#for those asking i got it off of etsy

[mipexch]

^_^

[jezebelblues]

so not cool | h.s

summary: in which spiderman is obviously much cooler than dad

cw: dadrry. overuse of the word spider-man. u could play a drinking game by how much its mentioned prolly

word count: approx 1.7k

| the result of being up for 20h, writers block n being bored out of my mind !! idk what this is but…it’s..definitely an addition to the dadrry universe .. for sure (prob will delete 🔥)

not necessary but here’s the first dadrry post if ur into that

masterlist

July 2021

The sound of the credits rolling filled the living room as Harry leaned back against the couch, a sleepy grin tugging at his lips. Atlas, now three years old and still wide-eyed with excitement, sat curled up against his father’s side, his tiny fingers clutching the corner of a fleece one direction blanket that Harry had bought off Etsy, something he found to be absolutely hilarious. They had just finished watching the original Spider-Man movie, the one with Tobey Maguire, and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the awe that was practically radiating off his son.

“Dad,” Atlas breathed, his voice filled with wonder as he looked up at Harry with those big, round eyes that mirrored his mother’s. “Pider-man s’cool.”

They were working on his pronunciation of R’s and S’s. Not too much progress yet.

Harry bit back a laugh, ruffling his son’s messy curls as he glanced down at him. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool, isn’t he?”

Atlas nodded vigorously, his little legs kicking against the couch as his excitement bubbled over. “He climbs n’ has webs n’ fights ba’guys!”

Harry grinned, watching the way Atlas’s face lit up as he recounted all of the abilities with the fervor only a toddler could muster. His little hands gestured wildly as if he were mimicking shooting webs out of his wrists.

“Best superhero in’a whole world!” Atlas declared, sitting up straighter as if this revelation were the most important one he’d ever made.

Harry chuckled, reaching over to grab the remote and lower the volume on the TV. “Better than Batman?”

“Super much better.” Atlas exclaimed, his voice incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe Harry would even ask such a thing.

“Better than Iron Man?” Harry tried again, his tone teasing as he listed off another iconic hero.

His boy paused for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration as he thought it over. His little hand lifted to his chin in the same way Harry often did when he was deep in thought, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it. After a moment, Atlas shook his head decisively. “M’yeah. Way cooler.”

Harry leaned back against the couch, folding his arms as he played along. “So, that’s it? Peter Parker’s just the best?”

“Yeah!” Atlas said excitedly, jumping off the couch and running around the living room, pretending to shoot webs from his wrists. “He’s fast ‘nd he can climb buildings like this!” He hopped up on the couch and began to scale the back of it with his small, wobbly legs, pretending he was on the side of a skyscraper.

Harry leaned forward, his hands hovering near Atlas to catch him in case he lost his balance. “Easy there, spidey,” he chuckled. “No need to break the couch, bub.”

Atlas giggled as he perched himself on the top of the couch, still caught up in his make-believe world. He turned to Harry, his eyes bright with excitement. “Daddy?” He paused, watching his father’s gaze resettle upon him. “y’think spideys stronger than you?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, smirking as he leaned back against the couch again. “Stronger than me, huh? That’s a tough one. I mean, I’ve got some pretty strong muscles too, you know.” He tried to persuade his son, flexing his bicep in front of him.

Atlas tilted his head, considering this for a moment before a mischievous grin spread across his face. “M’no cause he can do this!” He flung his wrist out, making a thwip! noise as he pretended to shoot webs across the room.

Harry’s grin widened as he watched his son in full superhero mode. “Alright, alright, you’ve got me there. I don’t have webs.”

“Duh!” The boy exclaimed again, leaping off the couch and landing with a soft thud on the carpet. He scrambled back up and raced over to Harry, his little hands grabbing at his dad’s arms as he looked up at him with pure adoration. “But y’cool too, dad.”

Harry laughed, his heart swelling at the sight of his son’s wide grin. “Oh, just cool am I? Not the coolest?”

Atlas giggled, shaking his head, jumping in place with his palms against his dad’s knees. “Nope, he–he still more better.”

YN had been listening from the kitchen as she prepared dinner, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the air. She leaned against the counter, smiling to herself as she heard the playful back-and-forth between her husband and their son. Harry always had such a way of connecting with Atlas—whether it was through silly games, bedtime stories, or, in this case, debates over superheroes.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel and wandered into the living room, catching sight of Atlas now climbing into Harry’s lap. “What’s all this about Spider-Man?” she asked, crossing her arms with a mock-stern expression.

The curly haired boy whipped his head around, his face lighting up when he saw his mom. “Mama! We watched’ed pider-man!”

YN raised her eyebrows, glancing at Harry, who shrugged with an amused smile. “I see,” she said, nodding seriously. “And where does daddy rank on the superhero scale?”

Without missing a beat, Atlas giggled and pointed at Harry. “M’he not a superhero—he’s just daddy!”

Harry feigned offense, gasping dramatically as he clutched his chest. “Just dad? C’mon, mate, I’m way cooler than that.”

Atlas giggled even harder, clearly enjoying the game. “Y’climb on buildings?”

Harry chuckled, wrapping his arms around Atlas and pulling him into a gentle bear hug. “Okay, I can’t climb buildings, but I bet Spider-Man can’t make pancakes as good as me.”

The boy paused, clearly torn by this new piece of information. He loved his dad’s pancakes, after all. But after a moment, he shook his head, his resolve firm. “Pider-man don’t eat pancakes.”

YN laughed as she sat down on the couch beside them, placing her hand on Harry’s knee. “He’s got you there, babe. You might have to accept second place.”

He sighed in mock defeat, his dimples deepening as he looked down at his boy, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Alright, fine. he can be the coolest for now. But when you get hungry in the morning, don’t come crying to me for pancakes.”

“He make them for me!” Atlas shot back with a laugh, clearly enjoying teasing his dad.

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of Atlas’s curly head. “You think Parker knows how to make chocolate chip pancakes like I do? I doubt it.”

YN watched them with a soft smile, her heart swelling with affection. She loved these moments—the way Harry could be completely goofy and playful with their son, never taking himself too seriously, and the way Atlas adored his dad with a fierceness that made her heart melt. It was a kind of magic, watching the two of them together.

She ran a finger through Harry’s curls, pressing a kiss into the locks as she breathed him in. “I’m plating dinner.” She mumbled as she ambled back into the kitchen.

Harry grunted as he stood up, pulling his son up in his arms along with him. “To the table, web-slinger.” He told Atlas, swinging him in his arms with small little swooshing sounds.

Their boy giggled as Harry swooped him through the air like an airplane, his little arms stretched out as if he were flying. They made their way to the kitchen, where YN was setting plates of steaming food on the table.

"Hungry?” YN teased as Harry plopped Atlas into his booster seat.

He nodded enthusiastically. "I want 'tatoes!"

Harry chuckled, grabbing a spoon to serve Atlas a helping of mashed potatoes. "Here you go, bubba. But no webs at the dinner table, okay?"

He giggled, pretending to shoot webs one more time before focusing on his plate. Harry and YN exchanged a fond smile, and for a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of dinner-plates clinking, forks scraping, and the occasional happy hum from Atlas as he devoured his meal.

After dinner, they settled into their nighttime routine-baths, pajamas, and a bedtime story.

Atlas, freshly bathed and smelling of lavender, jumped snuggled into his bed. It was navy blue with cartoonish planets littered about, but his favorite thing would have to be his rainbow zebra-print 1D blanket tucked around him. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, the familiar worn copy of Goodnight Moon in his hands.

"Goodnight room, goodnight moon," He read softly, his voice soothing. Atlas's eyelids grew heavy as he clutched his favorite stuffed animal, a plush giraffe.

YN stood in the doorway, watching her two boys with a soft smile. She loved these quiet moments, the way Harry's voice softened as he read to Atlas, the way their son's small body relaxed into sleep. "Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere."

As he closed the book, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Atlas's forehead. "Goodnight, spidey."

Atlas's lips curled into a sleepy smile, his voice a soft mumble as he drifted off. "G’night, daddy."

With that, Harry quietly stood and tiptoed out of the room, YN slipping her hand into his as they left their little guy to dream of webs and skyscrapers.

The door closed behind them with a soft click before he scooped his wife over his shoulder quietly, trudging toward their bedroom and throwing her onto the bed through her soft protests.

YN laughed as she landed on the bed, playfully swatting at Harry as he crawled over her. "You're ridiculous," she whispered, though her smile said she didn't mind one bit.

Her husband grinned, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of their bedroom. "Well, if I'm not the coolest in the house, l've got to show off my other skills, don't I?"

She rolled her eyes, pulling him down for a kiss. "You're still my favorite," she murmured against his lips.

He smiled into the kiss, his hands resting on her hips as he whispered back, "Good, because I'm not giving up that spot anytime soon."

The house grew quiet, the hum of the evening settling in around them as they lay together.

Outside, the stars were beginning to twinkle in the night sky, and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze was the only sound breaking the silence. Harry reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, wrapping his arms around YN as they snuggled into each other.

It was in those days that Harry realized—he didn't need to be the coolest superhero. Being Atlas's dad, YN's husband, and the maker of the best chocolate chip pancakes in the world was more than enough. It was everything.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not to be a downer, but I actually finished my novel and now I’m confused because I don’t want to publish it. I don’t even particularly want anyone other than maybe my two close friends to even read it. What on Earth did I write 40k words (which I know is not really long enough for a novel, but it’s still far and away the longest thing I’ve ever written) for? I know people say “write for yourself” but like… am I just wasting my time? Help?

(p.s. you can leave this off anon)

(p.p.s your blog is really great 👍)

There's No Such Thing as Wasted Writing

I'm going to tackle this two ways...

#1 - "Write For Yourself" - there's a reason this common phrase has echoed through the Hall of Writers since time immemorial. It's because it's true! Writing doesn't have to be anything more than a pastime. It doesn't have to be anything more than something you do for your own benefit and enjoyment.

I have an in-joke with family members about how any time one of us does something the least bit crafty, DIY, skilled, whatever, a particular family member will always say, "You did a great job! You should do it for a living!" Like, someone can't even crochet a Kawaii mushroom without being pressured to turn it into an Etsy dynasty, or paint a cabinet without being pressured to become the next Property Brothers. And that's such a BANANAS capitalistic mindset, isn't it? This idea that nothing can be done purely for our own enjoyment. That you can't just write a novel because you want to... you can only write it if you plan to share it or publish it? It's just so silly.

And, the thing is, we don't even apply that mentality to a lot of other things people do purely for enjoyment. No one is streaming all of Bridgerton in two nights and saying, "I enjoyed every second of that, but why did I do that? Such a waste of time!" No one spends an hour strumming their guitar under the stars on a beach, and then says, "That was so relaxing and fun, but I didn't charge for that performance and I didn't record it to sell it, so that was obviously a waste of time."

You know what I mean?

#2 - And Anyway, Practice Makes Perfect - And if you keep writing--even if you continue not to share or publish--you'll get better and better with each story you write. Which, maybe all that means is you get to appreciate your own improvement, but also, should you ever change your mind and decide to write something to share or publish, you've now spent time honing your skills. Even if those other stories never see the light of day, they're still an important foundation of the writer you become. Do you know how many unpublished novellas, novels, and short stories I have? Too many to count. Hundreds of fan-fiction and original fiction short stories I've only shared with one or two other people, if anyone. A dozen or so novels and novellas that have only been read by a few people, and some haven't been read by anyone else or have only been read by my CPs. I would never consider those stories and novels and novellas to be a waste of time, because I know every single one made me a better writer. My published work is better because I wrote those other things.

So, I hope that makes you feel better. At the very least you hopefully enjoyed writing your novel--or at least got something out of it--and you definitely honed your writing skills, which matters! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[chamomiletealeaf]

Olderbf!/kinda Sugardaddy!Price brainrot

Thinking about olderbf!/kinda sugardaddy!Price who buys you anything you could ever want. You grew up in a pretty money-tight household, feeling guilty when anyone spent money on you because you were so aware of how much things cost at such a young age.

But if you look at those shoes on sale you thought were cute for a little too long? It's wrapped up all nice for you by your door the next day when you get home from work with a cute lil note on the box.

"Saw you looking at these <3"

You mention craving your favorite food? He's taking you out immediately.

"Ugh __ sounds really good right now." You say as you walk into the kitchen to try and find food already in your fridge.

"Take out or dine in?" Price asks.

"What?"

"Do you want me to order it as takeout or do you want to eat there?"

You pause and look at him hand still on the open fridge door, taken a bit off guard. "I-"

He's already picking up his phone and wallet waiting for your answer. And when you don't answer, he does for you.

"Put some shoes on, let's go out hm?"

You try to hide your smile and blush as you make your way to the door where your shoes are, and where your boyfriend stands too, helping you put your jacket on.

Or when you two go shopping together and you get distracted by a section with CDs and vinyls as you see a deluxe vinyl of an album you've been wanting to get for your record player.

"Oh John look! Wow I didn't think they'd have this here! I've been meaning to try and get around to buying this!"

You pick up the deluxe album and turn it over to check the price, and your giddy smile fades a bit seeing it. You put it back, visibly a little upset as you furrow your brows a little and go for the regular album that's a little bit cheaper, which you note as you turn that one over and see the price.

"Hm. This one's a little cheaper." You say to yourself quietly, not thinking Price can hear as you go to put it into the cart, but he stops you.

"No." He grabs the album from your hands before you can place it in and you look up at him wide eyed. He doesn't make eye contact with you as he swaps the regular album for the deluxe one you wanted and replaces the empty spot in your hands with it.

He looks down at you and sees you cutely staring at him with wide curious eyes.

"I'm getting you the one you want bunny." He says with a smile. "Plus the deluxe version has more songs that I can watch you dance to in the kitchen so it's a win win." He says with a wink and your wide eyes fail to conceal the love for your boyfriend in that moment as it lights them ablaze.

Or on one particular bad day when you come home and do some online window shopping on your couch in your cart on Etsy to make yourself feel better. Your cart is filled with cute stickers, jewelry, fanmade merch for your interests, and cute trinkets to decorate your house with that you look at hoping one day you'll be able to afford to get them all. You definitely had money, but it was just enough to get you by with little left over. As you log into your account, you realize that your whole cart is empty.

"What?" You try and refresh the page, panicking a bit as you had so many things in your cart that you don't really want to go searching for again. It took a while for you to find them after all.

ding!

your laptop makes a noise as an email notification comes up

"Thanks for your order!"

You panic, thinking maybe you bought everything by accident, which you can't exactly afford right now, until Price comes up from behind you, leaning over the couch to nuzzle his face into your neck.

"Surprise bunny." he whispers into your neck smiling.

"John, what? what did you do?"

"You're always on that website looking at those things. Got tired of seeing you not have them. Plus, I'm always looking for a way to spoil my little bunny hm?" He smirks into your neck, bringing his hands around to grasp yours.

"How did you-"

"Shhh don't worry about it. I got you express shipping too. You'll get everything this week." He places a hand on your chin and gently turns your face to him and he kisses you, making you feel a warmth that no fire could ever provide nor compare to.

You're not selfish, both you and John know that. You don't need the little or big things he buys you, but boy does he love spoiling you with them, as it helps to heal the part of you that always felt guilty as a child when it came to spending and saving money on you, as your family never had much.

And there's nothing else John would rather do than spoil his pretty girl rotten just to see her smile.

[elodieunderglass]

It's not really my business, but honestly it feels like it would be advisable to hire a copyright lawyer. Like I don't feel like you're in it for the money, but it might be gratifying to have the guy milking your idea at least have to formally acknowledge you. I think I'd do it just for the peace of mind to know if I've been "legally" wronged or not. Either way, hope you continue to inspire, and live out a peaceful life.

(In reference to this post about the guy who pretends to have invented “Elder Teletubbies,” specifically how he is now kickstarting DnD minis of them.)

Ha, well, it’s all a little tricky I think. I might, hilariously, post on the r/legaladvice Reddit (even though they’re all cops lol) because the only thing I want here is for him to stop selling my “transformative work,” and ideally to stop pretending he invented it (which might be difficult as he appears to fully believe his work is creatively independent.)

I think if anything, my post counts as protected commentary or a transformative work of BBC’s Teletubbies, and I think it’s stinky to profit on that stuff in general (like I’m 190% okay with buying LotR fanart on stickers ! but I wouldn’t dream of trying to publish a fic with the serial numbers filed off. Why?)

I think ultimately I’m not a grifter, I’m a grownup, and I think it’s several levels of eye roll to sell fanart of a tv show on this level. I would be embarrassed to touch money made on that. I’m too fucking scrupulous and artisanal. I have toyed with a silly original novel for funsies since 2019 but keep saying things like, “oh, people will think this is too similar to something else that already exists” as if a silly original novel I write for fun has to somehow pass a Bar of Originality higher than anything salary-writers aim for.

I’m also pretty anti-intellectual-property myself in that leftist sense where I don’t believe people should be acting as if creative works are, like, oil. Like the resource extraction angle of intellectual property freaks me out, I don’t think getting super high-horse and snotty about Magical Brain Property is entirely compatible with the artisanal temperament I personally got going on here. I am like snufkin about this, simply smoking a pipe and making a flower crown saying “poor fools! Producing works for market, and serving as the guard dogs of the market, lest their work lose value if it becomes more common!” I do not have a high horse. I am not going to post 6900 words about the importance of defending fucking… Mickey Mouse. I buy those lotr stickers on Etsy! I do have a horse, but it’s a pretty low horse.

If it was his own work I would not care about this guy doing this in the least (apart from loftily calling it stinky - but hey, nerds are common and nerds are stinky, it’s not rare) IF he wasn’t STEALING FROM MY ANTI-COMMERCIALISATION DREAM TO DO IT.

That’s the bit that PISSES ME OFF too much to ignore: that and accepting compliments for being original like 😌 yes my twisted mind did this idk lol.

Like if you asked him point blank about the artistic choices he’d be like idk my twisted mind just sees the Teletubbies this way teehee! but if you ask ME why, for example, the adult Teletubbies live in the forest I’ll explain that in 2017 I was at a major life crossroads and this dream was ABOUT that. It was goodbye to my identity as a foreigner from the pine forests, and full steam ahead to settling permanently in the fucking shire (where the baby teletubbies on the bbc show live). It was about going back to work having had my first child, and saying goodbye to my various career dreams for myself (famous scientist! Published author!) as I chose instead, finally, the responsibility of working humbly as a public servant for the actual good of society. It is about witnessing the wild and saying “I am not of it, but it is my job to be its witness and voice.” That’s why the adult Teletubbies are dancing in my native forests while I’m watching them from the English hills. This guy doesn’t know that he just vaguely heard “spooky forest cryptid” and didn’t develop it at all, I do more work than that with FANFICTION in my time off!!!

So it’s really about nebulous stuff and ethics and not something worth paying a lawyer for I think!

But thank you so much for this, I think the thing that gets most perennial about it is the TOTAL GASLIGHTING of the “outside world” of the rest of the internet like, fully believing they invented this, and they DIDNT. They’re so wrong on the internet and they don’t know

[morganski-19]

The One Where Eddie Gets Another Job

Steve and Robin walk into the coffee house after work. Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle already sitting in their spot. Robin sits next to Nancy on the couch while Steve flops into the armchair.

“How was the first day of school,” Nancy asks Steve.

Steve groans. “I have three Gabriels in my class and all of them want to be called Gabe. And two of them have a last name that starts with H. Then the fire alarm went off because Beverly decided that popcorn was the perfect lunchtime snack. Three moms tried to hit on me when I was doing car line, and I think one of the kids was sick. So that’s about to be spread around my classroom.”

“That’s,” she starts, trying to find something positive to say. “I have nothing, that sounds like shit.”

“I could never be a teacher,” Robin sighs into the couch. “I didn’t like kids that much to begin with. And after the things you tell me, never.”

“I don’t know,” Argyle pipes in. “It could be fun. And very rewarding.”

“I could totally see you being a kindergarten teacher,” Steve suggests.

The group does a vague nod in agreement.

“For anyone wondering how my day was,” Robin perks up. “I had a very nice conversation with this Italian man. He’s opening up a small bakery with his wife and wanted someone to go over the contracts with him. He’s bringing me some pastries as a thank you when they get up and running.”

The conversation about work continues for a bit, each of them sharing how their day was and destressing.

“Where’s Eddie,” Steve eventually asks. He’s normally here by this point.

Nancy starts laughing. “Oh just wait.”

“What,” Jonathan looks up from his laptop. “Did we miss something?”

“Like I said,” Nancy continues to laugh over her coffee. “Just you wait.”

Like speaking of him suddenly made him appear, Eddie walks out of the backroom of the coffee house. With an apron tied around his waist and a pencil behind his ear. He heads over to an empty table with a wet rag, wiping it down.

“Oh my god,” Robin whispers with surprise.

“Is that Eddie, working?” Argyle questions. “Here?”

Nancy nods, her laughter getting louder. “Yes.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Eddie working,” Robin comments. “It’s like watching an animal out in the wild.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Eddie groans. Shoving the rag in his apron pocket and walking over.

Robin smiles. “I meant you to.”

“How long have you been working here?” Steve asks.

Eddie shrugs. “A few days now.”

“I thought you were working on being a tattoo artist,” Jonathan says. Taking a break from editing photos on his laptop to invest in this conversation.

“That I am. But I needed to shut down my Etsy page for art commissions, because people were being a bunch of dicks, so now I’m down one job. So I got another. Because rent is fucking expensive.”

Nancy makes a gesture with her hand. “And that’s with it rent controlled.”

Eddie makes a gesture toward her. “Also, I blew all of my savings moving out here, so I am trying to build those back up.”

“Aw, look at you being financially responsible,” Robin teases. Poking Eddie’s arm.

“You’re growing up,” Nancy eggs on. Feigning wiping away tears.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You guys are the worst. I knew it was a bad idea getting a job here.”

“I don’t think I ever envisioned you being a barista,” Argyle notes. “Bartender, yes. Barista, no.”

“Well, I work the late shift too. So I am both of those things.”

“Oo,” Robin turns around on the couch. Standing on her knees to see him better. “Do you get a discount? Can we abuse it?”

Eddie shakes off her hand. “Yes, I get a discount, no you cannot abuse it. I sort of need this job, so I’d rather not get fired. It says strictly in the rules that I cannot use it for friends.”

Robin falls back down, defeated. “Boo, you’re no fun.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Eddie walks away behind the counter. Cleaning off the counter and starting to make someone’s order.

“I’m going to go get something to drink,” Steve says, standing up. “You want anything, Rob?”

“Just a green tea. Not feeling coffee right now.”

Steve nods while going over to the counter. Sitting down at one of the stools. “So, you work here now.”

“I thought that was already established.” Eddie hands off the drink he was making to the girl further down. Coming to stand in front of Steve.

“Is that why you couldn’t come over last night? You could have said that.”

Eddie shrugs. “I didn’t want you to know, quite yet. Thought you wouldn’t really like how much I bounce around jobs.”

“You’re not though. You have a job, you just needed a second one. No shame in that.” Steve leans further across the bar. “It also helps that I find bartenders to be really hot.”

“Steven,” Eddie gasps. “I am at work.”

Steve smirks. “I know.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Did you want anything, or are you just here to flirt with me?”

“Only if flirting with you gets me a discount. Otherwise, I’ll just take my business elsewhere.”

“Is that really all I am to you?” Eddie starts making Steve’s usual drink order. Waiting for the espresso to brew.

“And Rob wanted a green tea.”

Eddie nods, pouring some hot water into a glass and adding a tea bag. “How was work?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t even get me started. The first day is always hard.”

“Oh, I bet.” Eddie steams the milk, adding it to the top of the espresso and drizzling it with caramel.

“And I just can’t wait until I get to hear all of the single, and not so single, PTA moms throwing their cheap pick-up lines at me.” Steve says that with a leading tone. Hoping that Eddie takes that in the direction he wants it to.

Eddie slides the drinks across the bar. “That something they do,” he says, with a lilt of jealousy.

“Every year. Without fail.”

“Any way I can help with that?”

“Come over later and find out.” Steve gives him a flirtatious smile. “What do I owe you?”

Eddie waves his hand. “It’s on the house.”

“I was joking before. Seriously, what so I owe you.”

“And now I’m being serious. I get a free drink a day that I can give out to a friend, so consider that covering Rob’s, and then I am personally paying for yours.”

“What was it about needing to save up money?”

“That doesn’t apply to you, sweetheart.” Eddie leans over the bar a little bit, palms pressed into the edge of the counter.

“Steve,” Robin yells from the couch. “I thought you were getting us drinks.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m paying next time, no arguments.”

“Whatever you say so.”

He walks back over to the group and hands Robin her tea.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @emmabubbles, @eriquin, @grtwdsmwhr

@croatoan-like-its-hot, @dreamercec, @dreamy-jeans137

[sofasoap]

Teddy Bear

Pairing: John Price x F! Reader

Summary: You bump into a handsome stranger while shopping. meet cute.

Warning: M Theme. VERY slight mention of Innuendoes. Alcohol use. assumptions.

A/N: for @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world, hope this will give you a tiny etsy warm fuzzy feeling with our dear Johnathan Price.

not beta'ed or proof read.

Master list

“Aunty Bear! Come on!!”

Letting out a sigh, half regretting letting your adorable niece and nephew have the free rein to choose any present they want as they drag you by the pants through aisle after aisle at the local department store. 

You haven’t seen your sister’s family for over a year. You were astonished how big they have grown in the time between, especially your little niece. Seems only yesterday you were cradling her in your arm as a newborn, and now her little feet can zoom around faster than a sports car, even her six year old brother is having hard time keeping up. 

 “Alright alright, steady there, I can’t keep up with you when I can’t see where I am going!” you warned the little girl as you adjusted the oversized teddy bear in your arms, at the same time trying to navigate blindly. At the end you just give up and let her pull whichever direction she leads you. 

Suddenly you collide with an obstacle, sending you reeling. A strong muscular arm caught you in time before you fell onto the shelves.  

“Apologies, are you alright there?” A deep husky voice above your head asks as they try to steady your footing, and only to let go after they are sure both of your feet are firmly back on the ground again. 

Your face heats up as soon as you lift your head up to take a good peek at your saviour ( or victim of your blind walking ), gezez he is tall, you thought. Very handsome too. Nicely groomed beard, piercing blue eyes, slight wrinkles around his eyes and between brows. He must frown pretty often. 

“Ohh, aunty look, he’s got a furry face!” your two year old niece pointed at the stranger, as she stared at him with wonder. 

“That’s called a beard Lizzy, not fur.” your nephew corrected his sister, rolling his eyes. 

“Actually that is a mutton chop.. “ you blurted out without thinking. Seconds later  your eyes grew wide, realising what you just said.  

‘Shit um, sorry, uh, I apologise.. Sorry to run into you. And Um, commenting on your…” you dropped the large teddy bear on the floor, while one hand covering your mouth, waving around towards his beard, horrified. 

The handsome stranger chuckled. “It’s ok. It’s always been a talking point. I am used to it.” 

Embarrassed beyond words, you shake your head. You swallowed hard before you squeezed more words of apology out of your mouth.

“Really it’s Ok. I know it’s hard to chase around the kids when your hands are full.” he commented.

“From experience?” you asked, eyebrows raised, and feeling that slight ping of disappointment in your heart. He must be married. You thought. You took a quick glance at his left hand. No rings. Your heart soars again.

“ I guess chasing and yelling after three adults that behave like kids you can count as that.” He replied as he let out a short laugh. “Especially ones that don't follow your command when they are off duty.” 

Seeing your brows knitted together with confusion at his comment, “ My subordinate. Those three are like my sons.” he smiled softly. 

You swear the room spun a bit after seeing his smile. Or are you swooning? 

Get your brain straight! You mentally slap yourself. You are here shopping for presents, not ogling on eligible or dateable people!

You felt your nephew tugging at your clothes, snapping you out of your internal dialogue. “Aunty Bear, I am hungry, can we go home and have lunch please?” he pouted. 

“Ah um, ok, let’s go and pay for this and we can go home, ya?” you replied, ready to bend down to pick up the teddy bear from the floor. A shadow loomed over you. The stranger had bent over, arms out. 

“I’ll carry that for you, if you don’t mind. Also be easier to hold onto your niece as well.” he gestured. 

Gosh how nice can this man be? You ran into him, and now he is offering to help you to carry your purchase? 

You nodded your head, whispered a thanks, before you turned and picked your niece up into your arms. 

The stranger picks the teddy bear up under his arm with ease, while your nephew carries the rest of the items, as four of you walk towards the register. 

“Aunty … he’s like a real giant teddy bear..” your niece whispered into your ear. “And his arms are furry too, just like his face.” 

The stranger turned around, “My chest is quite furry too. And legs. Just like a real bear.” he added with a mischievous smile.

Your face burnt with embarrassment. Is he trying to flirt with you? There is no way. NOPE. 

You speed up your pace to get to the register, even more embarrassed.   

“Daddy and mummy buying presents for you two?” the old lady at the register asked the children with a smile as she ring up the items. 

“Oh no no no we are not… “ “she’s not…I am just helping her..“ both of you shake your head, denying. Your face heated up again at the thought.  How much more embarrassment can you take today? But part of your heart is actually amused at the situation.

“Oh sorry.. Just four of you look so lovely together..” the lady apologised. “Sorry to make the assumption.” 

You took a peek at the stranger as he accepted the apology and gracefully redirected the conversation with the lady with little chit-chat.  

He was even nice enough to help you to carry everything to the car, “Need help to put it into the boot, wife?”  he joked as he flashes you a smile. 

“Ah, thanks, um uh,  you shouldn’t have.” you stuttered slightly hearing his joke. You pop the boot open, letting him stuff the large teddy bear in. “I ran into you and here you are helping me, I feel very bad. So um, Can I buy you a coffee or something as an apology and as a thanks for the help?” 

A sad apologetic smile appeared on his face. Looking at his watch he replied, “It’s Ok. I have to leave soon. Plus,” he pointed at the two children standing beside you, pouting. “I think they are getting bit.. What is the word, hangry? So I think it’s time to feed them.” 

Disappointment hits you. The one time you raise your courage to ask someone, you get turned down. 

“Maybe next time?” he suddenly asked. 

“Oh. Um. I .. I am not from around here. I am only here to visit my sister and family..” 

Now is that a look of disappointment on his face? 

“Oh. That’s fine. Well, nice to meet you. Have a safe drive home.” Giving you a final wave as you double check the children are buckled into their seats, you drive out from the car park, while the stranger is still standing at the same spot, seeing you off. 

Oh well. Not meant to be. You convinced yourself. Suppressing that sadness that is bubbling up within you. 

Your sister was ecstatic when you told her you found a new job nearby. She often complaints about how the children misses you, how she misses you, and the job opportunity around the city is better than the one you are currently living in, plus she has a granny flat in her backyard, you save a bit on rent, get to stay with your family while still have your own private space. Tonight a group of you decided to go out and celebrate one of your workmate’s birthday. And you always wanted to check out this particular bar that always seems to be full of people. Everyone you asked raved about the good selection of drink and food. “And maybe you might meet that handsome stranger again!” your friend joked.

You rolled your eyes. You knew you shouldn’t have let that story out. It’s been nearly over a year. They might have moved on. They might have forgotten about you. Surely in such a big city, the chance of bumping into the same person is quite slim. 

“It’s your birthday! I’ll get your next drink!” you wave at your friend, declining her offer of money as you jump off the stool, ready to get your second pint of beer.  As soon as you turned around, you bumped into a wall of broad chest. The stranger caught you just in time, and pulled you into his chest to prevent you from falling. You felt his chest rumble as he chuckled. You recognise that laugh. 

“Hello teddy bear lady, we really should stop meeting like this.”

Oh deary me. Maybe luck is on your side. 

tag list :

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @homicidal-slvt

@floral-force @okayyadriana @cumikering @siilvan

@random-thot-generator @random0lover @devcica @jynxmirage @nrdmssgs @glitterypirateduck @rileyslibrarian

@mistydeyes, @groguspicklejar,

@whydoilikewhump @captainpriceslover, @tapioca-marzipan

[autumntouched]

If Lost Return to Jake

Summary: Jake is a simp. It says so on his shirt

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x GF!Reader

Warnings: mention of sex but nothing explicit

A/N: Got drop kicked HARD today (at least a Phoenix fic was born for later), went looking for comfort, and came across something I whipped up a few weeks ago based on a chat @glen-powells and I had about t-shirts Jake definitely owns. Could be better, but it made me smile

As soon as you get home, you change into leggings and a sweatshirt and curl up on your bed. You’re exhausted from a long week at work and planning your friend’s bachelorette party. You wish you’d told her bridal party only, but you adore her and it’s her special weekend so you’ll put in the extra work to wrangle fifteen women for a weekend in New Orleans. Five minutes, you tell yourself. You’ll start dinner in five minutes. But ten minutes later, you’re still curled up in the cozy nest of your comforter and after twenty minutes you start to wonder whether you can skip dinner altogether. Try again for breakfast in the morning.  

You’ve just resigned yourself to letting your stomach growl itself to sleep when you hear keys in the door, and Jake calls your name. You let him know that you’re in the bedroom. Your body aches, it’s so tired but just the sound of his voice has your heart rate stumbling over itself in excitement. Guess you’re cooking dinner after all. You bury a groan in your arm, but you’re already smiling. 

He’s still in uniform when he eases the door open. In uniform and holding a giant bouquet of your favorite flowers. Maybe you fell asleep. If you are, you’re already looking forward to seeing where this dream goes because those twinkling green eyes and dimples are really doing a number on you. 

Your brain catches up to the moment and you fly up. “Wait, what are the flowers for?” You can’t quite hide the pitch of panic in your voice that you’ve forgotten an important date. You have to put multiple alerts in your phone for anniversaries and birthdays and still sometimes they slip past you. 

“Oh, these?” He’s trying to sound off-handed, but he’s beaming at the excitement edging out your concern. “Just a pretty excuse to drop in on an absolutely stunning woman.” He lays them on the bed beside you because you’re already waiting for him on your knees. Jake runs his hands down your arms, his rough fingers skimming the sensitive undersides of your forearms and wrists as he lifts them around his shoulders and sidles closer. You’re practically nose to nose. “Also thought she might like something to eat,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “So I stopped and got her some dinner.”

“Such a simp,” you smile, still amused by his teenage cousin’s wry assessment of him after you met his family at Thanksgiving.   

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush to him. “And proud of it,” he brags before claiming your mouth. 

So when you’re scrolling through endless Etsy pages for your friend’s bachelorette party and come across a “Proud Simp” t-shirt, you giggle and immediately add it to your cart. You wrap it for him as beautifully as you wrap his birthday and Christmas gifts. You might be bad with dates, but you’re a wiz with some paper, ribbon, and a little tape. 

“What’s this for?” Jake asks when you go to his place to give it to him. You’re so excited to see his reaction that you nearly blurt it out. 

“Open it!” You rush him. 

But he notices how beautifully you’ve wrapped it and takes his time carefully trying to preserve your work, and it makes you want to shake him and kiss him all at once. 

You go all warm at the way his face lights up when he sees your inside joke in t-shirt form. Immediately, Jake strips off his black tee to put it on. But once you glimpse his muscled chest and the dark trail of hair from his pecs down into his low slung shorts, you decide he can also lose the shorts and everything under them for now. He’ll have plenty of time to wear your gift after he’s thoroughly thanked you for it. 

And thank you for it he does.

Jake wears it. A lot. At first you think it’s just around the house, but as he spends more and more time at your place you realize he wears it out too. To run errands, to football nights with his Dagger Squad buddies Rooster, Payback, and Fanboy despite their teasing, even to pick his cousin up from the airport when she comes to visit. 

Her latest assessment of him? “Please get help.”

You draw the line at him wearing it to his commanding officer’s cookout, which he pouts about until he’s distracted by your braless sundress with the spaghetti straps crossed in the back.

For Labor Day weekend, you fly to Texas to visit his family. He picks you up from the airport. When he gets out of the car to kiss you and load your bag into the trunk, you laugh at the t-shirt he’s wearing. It says ‘I’m Jake.” 

“Did you forget your name or something?” you ask, trying to figure out if he’s playing a prank on you. 

“You’ll see,” he promises, the lines around his eyes growing more prominent with his suppressed smile. 

There’s a tissue paper wrapped box on your seat when you get into the rental car. “This better not be a ring,” you blurt out, trying not to hyperventilate. It’s not that you don’t know at this point that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with him. But your younger brother just got engaged, and you know your future sister-in-law would feel overshadowed if you took that step just now.

Before he drives away from the curb, Jake gently cups your chin and runs his thumb over your bottom lip to calm you down. “Sweetheart, I’ll wait as long as you want me to pop the question.” One of his mischievous smiles flip flops your heart, and you close your eyes as he kisses the scowl of concern from between your eyebrows. “Personally, I think this is better than a ring though.” 

That statement warns you what’s to come, but you’re still not prepared when you lift a t-shirt from the box. 

“If lost, return to Jake,” you read. You mouth the words, trying to put together what it means until you realize it’s the same color as the shirt he’s wearing. 

You feel the blood drain from your face. “No.”

“No what?” he chuckles, taking his eyes from the road for a moment to check your expression. He laughs even harder at what must be a look of horror on your face. 

“I’m not wearing this, Jake. The people who wear these carry AARP cards and have those help I’ve fallen and can’t get up buttons. I’m not even old enough to have a geriatric pregnancy! And if lost? When do I get lost?” 

“When you drive with the gps on mute,” he answers a little too quickly. Your face lets him know he’s made a big mistake. He adds even faster, “But I’ll never make you unmute the GPS because this proud simp loves it when you need him.”

Flashing you his biggest, most you-know-you-love-me grin, he reaches across the console and takes your left hand. His thumb strokes the place on your finger where an engagement ring will one day rest before placing a quick, but lingering kiss there. “C’mon sweetheart,” he says quietly, but you can hear the sudden weight of emotion in his voice. “I promised to wait to ask you to marry me, so how else am I supposed to let you know that I’m never going anywhere before I leave?”

This man really knows how to wreck you. He’s in Texas to say goodbye to his parents before he deploys until March. After growing up with your dad’s deployments, you swore you wouldn’t fall in love with a Navy man, but Jake had other plans for you. “Wear it with me please?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you agree, too choked up to say more. You know from experience crying before a goodbye only makes it harder. There will be plenty of time later to let his gift catch your tears. 

You put on the shirt before you get to his parents’ house because you know it will make his family laugh and that’s what you want to remember later too, the laughter. 

Arm slung over your shoulder, in your paired “I’m Jake” and “If lost return to Jake” shirts, he takes you to his favorite ice cream shop. You both laugh at the judgmental looks the teens and even some people your age give you. His cousin, Danny, insists she’s too embarrassed to be seen with you two. 

You wear the shirt to see him off and again when he gets home. And as soon as you’ve flown into his arms and kissed every inch of his handsome face (you’ll save the rest of him for later), he sets you down so he can show you that he’s wearing his too. You notice his shirt is as faded as yours from going through the wash so many times.

Gathering up his seabag, he hooks an arm around your shoulders to hold you close as you walk to the car. “I’m thinking it’s about time we sealed this relationship with something a little more durable than cotton,” he says. “What do you think?”

“I’m tired of people asking me where’s Jake,” you agree. “So yes.”

[sulumuns-dootah]

Hello again! Hope you are having a wonderful day!

If it isn’t much trouble, I would love to request something! Could you please do the Kings + Pyong, Paimon, and Bimet with an MC who is a skilled anime style artist and makes their own characters? Including hentai lmao

I hope this isn’t too much! Idk if I have already sent a request that you haven’t answered yet so if I have you can ignore this one lol

I wish you a Happy Halloween! 🧡🖤🎃

WHB kings (+ Ppyong, Paimon & Bimet) w/ Anime/Manga artist

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

A/N: Hi! Hope you enjoyed your Halloween too and got a lot of tricks and/or treats! ^^

Characters: Satan, Paimon, Ppyong, Mammon, Bimet, Leviathan, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Lucifer

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Satan for some reason loves posing for you as a reference (even for the NSFW works)

Maybe because you get to appreciate every muscle on his body?

Definitelly would ask you to draw him in your style

I've seen bikers have photos of their s/o stuck to their bike mirrors so I think Satan would stick your drawing of the two of you there

Now, when it comes to your hentai stuff... Are you sure that position between those two characters would work?

There's only one way to find out!

And let's be honest... After Satan tries a certain position out with you, drawing is the last thing on your mind by then

    ༺☆༻

Paimon is your fan no.1!

If you're okay with monetising your art, they'll happily handle your Etsy store with stickers, prints and pins

But if you don't want to, they're fine with that too

They're just happy they have such a talented s/o!

Similarly to Satan, they'll love to pose for your art

Paimon also loves to help you out with color palettes

They do tend to steer you towards pastels, but if that's not your style, they'll try to keep within your color schemes

    ༺☆༻

*gasp* Draw him!

Now draw him in his human from!

And now his human form hanging out with Minhyeok!

Ppyong loves seeing your creations come to life and even offer insight

Oop, Ppyong is off to human world to get some human energy! Could you draw something for Minhyeok?

Don't worry, Ppyong will make sure to save some chocolate for you for your hard work ^^

Oh, but you might wanna hide your NSFW art a secret

Especially if you sometimes draw other demons without their knowledge

Or they'll know very soon since Ppyong can't keep a secret for the life of him

    ༺☆༻

Oh, you're an artist?

Okay, here's a set of some of the most expensive art supplies you might need

Also, here are the keys to your new gallery

If you don't want your art display, that's okay too...

You can just turn the space into your studio

Mammon is happy to have such a talent around him

He's secretly hoping you'll draw him too, but doesn't want to outright ask because he understands you can't force art

Seriously though, if you need anything, he'll do his research and get you the best stuff out there

    ༺☆༻

If you don't make money from your art, then Bimet will make you to

Open commissions, sell merch, auction your stuff off...

Only a idiot wouldn't be selling their art when it's this good

Congratulations, you've got yourself an agent

No discussions!

And go to bed early tonight! You have a showcase tomorrow and it needs to be installed as early as possible!

Also, take a week off for the next Tartaros Con! You'll be having a booth there!

You might be complaining now, but once the money starts rolling in, you'll have Bimet all putty in your hands

At some point, even Mammon might get jealous of how much attention you're getting from Bimet

    ༺☆༻

Just like with anything else, Leviathan will pretend to not be bothered

But on the inside, he's kinda jealous

How dare you have a talent he doesn't?

A great way to make him warm up to you in that regard would be "accidentally" forgeting a study of him somewhere where he finds it

From that point on, he'll be more okay with you and sometimes would even ask to see your creations

Just maybe, ask for permission the next time you want to draw him

What if you accidentally draw him on a day when his outfit isn't as nice or hair doesn't stay as it should?

Asking him also has the added bonus of being able to draw him naked :)

    ༺☆༻

Wait, that means you can draw anything, right?

Okay, how about you draw Bael in a funny outfit?

Hm... How about Princess Leviathan in a tall tower and the brave knight Beel coming to save her?

I know you expected Beel asking you to draw something NSFW, but nope

This man is an endless shitpost generator and there's so much stuff he can come up with before he even gets to anything remotely dirty

R.I.P. to you if those drawings get leaked though

Now you've got some angry kings and nobles banging at your door and that lovable bastard is gone as always

    ༺☆༻

Yes, Asmo loves your NSFW artwork

Still, I can also imagine him also appreciating your SFW works

And it's not even in the 'haha you're so funny, let's fuck' kind of way

I'd kinda like to believe that showing him your art would flip on the 'best dad' switch and he'll want to put it up on a fridge

Oh, but maybe you might wanna practice drawing bodies to help you with different angles and such?

Yep, here it is...

The Asmo we expected will now wear even less of his sheet so you have a nice view of his muscles and body to get a good idea of how they work

Also, good luck showing him your hentai art, because he will suggest more pleasurable positions fro your characters

And yes, he will try to show you in praxis

    ༺☆༻

Oh hey, that's cool! Belphie loves anime!

If he sometimes gets an interesting dream, he'll share it with you and maybe you can base a story on it

Whenever he wakes up, feel free to share what you've created in the meantime

Belphie will give you his honest opinion and what you could improve - if there is anything

If there's a convention happening and he's going there, he'll take you with him and even encourage you to set up a booth

Also, if you draw you two together, he'll have Beleth frame it and put it up on a wall soemwhere where he can see it whenever he wakes up

    ༺☆༻

Proud dad just like Asmo

You have a talent and you should show it

Another king who will give you a space to either turn into a gallery or your very own studio

If you're not against it, Luci would also like you to hold art therapy sessions in the psychiatric ward of the hospital

Oh, also one of your biggest fans becomes Gamigin once he sees you draw Lucifer as he's posing for your studies

You better learn how to draw dragons fast :D

Also, yes, Jjok is gonna be as annoying as Ppyong when it comes to your drawing

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Special Interest 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, age gap, creep behaviour, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

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

The smooth jazz fills the aisle of the bookstore, a cozy warmth blowing from the vents above as you unwrap your scarf and let it hang loose from your neck. You unbutton the top of your coat, fanning yourself as the nip of winter fades. You tuck your gloves away and hike up your bag, stepping close to see the titles on the spines. The fog's finally gone from your lenses.

You have that one, oh and you already know how to crochet potholders, no you're looking for a challenge. Something different. You need new techniques if you want to keep your Etsy shop alive. You're not struggling... yet.

You pull out a book on how to crochet replicas of different plants; like a cactus or a daisy. You could do little faces on them or do a rainbow of colours. Your mind runs crazy with all sorts of alterations. You open it and flip through the pages, hiding behind the cover as you turn and lean on the shelf.

"Cute," a voice draws the book down an inch and you look down the aisle at the man facing the opposite shelf. He taps the shelf beneath the 'Gardening' sign as he smiles at you, "you know, they got a whole bunch of books about real plants down here."

You bring your brows together and furrow your nose. Who is this strange man judging you? The gall. I mean, look at him. He's a bit too old to be commenting on your interests.

"Uh, thanks, but I don't like to get dirty," you say without thinking. You're not the type to be rude but something about his tone really irks you.

You shift back to face the shelf and close the book. You slide out the other with sweater patterns. Those take so long, you haven't added those to your catalogue. You put it back and adjust your glasses as you pause and tap the book in your hand. Oh, great idea and you don't even need a pattern. You could do book covers and little bookmarks!

"You knit?" The man startles you again as he approaches.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, "crochet, but I can knit too."

"Huh, my mom does too. Tried to teach me but I'm all thumbs. I'm better with plants," he says.

You shake your head and focus on the shelf. You don't get why this guy is bugging you. On first glance, he's got at least ten years on you, maybe more. And why the heck is he bringing up his mom? You don't know her.

"Look, I hope I didn't come off rude, I was just... curious. I've never seen anyone knit a cactus before," he puts his hand on the top shelf.

"Crochet," you correct him again, keeping your chin set ahead of you.

"Yeah, crochet," he chuckles, "sorry, I'm a bit ignorant.”

You bite your tongue. You've heard of older men being a bit much but have lucked out in not being bothered by them. Until that moment.

“Cole,” he offers as he pulls his hand off the shelf, holding it out.

You don't even look. You're too nervous and honestly, annoyed. You want him to go away.

You count your losses. You don't need to splurge on a pile of books. One is fine, you can see if there's anything new on Pinterest.

You turn on your heel and head down the aisle, away from him. You hear him huff as you turn down the next, tempted to stop and look at the Tarot but wanting to get far away. You could probably hide out in the non-fiction section until he evacuates.

As you get to the end of that aisle, you find the book crushed against your front. You bounce off another person and stumble back. You look up at the stranger, Cole. He puts his hands up defenseless and grins.

“Oops, sorry, we keep running into each other.”

“Uh, alright,” you try to sidestep him but he does the same. You both move in the same pattern, back and forth, getting in each other's way, “okay, okay, just stay still.”

He stops and stares with wide eyes. You slowly sidle by, watching him to make sure he doesn't try anything. This is getting too weird for your liking.

You twirl and swiftly march away, hugging the book tight as you try not to trip in your hurry. You're too exposed at the checkout line so you surpass it and flee towards the comic book section. If that doesn't work, the bathrooms are right behind that.

You finally look back again as you get to the graphic novels. You can only see shelves. You're alone in the aisle, grumbling to yourself in agitation. “Creep.”

You take your time wandering, thinking maybe you might be able to get into Batman as you admire the art on each cover. Your adrenaline cools and you feel a bit less addled.

You sneak around the perimeter of the store and find your way back to the craft section. He's gone. Hopefully he went back home to his sad plants.

It's difficult to shake your unease. You pick out some of the needles they have hung with other small accessories and head to the till.

You join the line, your mind already trying to decide what you want to order at the cafe. As you step up, just about to get your turn at the counter, you feel a nudge, a silty voice rolling into you.

“Uh, excuse me,” the timbre is all too familiar.

“Really, dude,” you snap around, “take a hint.”

“You dropped your gloves.”

He holds up your wadded gloves and you cringe. You force a smile and snatch them away. “Thanks,” you grit out.

“Yeah, just being a nice guy,” he shrugs, “trust me, I got the hint.”

He steps back on his heel and turns his attention to the table of pens and other stationary that separate the tills from the rest of the store. You sniff and roll your eyes, quickly flitting up to checkout. The sooner you're gone, the better.

[pedropascalsx]

Dabble request: F reader with Dieter Bravo. He finally wins a major award and the reader decides to award him with smutty sex

THE AWARD.

I slightly changed it and had them enter a bet… I hope that’s okay and I hope you like it. Also you sent this in April and I missed it, i’m so sorry it took so long.

Summary: you jokingly bet that you’ll fuck your best friend dieter bravo if he wins an oscar.

Warnings: Smut. P in V. Oral. (M&F receiving). Betting. Strong language. Dieter Bravo being… Dieter Bravo.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F! Reader.

Word Count: 2053

A/N: I tried LOL. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for reading an unfinished version of this fic and encouraging me to finish it. I didn’t edit it and I’m too scared to read it back… so I don’t know how many mistakes are in it 😭😂 ENJOY!!

You groan as your phone wakes you up from the most comfortable sleep you’ve had in weeks, before reluctantly kicking off your covers and stepping out of bed.

The photo of Dieter Bravo's smug face flashing up on your phone screen makes you roll your eyes and curse his name before you swipe to answer. “It’s 5AM Diet, if someone isn’t dead, you’re able to be,” you growl into the phone.

“Shut up,” he says with an obnoxious chuckle, “I’m cashing in on our bet, pretty girl.”

“What?” You say before stuttering, “No. Not today, I’m not playing any of your annoying games this early.. . I’m hanging up and I'm going back to sleep, asshat.” You say, with a wide smile spreading across your face from the sound of his chuckling.

“I can hear you smiling.” He remarks and you roll your eyes again at how easily he can read you.

“What do you want, Dieter? I’m tired.”

“I already told you, I’m cashing in on our bet. March 21st 2015. You said you’d fuck me when I win an Academy Award.” Dieter recalls, his voice dripping with its usual arrogance.

“Buying a fake one from Etsy doesn’t count,” you sigh, imagining he’s just dragged himself back to his hotel from some club, “Dieter, if you haven’t already, go to bed, get so—.”

“I’m nominated,” he interrupts, ignoring the irritation in your voice, “My agent called me fifteen minutes ago. For Hunger Strike - Best Leading Actor.”

“Dieter, you better not be fucking with me.” You squeal with excitement, almost jumping up and down on the spot.

“Not yet, I’m not, pretty girl.”

“When are you home?” You ask, suddenly forgetting how tired you are.

“Eager are we?” He says, his eyebrows raising and the first real smile forming across his face in weeks despite his nomination.

“Shut up, asshat, you’ve got to fucking win the thing first… and if I recall correctly, which I do, I think I said I’d consider fucking you if you ever win one and I only said it so you’d take that damn role.”

“Mhmm. Nope. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word ‘consider’ fall from those gorgeous lips before now,” he teases. “But jokes aside… Tell me you’ll come with me, I hate those fucking things, they’re only fun if you’re swooning over how handsome I am in a suit sitting next to me.”

“Shut up, asshat.”

“Come with me, pretty girl, put those shiny statues to shame, show them how you shine brighter.” He says, unaware of just how fucking cheesy he ends up sounding.

“Only if you buy me a burger after.” You say, glad he isn’t there to see the way you’re unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Deal.”

*

You haven’t left his side for the past few days, he had asked you quietly to stay with him while he went through the required amount of press and you had made sure that your hand was close enough for him to squeeze when he needed it.

And today was no different, the confident Dieter Bravo the whole world thinks that they know, nowhere to be seen and instead the sweet Dieter that a few people have the pleasure of knowing sits beside you, looking at the dress bag containing the tuxedo he’ll be adorning in just a few hours time.

“You okay?” You ask, quietly bumping your shoulder against his.

“Ask me again when this is all over,” he says, before taking a generous sip of his drink. “I fucking hate red carpets.”

You take his hand and squeeze it a few times, before resting your head on those broad shoulders that you love so much.

“Whatever happens tonight, I’m really fucking proud of you.” You murmur into his skin, “Always have been, you’re the best friend i’ve ever had.”

He shushes you before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, grateful that you’re with him. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Let’s do this.” You say, with a little scrunch of your nose.

*

“And the Academy Award goes to… Dieter Bravo.” The gorgeous actress announces and you swear you can hear his heart beating.

He stands slowly, fiddling with the front of his jacket before turning to face you, immediately smashing his lips to yours in a fleeting kiss that steals your breath before shaking the hand of his director and making his way to the stage.

His speech is short but insightful. He makes sure to make eye contact with you as he thanks you for encouraging him to take the role and then shuffles off the stage as quickly as he can.

“Will you be mad if I suggest we skip the after party?” He asks after they finish engraving his oscar, the award ceremony now over and more hands shook than he could possibly be bothered to count.

“Not at all,” you say, resting your head against his shoulder, and inspecting his shiny new award.

“Room service burgers and a shitty movie to fall asleep in front of?” He suggests, before wrapping his hand around your waist.

“Sounds like heaven.”

*

“It’s really fucking pretty,” you say, your hands wrapped around the statue.

“Yeah,” he says, from somewhere behind you. Unable to stop his eyes from scanning up and down your body, and unable to ignore the way his heart leaps everytime he looks at you. “Second prettiest thing in this room.”

“I’d call you a charmer, but I'm pretty certain you’re about to announce that you’re in first place,” you say, turning around to face him with a giggle and a signature scrunch of your nose.

“No. It’s you.” He says, “In every room. It’s you.”

“Charmer.”

You both stand in comfortable silence for a few moments, just staring at each other before you take a step towards him. “Academy award winner, Dieter Bravo.”

“The one and only,” he scoffs, with a roll of his eyes. “You look really fucking beautiful by the way.”

“Shut up, asshat.” You mumble, now standing toe to toe. Unable to stop thinking about the bet that you had made a few years earlier, one that neither of you had mentioned since the day he was nominated.

He’s been your best friend for years. You met on the set of his very first movie, while working as a makeup artist and immediately struck up a friendship. And while there has always been an obvious attraction between you both, the fear that making a move and acting on it could potentially ruin your friendship had kept those feelings at bay.

But standing here and seeing the way that he’s looking at you, you can’t hold back, so you don’t. You surge forward and capture his lips, kissing him with the same intensity he had kissed you with earlier this evening, but this time it didn’t have to be fleeting. His mouth swallows your moans and his hands start to roam your body, squeezing and grabbing anywhere they could as he kisses you back.

He carefully pulls down the zipper on the back of your dress, dragging it slowly and savouring every second of this moment, a moment he’s been dreaming of since first laying eyes on you.

“Dieter,” you murmur softly against his jaw, wanting him to increase his painfully slow pace of undressing you. “Please.”

He increases his pace, frantically pulling on the material and letting it pool at your feet, before helping you step out of it and guiding you backwards towards the bedroom. His hands still greedily grabbing at any and every part of you as he lays you down.

He wastes exactly no time, pulling your panties off in one clear sweep and diving his head in between your legs. The noises he makes are loud and desperate as he laps at your clit with a messy intensity. Alternating between licking and sucking your little bud, only satisfied when you’re screaming his name and tugging at his signature messy locks before soaking his face with your arousal.

You whimper his name as he continues to lap at your clit, before gently pushing him away as it gets too much. Giggling slightly at the sight of his soaked face.

“Are you planning on getting undressed?” You ask as he moves up your body.

“Not this round,” he growls, before capturing your lips again. His movements are sloppy as he fumbles with his belt, pulling it through the loops and throwing it across the room, before pulling his pants down enough to expose his cock. You push him back slightly, and lay down in front of him on your tummy, a moan slipping out as you take a good look at his cock. Thick, long and throbbing. The tip flushed red with a bead of pre-cum, you lean forward, push up the bottom of his shirt and pepper light kisses on the swell of his tummy, nipping a few times before taking him in your mouth.

He groans your name as you hollow your cheeks, your jaw immediately aching from the sheer width of him and slowly you start to bob your head. Gagging slightly as he rocks his hips and pushes past your tonsils. The snap of his hips meet the rhythm of your enthusiastic mouth. After a few minutes he groans impatiently at not being able to touch you, before pulling out your mouth leaning over you and slapping your ass and then spreading your cheeks and tasting you this way.

You take him in your hand, stroking and flicking your wrist in perfect strokes, moaning his name in a perfect little chant as he uses his nose to tease your clit. You cum with a yelp of his name, taking you both by surprise as he soothes you through the aftershocks with gentle coos and little flicks of his tongue against your pretty little clit.

“On your back, pretty girl,” he orders, giving himself a few rough strokes as he watches you. “You ready for me, baby?” He says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I'm ready,” you confirm with a giggle, yelping with excitement as he pushes into you. Praising your ‘perfect little pussy’ as he fills you to the hilt. His arms swoop beneath your knees, so he can fuck into your deeper. “Move, D,” you beg as he waits, wanting you to adjust to the size of him.

The second you give him permission, he’s rolling his hips back, watching your face intently before snapping them forward. Loving the sound of your pretty moans as he thrusts back into you. He bends over and presses his lips against your face, thrusting himself in and out of you. Finding that spot and dragging his cock against it with ease, loving how reactive and tight your pussy gets around him.

“Oh Dieter,” you whimper, almost delirious with pleasure.

“I know, fuck, I know, baby girl,” he murmurs, “Taking my fat cock so well, baby.” You love how vocal he is, the sound of both of your moans filling the room. “You know how many times I’ve dreamed of this?” He whispers into your ear. “Every fucking day, since I met you.”

“Me too,” you stutter, seconds before your pussy clamps down around him and everything goes black. White hot pleasure erupting behind your eyes and his name becoming the only word you can speak.

It's a pleasure like you’ve never experienced, you feel him everywhere and you still want more and more. He keeps his pace as steady for as long as he can but his hips begin to falter, his pace more stilted as his cock begins to throb and he pulls out.

Stroking his cock hard and fast as he pants your cunt with thick pearly ropes of his cum.

“Holy shit.” You say with a giggle, “Even better than I imagined, D.”

“Me too,” he says as he collapses on top of you, leaning his weight onto his elbows. Kissing you gently, before nuzzling his face into your neck.

“So how was your night?” You ask with a giggle. “End as good as it started.”

“A million times better.” He says quietly.

You giggle loudly, “Better than winning the most coveted award in acting?”

“Not even a competition. You would win every time.”

[dramioneasks]

Mannn, I thought the new HBO series was going to take out HP Fanfic. Who knew the fandom would start to eat itself and cause its own demise with bad manners regarding reader entitlement and a lack of awareness supporting illegal profits from book binding😮‍💨.

It's wild to think people would pay hundreds of dollars for something that is kindly posted for free. I know some of you mods are authors. Thank you all for what you do and your MASSIVE contributions to this fandom.

In the last few days I've seen so much talk about this. I believe some authors have started that they were removing their fics from AO3? Which sparked all this talk.

For those who don't know, many authors are having their work downloaded and bound into a physical book and being sold. They are not being informed of this. They do not get contacted for permission, nor do they see any money from the sale.

Someone just decided to take a popular fic, one that got some traction on tiktok, and make it into a book and sell it for money. The original author is clueless of this happening.

Previously, in this fandom, some small bookbinding business owners would reach out to the authors and ask permission to bind a copy of the fanfic for their own use. They were granted that permission. They would post about it, and other people wanted the same. Those bookbinders then reached out to their author for permission to sell the bound copies and informed the author of the price they were selling to for. They only made a profit on the materials and labour.

Now, things have changed, especially since fanfiction and dramione fanfiction, in particular, have gotten super popular on tiktok.

People have realized that they can make a quick buck and sell physical copies of works. Even if it is illegal. YES selling fanfiction is illegal.

Fanfiction comes from another author's intellectual property. You can make fanfiction and post about it because you can not and will not make money off of it. If you do, the original author can take you to court. These bookbinders are selling fanfiction, and they are gonna get everyone in trouble if a traditionally published author decided to look into this. With how easy it is for someone's video to go viral on tiktok and how many authors are using tiktok, it's not impossible for this to come their way.

Right now, it seems these bookbinders are only on tiktok and etsy.

If you see people selling fanfiction, report them.

If you go on the dramione, tag here on Tumblr, you will see lots of chats about this, especially from authors themselves. Take some time to read it and follow some guidelines that they suggested to help combat these sales.

(PS: Our author mods are not active at the moment, you can reach out to them personally on their Tumblr pages to express your support!)

- Lisa

[ofstoriesandstardust]

scott street (j.h.s.)

a/n: this one is for those of us who didn't grow up with the childhood we deserved. may we all find some sort of peace in our adult lives.

summary: You open up to Jake about your childhood.

second star to the right (and straight on 'til morning)

warnings: vaguely referenced childhood trauma, complicated parental relationships, swearing, alcohol mentions, unedited

word count: 1.7k

"do you feel ashamed/when you hear my name?"

“What’s the coolest place you’ve ever been?”

You blink, realizing Reuben was talking. 

Bradley hums, swirling the last of his beer in his can. “Germany, I’d say.” 

Jake looks over at the brunette in surprise. “When the fuck did you go to Germany? Why?”

Bradley laughs, shoulders shaking. “Our high school did an exchange program with a school out there, but the ROTC kids got to go along. Not sure why though.” 

“I remember that trip. Everyone got fucked up.” 

“Did you go on that trip?” Bradley asks, curiosity piquing in his voice. 

You shake your head. “God no, I’d never have been able to afford it. No, I just remember all the Snapchat videos of you guys at the Rhine getting wasted.” 

“Mom doesn’t know about that, so shush.” Bradley says, narrowing his eyes. You throw your hands up in mock surrender. 

“My lips are sealed Bradshaw.” 

“What about you? What’s the coolest place you’ve ever visited?” 

You hum, shrugging. “Honestly, LA.” 

Javy groans. “What? That’s so fucking lame.”

You huff out half of a nervous laugh, realizing you were starting to encroach on territory you often tried to avoid with this group. “Honestly, can’t say I’ve visited anywhere cooler.” 

“Your family didn’t go on like… fun yearly vacations? Nowhere even just out of the state?” Natasha asks, with her eyebrow raised. 

You blink.

“You think we could’ve afforded that shit?” 

“I mean, this is a nice neighborhood and you grew up across the street from here-” Reuben starts but you’re quick to cut him off. 

“No, you all just assumed I grew up across the street from Bradley. I didn’t move into that house until high school and God knows where the money for that house came from.” 

“We used to hear her and her Mom getting into screaming matches from across the street. Quality afternoon entertainment.” Bradley says, a smirk on his face.

You rise from your seat, Jake protesting as you do so. “Yeah, fuck you Bradshaw.” 

He turns as you walk towards the sliding glass doors. “Hey, wait, I didn’t mean-”

“Just shut up.” 

-

“Is everything okay?” 

You sniff, rubbing your snotty nose on the sleeve of the maroon embroidered San Diego sweatshirt you’d bought off Etsy just a few months ago. 

You’d been so excited for it.

“I think a piece of me died in that house, Jake.” You croak, turning to look at him. He sighs, crouching down to sit next to you on your balcony. You could see all the city lights of the town you had always called home, stretching in every direction. 

“Not, not in that house across the street from Bradley’s, I- I’ve never liked that place.” You say with a shrug as he reaches over to wipe a tear away. “But that first house, the one I called home. I think a piece of me died there.” Your shoulders begin to tremble as you feel another sob come on. “And I want- I want to show you around, and show you all the places I grew up and the stories behind them, but I- I don’t know how without also acknowledging all the hurt.”

“Show me the hurt.” He whispers. “It’s okay. I’m right here, for the happy and the hurt and the in-between. I’m not going anywhere.” 

-

“Why is it ugly?” Jake jeers, leaning around you as he peers at the metal gate of the high school. 

You let out a little laugh. “You know what, my stomach used to drop every time I arrived at this place. Every morning, I used to stall and talk to my Dad because I didn’t want to get out of the car and go in. I wanted to leave before I ever even got here. Graduating always seemed like the best thing that would ever happen to me. Four years I was miserable and yet- I don’t know, I kind of miss it. Maybe miss what it could’ve been.”

“You and Bradshaw weren’t buds?” 

“Hell no, he was right when he said the neighborhood got free entertainment out of the screaming matches heard from my house.” 

“What’s your favorite memory from here?” 

You smile wistfully, eyes glancing over the campus. 

“Leaving. Leaving and knowing I never had to come back to a place that made me feel like I was going to suffocate in a dead-end life. I know a lot of people hate high school but that- that was different almost. Those last two weeks of senior year- I’ve never felt anything quite like it.” 

The two of you sit there for a while before you sigh, turning back to Jake.

“Well, on to the next.” 

-

“It looks like a prison.” 

You giggle at Jake’s bluntness of your middle school. “The San Diego Union-Tribune said the same.” 

-

“Wait, okay, those murals are kind of cute.” 

Jake’s talking about the different murals the elementary school had commissioned over the years, which really, were some amazing artistry that made the school feel incredibly welcoming. 

You nod. “They have a lot of open houses and events for the community, I keep meaning to get involved or swing by, just see the place. See what’s changed.” 

Jake hums, squeezing your hand as he circles the block. “That would be fun, I’d love to see it too.” 

-

“I spent so many years at this park.” You say softly as you settle down on the grass next to Jake. “My whole life, I’d come to this park. The late night therapy conversations with friends, the fights I’d have with them, the reprieve from my parents, the lunches and birthday parties, it all happened here.”

Jake licks the spoon of the frozen yogurt place from a few blocks over before responding. 

“How come we’ve never been here on any dates then?” 

You shrug, scooping around the Oreo bits in your yogurt. 

The shop you used to go to all the time with your Dad had been sold by the nice woman to a bigger chain, the place far from what it had been when you were a kid.

“Because I’ve tried not to come anywhere near this place. This neighborhood- it’s not good memories for me Jake. I want to leave it all behind, leave it where it belongs. I’m not that person any more. I don’t want to be her ever again.” 

-

The car rolls to a stop across the street, parking under the only tree on the block that ever dropped leaves when the seasons changed. 

It’s silent in the car as you sigh, looking at the house through the smudged glass. 

It’s painted blue now and the pomegranate tree that had sat out front is gone. 

It wasn’t even really all that far from the new place across the street from Bradley’s, a five minute drive taking you right back. 

Still, moving out of that place had felt like leaving so much life behind. Like a door had closed that you’d never be able to reopen ever again, no matter how much you pounded on the door and tugged at the doorknob. 

“I guess they’re selling this place now.” You whisper. “My sister texted me the Zillow link.” You swallow thickly as your eyes begin to sting. “Fifteen years I lived there and I couldn’t recognize a single room.”

You shake your head, turning away from the window. “That place- it stopped feeling like home so long before we moved. But I just- I just think about the little girl who had all her best memories there who laughed and loved and cried and whose light died when her parents took that from her.” 

Jake leans over the center console, brushing a few tears from your cheeks as you chance another look at the house. 

“It’s so silly to say-” You hiccup. “But I feel- I feel like her ghost is trapped in there, waiting for someone to return and love her the way she should have been by her parents. I lost so much in that home to a dysfunctional family with parents who wouldn’t know the first thing about love.” 

The tears are salty on your lips as you tilt your head down, wringing your hands together. 

“But it wasn’t just- my family. It was the loss of friends and never feeling like enough. It was the first place where I realized I wasn’t what the world defined as pretty or cool enough to get asked out on dates or to dances. And I just-”

Your heaving sigh gives way to the tears. 

“I just want to set her free. That little girl who used to walk around in princess heels that drove her parents nuts and read Harry Potter books under her covers until the sun came up- I wish there was a way to let her memory go without also feeling like I’m letting her down.”

You realize too late that the words might have been too much too early for Jake but he’s quick to read your mind, softly lifting your wrist to press a soft kiss to your pulse point. 

“She knows, honey. She knows.” He whispers. “Believe me okay? That little girl inside of you would be so proud of the woman you’ve turned out to be. You’ve done so many things in your life that seven-year-old you – or hell, even thirteen-year-old you – never would have even thought possible.” 

He leans farther, pushing back some of your hair from your face. 

“I know that there’s no way to go back and undo from your childhood, that healing that little girl inside of you will take so much more time and care and love. You deserved to be loved in the way parents are supposed to love their kids, supportive and encouraging and kind and I know those things weren’t true about yours. There is no denying that you should’ve been given that love as a child.” He swallows, intertwining his fingers with yours. “But I can say that you have risen above all the loss and the pain and become an incredible, bright, kind, successful individual. That hurt and longing that I know must ache is valid. But don’t let it push you under, because there is so much more life and love to be experienced beyond what happened in that house. It’s just four walls and a roof, honey. It’s okay to let it go.”

[babypudge]

Where’s that precious princess dress from? Asking for…a friend who might want something like that. 😍🎀

It's from Leanne's Pretty Dresses, who I've been aware of for a few years via Etsy, but only recently starting ordering from. They seem to have sales on a very regular basis, at least recently. Speaking of which, I was so excited about having my first dress in quite a while that I put in an order for another 2 dresses during their recent 60% off sale, so you can expect to see those sooner or later (turnaround can take a while.) Every so often I'll set a goal for one of my posts that is doing well. For the "Sissy Sunday" one I decided that if it hit 200 notes before I was out of my crib on Monday morning, I'd have to buy myself yet another pretty dress from the current 50% sale. Well, things were well over that in the AM, so I decided to set another goal - however many notes the post had by noon was my budget. $254 later, I've got a new dress for a Christmas post in the works 🎄🎁👗

[osamucide]

ADA secret santa . . . .ᐟ

wc: 1.4k

cw: crack, everyone is a menace, no reader included, probably some ooc, language, alcohol, drug mentions, suggestive gifts but nothing strictly nsfw, this is really just silliness

reid: happy christmas to those who celebrate! this was fun to write and think about i hope you guys enjoy and get a kick out of imagining this chaotic group being a dysfunctional family as much as i do

. . . .ᐟ

first things first: who gets who?

just like everything else at the agency, it’s a fucking ordeal.

dazai writes down everyone’s names to draw out of kenji’s hat, but he’s given them all nicknames, some more horrendous than others, and kunikida’s standing at the whiteboard writing down everyone’s favorite colors and t-shirt sizes when naomi pulls a name and asks, “who is ‘bawss bitch’?”

“president fukuzawa, duh,” dazai chirps.

cue face-palms and eye-rolls around the room.

“naomi, draw again. the whole point is that no one else kn-“

“thanks, ranpo, we know the point.” yosano reaches into the hat for herself. “who is . . . ‘tightass’?”

everyone glances to kunikida, who freezes and turns slowly, threateningly, toward the bandaged menace.

dazai tries so hard to contain his laugh, but ends up snorting unceremoniously.

so, commence kunikida choking him out and demanding he write down everyone’s proper goddamn names so they all know what the hell is going on. atsushi’s on it, copying everyone’s legal, government-registered first and last name down onto one sticky note each, and the drawing restarts.

names are distributed. instructions follow. yosano lovingly requests the biggest bottle of tequila the budget will allow.

the office party will start on christmas eve at 6pm.

. . .

naomi’s forcing junichiro into the ugliest, most uncomfortable-looking matching sweater anyone in the office has ever seen in all of their days (it’s got glitter-hot glue balls and messily sown-in sequins all over it. it’s hard to tell if it depicts something festive or if it’s the cover of lil wayne’s 1999 studio album tha block is hot).

yosano has cracked into the bottle of wine she’s kept stashed under her desk all day and is drinking straight from it.

ranpo’s encouraging her to chug while he makes a sizable dent in the huge tray of cookies provided by fukuzawa.

atsushi’s on the verge of tears because he’s never celebrated christmas with anyone who cares about him before, and kenji’s doing a mediocre job at consoling him.

dazai has brought eggnog and announces to everyone, at the exact moment that kunikida finishes off his third glass, that it’s spiked.

kyoka’s dragging haruno toward the group, where she places a reindeer antler-headband atop the older girl’s head. kyoka smiles so purely at her. it puts the fear of god into poor haruno.

it is 6:08pm.

once junichiro’s in his sweater and thoroughly suffering and atsushi’s stopped hiccuping, fukuzawa summons everyone around the tiny office tree for secret santa.

and here’s who got who.

. . .

president fukuzawa has drawn ranpo’s name for the third year in a row. he always goes with some sort of snack, but this year he found these on etsy and couldn’t resist.

the boss lets out a chuckle. everyone is jazzed. atsushi covers kyoka’s eyes. ranpo sticks his tongue out at fukuzawa (but cracks into the bag immediately).

. . .

ranpo drew yosano.

yosano lets out an unhinged laugh and puts it on. ranpo, mouth full of gummy dicks, lovingly retrieves a bottle of tequila from hiding. already half a bottle of wine and two glasses of eggnog in, yosano throws her arms around the great detective for a siblingly hug. atsushi is covering kyoka’s eyes again. he wonders if he’ll have to do this for every present.

. . .

yosano got kunikida.

“sorry, I couldn’t find an actual prescription.” kunikida’s lips are pursed in disappointment, not out of lack of appreciation but for shame in her joke. everyone knows it holds weight. dazai is on his ass laughing. kunikida remarks how he’s been needing a back pillow for his desk chair anyway. atsushi has his head in his hands.

. . .

kunikida got junichiro.

dazai and ranpo are nodding solemnly. no one is laughing because it’s true other than naomi who insists kunikida really does have a sense of humor. wow!

. . .

junichiro drew dazai’s name.

“awww!” dazai croons, holding it to his chest before going to place it on his desk next to his nameplate. “tanizaki, I’m so glad you think so.” again, everyone knows it’s true and laughs because of it this time.

. . .

dazai got fukuzawa.

it’s extra funny to dazai at this point because the boss is such a cat guy and also he and yosano have already snuck off cousins-at-thanksgiving style outside to smoke whatever (all while he’s on his way to being plastered. yosano’s the resident alcoholic, yes, but no one can ever truly contain dazai’s festive substance use). fukuzawa laughs - it has to be an effect of the alcohol on him too, everyone thinks, because no way would the stoic man ever crack a smile at such a gift let alone actually use this fucking mousepad. dazai tells him he’ll cry if he doesn’t see it on his desk next week.

. . .

a break proceeds because kunikida swears something got fucked up in the drawing process now that half of them have looped around. yosano, dazai, and ranpo are doing tequila shots. haruno explains to kunikida that it’s fine - someone had to go first - and they should just pick someone to start the second round of gifts. kunikida’s scribbling in his notebook trying to figure out what they screwed up. kenji insists that they’re already playing the game, there’s no point in trying to rewrite it now as long as everyone has a gift! kunikida looks visibly intoxicated like he’s about to pop a vein in his forehead, so kenji just laughs nervously and takes the reins. he tells kyoka to go next.

. . .

kyoka drew haruno.

it’s in a pretty purple bag, christmas spirit somewhat lost upon the child. atsushi almost starts crying again (dazai’s been slipping him eggnog). kyoka’s already assembled and glued the flower together. haruno smiles appreciatively. it will go on the front desk.

. . .

haruno got naomi.

no one expects this from haruno but it’s a huge hit, especially juxtaposed with junichiro’s gift from kunikida. it’s a book cover over a blank notebook and the only thing she apologizes for is that it doesn’t say “sibling.” naomi is red in the face and forcing a laugh. dazai and yosano are a second away from hoisting the girl up on their shoulders like she just made a winning touchdown. atsushi’s head is in his hands again.

. . .

naomi got atsushi.

it’s him if he was a single-celled organism, kenji remarks. atsushi is wholeheartedly pleased with this gift and gives naomi an extremely awkward hug. he holds onto it like a lifeline for the rest of the night.

. . .

atsushi pulled kenji’s name.

he wasn’t sure how seriously to take the gift, but he thought these were fitting. kenji beams and jumps up and down and hugs atsushi so tight the older boy starts to go blue in the face.

. . .

and finally, kenji drew kyoka.

kyoka wants the spiderman one. kenji obliges.

. . .

new and old traditions alike arise; yosano and ranpo each gift each other $20. fukuzawa has given both of them the $20. it's a ritual they refuse to let die. dazai tries to get kunikida to do a shot out of his mouth which leads to shouting and beating. atsushi sits both of them down on the couch and forces them to drink water and be nice to each other. naomi, haruno, and junichiro pick out a christmas movie to project onto the wall as background noise; they settle on a cheesy musical hallmark movie suspiciously similar to the one they put on last year. kyoka and kenji join ranpo in raiding the dessert table. yosano is singing! she is trying to get everyone to sing with her. dazai is the only one who joins. he is wearing the i ♥️ cock(tails) hat. they start with silent night and end with skeeyee by sexyy red.

before long, drunken detectives fall into their chairs and couches with blankets and plates of sweets to get comfy for home alone 2. dazai wants a whole couch to himself but that's unfair, so he settles for stretching his gangly ass legs across kunikida and tanizaki. kyoka and kenji curl up on the floor in a pile of blankets; the girl looks on the verge of sleep. naomi and haruno squeeze into a chair; yosano finds herself flat on the ground, nearly finished bottle of wine in hand; ranpo's feet are kicked up on the nearest desk and he sits in his chair near fukuzawa, who overlooks his employees with tired satisfaction. atsushi glances around at his his colleagues, and for as unhinged as they are, he feels lucky to have a group of people so welcoming to call his friends. all is peaceful and happy, except for ranpo's incessant burping and yosano's eventual snoring. it's fine.

merry fucking christmas.

[smolvenger]

hiii could you please write a one-shot with loki where the reader is curvy/plus sized. they are starks adopted child and feeling down bc of anxiety/stress of academics and feeling as if no one can love them, and loki is comforting them bc they secretly have a crush on the fierce reader, no smut but lots of fluff pleaseee

Hi there! Sorry for the Wait, but here it is! I am not plus-sized myself so special shout out to @muddyorbsblr advising me how to write it realistically and for the vibe checks!

My Goddess (Loki x curvy/plus-sized fem! reader oneshot)

Word Count: 2K

Summary: Amidst the pressures of school and your personal insecurities, you never expect your crush on the god of Mischief to be reciprocated...

Warnings: insecurity and school stuff and mentions of sex, but no smut. Some light angst and fluff!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @fandxmslxt69

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. There was so much. When you gathered your things to go back home for fall break, half the things you brought were textbooks. There were essays and tests. You thought you would have a break from your classes. Apparently, in schools, there were only ever truly breaks on three occasions. Winter, Summer, and Death.  And you had no time. Classes consumed your time so much. Then all those assignments. You wanted so badly to get them done. At least you had mornings when you just woke up and couldn’t sleep. You tossed about, unable to drift off. The cafe would see you and already prepared the espresso you were about to order after a night of little to no sleep. And whenever you got back after a long day of classes, you had nothing except those assignments to do. You had no energy. But you did them anyway. 

Even at the airport, you saw couples holding hands and smiling. Maybe, in your fantasies it could be you and…and…no. Don’t get carried away. You’re just not meant for romance, Y/N. It’s hard but it’s the truth. Just focus on school and you won’t be disappointed.

Once you walked out, suitcase and carry-on in tow, there stood your dad. He smiled brightly, the sunlight bouncing off his bright glasses from the limo.

“Well, how is the hangover and chlamydia?” he wished.

“Hi Dad,” you replied with a smile. Mr. Stark was known for being a huge smartass, but you couldn’t have wished for another.

Your mom stepped out at once and gave you a big hug. Then all of you gathered inside and took the slow drive back home.

“We’re having a party tomorrow night, you are more than welcome to join!” your mom said, wiping a strand of red hair out of her face.

“Oh-is there an occasion?” you asked.

“Just because!” she replied. “Let me show you the invites we sent-they’re very pretty. I found this new stationary and I’m obsessed with it!”

She handed you an envelope and opened it to show one, but to her surprise, it was dark green. There was gold lettering that read.

“YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO A GATHERING OF THE AVENGERS TO CELEBRATE AND WORSHIP THE GREAT, HANDSOMEST, MOST CHARMING AND POWERFUL GOD IN THE NINE REALMS L-”

Your mother snatched the invite and her jaw dropped. You squeezed your lips together to keep from laughing. Then your mom turned around.

“When the hell did he get those invites!”

One of the maids went up to you and shrugged.

“Not sure, Pepper. It was what was sent out.”

Your mother scowled, but you walked forward with your hands on your hips. You knew this charade before. 

“C’mon Loki. We know it’s you.”

The maid scowled. In a flicker of golden light, you saw him, your stomach bursting with butterflies. The most attractive man you had ever met- who happened to be none other than the trickster god turned Avenger ally Loki. Not minding that one awkward time he was possessed, wanted attention, and threw your dad off a building. Besides that, he was great. 

“Well- how did you guess?” he asked casually. He went over to a chair and plopped himself in.

“You use green and gold- that’s as subtle as a freight train.”

“But…let’s be honest, YN…wouldn’t you like an entire evening enjoying my company and many charms?”

You would not stand for that crap.

“Yeah, you’ve said that to every one of us by now. Fix the invitations. We will be glad to have you around as a guest,” you said.

“And if I don’t?” he dared with a wide smile.”

You folded your arms.

“I will find a way for Thor to hold you down as we force-feed your yyourpopcorn,” you threatened.

He scrunched his nose and made a disgusted face. Then he got back up and regathered himself smoothly. 

“Well, in the case…if it’s sweet YN who asks for it, who am I to refuse?” he let down a little bow. When he smiled at you, you felt hot and turned your eyes away.

 Your mother clapped her hands.

“Well! A party calls for a new outfit! Should we go off to lunch and shopping tomorrow? There are so many stores with good deals now!” your mother said. 

“Hmm, I say you both are fine as you are. Why make all the fuss adding onto perfection itself!” Loki replied.

“Please save it for the version of you with boobs, Loki. I know you give it to every breathing being here,” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

His lips tightened. Something in him dimmed.

“Alright. Then I’ll go,” he replied, vanishing into gold mist. 

Though you were part of the Stark family and you were…comfortable, to put it mildly. You knew it wasn’t just about the bargains. That she wanted to spend time with you.

But to spend time… shopping with you.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her you didn’t want to go shopping and that you hated shopping. That it was an ordeal. That the clothes would never fit right. No store did. The silent humiliation of being in a store changing room. The most beautiful pieces of clothing would have struggling buttons, tight against you.  Looking in the mirror and hating what you saw as you squeezed in and out. The changing rooms squeeze you in too. As if the space was trying to close in on you and choke you. That the only clothes would be the ones that would be so frumpy that even great-grandmas would refuse to wear them.  

“Uh…I think I’ll be fine. We can…see a movie or something, mom. There are some good ones out. And I think I’ll be more help if I stayed and helped with decorations,” you answered. If you had to pull more all-nighters to finish your work, so be it. Though your body aching with want of sleep from traveling said otherwise. 

The party was going swimmingly. Your dad was giving out his signature quips like a baker handing out cookies. You checked your dress and makeup in the mirror a million times. But it never felt enough.

Dammit, all of the Avengers were here. And they were all gorgeous specimens- the men, women, and people. Like it was a beauty pageant not a team of superheroes. Well, then there was your dad. And he had a dad-bod. But still- dad bods were in, everyone knew that. Your own…you doubted.

You could handle yourself around super-soldiers. But you had coursework to do still, to catch up on…you meagerly walked around, talking to no one. Your sad cocktail in hand. And there he was.

Stupid, Stupid, sexy Loki. In his gorgeous black Gucci suit. You could feel the saliva gather in your mouth. Swallowing the urge to drool at him. That smooth voice that always made your knees weak. Yes, he was who he was- a god of mischief and stirring the pot. He charmed and flirted and tricked his way to what he wanted but…he was just so…so…

Loki was already hanging out with Nat. He leaned against the bar, smiling as he talked with her. 

Part of you wanted to cry. Part of you wanted to scream. 

That was the type of woman he preferred. No one in heaven, hell, or earth would it be you. Not the…thin, stunning goddesses you passed by every day. Nat, Captain Marvel, to name a few. How could you compare to them? Even if they were nice to you. Smiled to you. Aske you how school and life were…no matter how genuine they were, you’d never measure up. Be good enough. Not for a man…much less a god. 

This was too much. An hour into the party and you were already done. You had to go away. Do some studying. Yes, you would be “that” girl from every romance book and fanfic who would claim she would rather study than party and then somehow have every man alive fighting over her. But this time you did have homework. It was better than failing. Or being here with your insecurity rubbed in your face. 

You went upstairs and threw open the door to your room.

As you got into your room, you turned on a lamp by your desk. The shadow of yourself stretching over the wall, filled with your pictures and posters. The comforting escape of home. Of privacy. You placed your textbook from your bag to the top of the desk. As you reached for your laptop to type an essay, the shadow of yourself stretched. You looked up and realized you weren’t moving an inch. But it was stretching long and wide. When to your shock, it became a person whose hands reached down to the desk and grabbed the book.

“Hey! What the fuck?!” you muttered. 

The shadow reached it up. You saw it became tall, with the outline of shoulder-length curled hair and horns on top of its head. You stretched your arm to the textbook, but it wouldn’t give you back.

“Can I please have it back?” you asked worriedly. No doubt who was behind this. His usual lack of subtlety from the horns.

To your surprise, the shadow relented. It lowered its hands, the book gently going down. It was placed in your free hand. Then the black shadow took your other hand. It felt as cool and light as morning mist. The figure with horns bent down and kissed it gallantly.

You smiled despite yourself.

When you turned around, there you saw none other than the god of mischief, leaning against the doorframe.

“Why- what are you doing in my room?”

“Technically, my dear, I’m not in your room,” Loki replied.

“Just answer my question,” you said. 

He gave an easy shrug, his smug smile still on him.

“You left the door open and didn’t close or lock it- and I wanted to have a little fun with you. It looks like you are doing anything downstairs but enjoying yourself.”

You crossed your arms, looking at him. But his brows furrowed and his smile dropped. His eyes looked over your work before going to you.

 “What do they even do in these universities?” he asked.

“Give you too much work and reading. Quite a bit- are you sure there isn’t anything that could help? Even a little? Turn myself into you and go to your classes in your place?” he offered.

“Help? You’re offering me, help? Why would you offer someone you can’t stand help?” you asked. “Hm? Why are you so nice to me? You hate me!”

“I don’t hate you, my dear.”

“Not even…a little?”

“Not at all, I…”

He swallowed a little. He then went forward and took your hands in his. Your heart about stopped. You felt as if you could float out of your body. He looked at you and spoke with a tenderness- a sincerity you had never heard from him before. 

‘YN…I don’t know how to say this but…I like you. So much. So much it drives me almost mad. To think- I am seen, heard by you. To think you scold me, talk to me…I just want nothing more than for you to talk to me a little more…just a bit more…To hear, savor your words. Each bit of you. I am merely wood and you are fire- you always had such beautiful fire in you- and you must know it’s you and you alone who sparks me alight.”

You nearly dropped your jaw. The wind was knocked out of you. You could hardly believe what you heard was real.

“You’ve played lots of tricks before…now, come on. Where is the snake hiding under the chair…” you muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Disarming me with some fake confession of love and then sending out a snake to bite me? You’re quite known for that!” you bit back.

“There is no snake. But there is love,” he replied. His eyes went wide, always meeting yours.

You felt your face and body get too hot. Your breathing grew rapid and your eyes fell to the floor. This was too good to be true, it was!

“For…for me? “Don’t lie to me…you love someone like…like Nat or Carol…just go to them!” you dismissed. 

You turned around to look out the window. You wrapped your arms around yourself. So he wouldn’t see the tears starting to fall on your face. Then you felt his hand and felt him turn you around. 

“But I’m not with Nat or Carole…I’m with you…” he replied.

You froze.

“I am not worthy of love…” you said.

Loki’s lips began to quiver.

“I’m not worthy of you. You are everything beautiful adn good in this world, this life. I was only a creature left to die in the snow….”

“I was too! My birth mom…she…she couldn’t keep me. It was pure luck I was chosen at all for a family, much less someone like my dad!”

“Your family wanted you. They always did. Mine…not as much…YN, could you love an unwanted second son?” he asked, his hands over his heart.

“Yes…yes, I could…” you said.

You both leaned closer. Your blood rushed into your ears, the pure joy sparkling all about you. His beautiful pink lips were about to touch yours-

“Hey Romeo, can that magic conjure a condom?” 

You turned your head to see your dad, crossing his arms and turning bright red at the sight of you.

“Dad! I’m an adult! I can choose who I want to date!” you said, rolling your eyes. Loki stepped forward. Trying that polite grace he was raised to possess as a prince.

“Please, sir…there was nothing of that sort….well, not yet- She should choose freely for herself-.”

“Hmmm, you’re a smooth talker…I just might, I dunno. He might throw me off a building again. Can’t risk that,” your dad muttered.

Loki kept his composure, his blue eyes soft when they looked at you. Like you were the most precious gemstone in all the realms. Like you were a goddess made for him alone to fall before his feet and worship. Like…like…in a way that made you feel beautiful. 

 “I would…would be honored if she even chose me at all…” the god confessed.

You placed your hand in his.

“I would.”