteen, not a little kid.”

The man chuckled and ruffled Zenitsu’s hair.

The young slayer sat between the Hashira’s open legs, his back turned while resting against the man’s torso. The two perked up when they heard Inosuke’s voice in the distance.

“You okay to be sitting here?” Tengen asked with a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Inosuke shouldn’t notice, and Tanjiro won’t say a thing.”

After a few moments, Tanjiro’s chiming voice filled their ears. Zenitsu was right; Tanjiro noticed, but did not say a word about the blonde seeking comfort. Inosuke was too engrossed in getting his dinner to say anything.

“Welcome back!” The sound pillar chirped, “What did you end up getting?”

“We found so many inexpensive stalls! I got more tempura for us, mainly because Zenitsu accidentally dropped his; I got some bentos; a few orders of noodles; AND there was a dango vendor!”

The white-haired male smiled. “Is that so? Got any change?”

The sound of clinking coins and crinkling packages was soon heard, and the four were sharing a meal once again. Zenitsu was about to dive into his tempura when the fireworks began again.

The bursts were one right after another, each sound seeming to be louder than the next. He placed the bag next to him as he cried out loudly, ready to cover his ears. To his surprise, Tengen’s warm, calloused hands had covered them first. He looked back at the hashira, and was met with a patient smile. “Eat,” he mouthed.

Zenitsu sighed and slumped against the sound pillar, finally getting to eat the tempura he had been waiting for.

Inosuke looked up from his meal to see a teary-eyed Zenitsu finally enjoying his own. But… why did the god of festivals have his hands over his… his… uh… what was the word? His… um… listening holes? “TANTORO!”

“Tanjiro,” the brunette corrected, unfazed.

“Why is the god of festivals doing that to Monitsu?” A pointed finger brought Tanjiro’s attention back upon the action he had just missed.

“Oh!” he chimed, “You know how I have a really strong nose?”

Inosuke nodded.

“And do you remember how sick I feel when I smell something really strong? And how upset it makes me?”

Another nod.

“Well, Zenitsu’s ears-“

That’s it! That’s the word! Ears!

“-are really strong, maybe a little stronger than my nose. Do you think the fireworks are really loud?”

A nod.

“So if they’re loud for you and I, imagine how loud they are for Zenitsu. It hurts his ears, and it really makes him upset. It’s best for us to not take notice of it; he’s probably really embarrassed.”

A small “ohh” emitted from the blue-haired male. The two sat in silence once more, Inosuke offering Tanjiro a bite of his dango as the two never broke their gaze from the fireworks.

Zenitsu and Tengen watched as well. The colors illuminated the black sky, and to his joy, Zenitsu could barely hear the pops of sound.

He exhaled.

The colors really were beautiful… aren’t they?

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————