#the ew fandom is smaller than it used to be but its still as comforting as it was at the start for me

[baconcolacan]

Just dropping by to give yall a hug, I love you ew fandom, even with all our scuffed parts. It’s been rough, but we keep going in our little corner of the internet.

Thanks for being here, so many creative and passionate people sharing our love for a silly show. It’s such a comfort to be here when things are quiet and slow.

[infernalrevenge]

The Greatest Show

Fandom: Resident Evil 8: Village

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G

Summary: Donna and Angie attempt to cheer Reader up after a bad day.

Notes: A little bit of domesticity and comfort from our resident dollmaker. Yes, Reader is still a servant in the house while also being her partner -- because why not HAHAHA. Just thought this would be a fun silly thing to write.

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This day was not going the way you thought it would. Well, that was putting it nicely -- this day was going to shit.

It was bad enough that you had a hard time falling asleep last night and woke up in a sour mood, but then you had an argument with a new vendor at the village who not only exclaimed that there was no new shipment of vegetables that morning, but also had the gall to try and throw you out of the store under virtue that they "didn't want the freak servants of one of the freak lords tainting their good establishment." The fucking nerve!

When you got back to the manor empty-handed, fuming but attempting to prepare lunch (sans vegetables), you accidentally burned your hand on the hot stove. As if that wasn't bad enough, when you jumped back in pain, you knocked over a few plates onto the floor and had to clean all that up too. You had to complete all your other chores with just one usable hand, the other one wrapped in a loose bandage. Fantastic.

You wanted to scream. Just let out a long scream to let the frustration out.

But you didn't. You couldn't. You still had other things to do, and you weren't going to let a few setbacks ruin it all. You went about your day as usual -- or at least you tried to, because you didn't quite notice how you would grip onto cups a little tighter, with your jaw set and locked as your grit your teeth, and had a perpetual furrow in your brow that worried Donna and Angie.

"What's up with them?" the doll muttered as she watched you slam a tray down in the kitchen when you thought no one else was around.

Donna didn't reply, only looking at the tension you held in your posture -- like you were set to burst with just one wrong move.

Your thoughts were consumed with tasks to perform for the rest of the day, chanting "Just get through it, you'll be fine" over and over in your head like a mantra. You didn't want to worry Donna over such trivial matters. This was just one bad day. You were better than this! You could do this. Just get through it. Just push! Just do it!

It was close to evening when you found your last task for the day before supper: Tidying up the library. Maybe you'll see Donna and Angie there and they could help lift your spirits. Finally, something to look forward to! Angie would probably make some quip about your bandaged hand, and Donna would be winding down on the couch and picking out a movie to watch after supper while you could talk about something to take your mind off the stress. But when you were greeted with a dark and empty space, neither of them in sight, you only sighed in disappointment.

Just get through it, you'll be fine.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked away the blurriness in your eyes, picking up the duster in the corner.

Just get through it, you'll be fine.

You looked up at the clock. Half an hour until supper. Right on time. You took a deep breath to calm yourself and headed for the kitchen.

You were already going through the menu in your head when you felt an insistent force collide onto your chest, nearly knocking you over.

"Angie?"

Donna wasn't with her, and didn't seem to be anywhere nearby either. She was merely floating on her own. "Y/N, just the person I'm lookin' for! Come on, I gotta show you something!" She seemed rather urgent and excited at the same time. What was she planning now?

She took your uninjured hand and started pulling.

"Wait, but I have to get ready for supper--”

"Supper schmupper, this is way more important!"

"But--”

Angie dragged you by the pant leg to the living room, leaving you no choice but to hop along and follow. There, you saw a table laying on its side covered in a shiny silky cloth, obscuring your view of what or who could be behind it. You could just barely see a familiar veil-clad head crouching underneath. Before you could ask, she yelled at you to sit down on the short stool in front of the set up.

"Angie, what's going on?"

"You'll see, I promise. Now be quiet, the show's about to start!"

With that, she waddled away behind the table, seemingly greeted by a chorus of soft giggles. You tucked your knees close to your chest and waited for the commotion to settle down... whatever this was. You were used to Angie's antics at this point, but what kind of show was she talking--

Suddenly, three puppets dressed like the lords popped up from behind the table, with another one looking like a smaller replica of Angie. They all had cutesy and somewhat exaggerated features, completely made out of felt, cloth, and stuffing. Like plushies.

What the...?

"Don't be sad, Y/N!" they said in unison, their voices remarkably similar to each respective lord, if not much higher in pitch.

"Welcome to the village, we're so glad you're here! Turn that frown upside down and give us a cheer!" they sang, each of the dolls moving along to the beat they made.

"Donna, Angie, w-what..." you started, but they kept singing. You weren't quite sure who exactly might be providing these voices -- the dolls themselves, maybe even Donna -- but you were getting more and more amused by the second.

After their short number, introducing each lord to you (Big Sister Dimi, Mr. Heisenberg, Moreau the Fish Man, and Angie, as you recall), they proceeded with the show proper. Apparently that song wasn't all the two of them had up their sleeves.

"Okay, everyone! We have something very important to do!" the doll that looked like Angie spoke up (probably played by Angie herself) "How do we cheer up a loved one?"

"A loved one?" Doll-Moreau repeated.

"Yes! When someone we care about is sad, we should help in any way we can to cheer them up, right?"

"Right!" Doll-Dimitrescu agreed.

You felt a small smile start to crack your facade. Was this all for you?

"But how do we do that?" Doll-Heisenberg chimed in.

"Well what are things that they like? What makes them happy?" Doll-Moreau asked, who turned to Doll-Angie.

"They like cookies! Chocolate chip are their favorite!"

As if on cue, you felt something tug on your leg, and you looked down to see a porcelain doll in a sailor suit lifting up a plate of cookies to you, littered with chunks of chocolate in the dough. "Thank you," you said softly, giving the little one a gentle pat on the head before they ran off back behind the table. You placed the plate on your lap and started to nibble on one as the show went on.

"What else can we do to make them happy?"

"They also like tea with their cookies!"

You could just barely hear someone whisper "Tea? Ew, why not milk?" before they were swiftly hushed. On cue again, another doll emerged with a cup of hot tea for you. You whispered another thanks before they went back, taking a sip of your drink.

"We can sing their favorite songs!" Doll-Heisenberg started trying to sing before Doll-Dimitrescu interfered with a swift knock to his head. "Not with your voice, you can't."

That was a little mean, but you couldn't help but laugh anyway. You would've choked on your tea if you had been drinking it still.

"Why don't we ask them?" Doll-Angie said, turning to face the audience -- you. "What would make you happy, Y/N?"

The smile on your face only widened, tapping a finger on your chin as you made a show of thinking deeply. Might as well play along if they put in so much effort. "Well, what would make me happy is to have my lovely girlfriend here to share these cookies with."

"You heard 'em, Donna, get over there!" The real Angie peeped from behind the table, with the puppet lords cheering on as well as she emerged from her hiding place. You didn't even need to see under her veil to know she was blushing madly at the attention, even though it was just you and the dolls in her company right now.

You moved the plate of cookies from your lap to make room for her. "Y/N..." she was about to protest, and you pouted in response, giving your best puppy dog impression and opening your arms. "I thought you wanted to cheer me up, love?"

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she settled herself on your lap, your arms wrapped around her waist to keep her steady. You looked up at her fondly and pulled her against you -- it suddenly felt like the day's worries had melted away, and all that mattered was having the woman you loved so close to you. That in itself was a great comfort.

Angie seemed to have taken the reins now, the show getting louder and more chaotic as it went on -- the dialogue was reminiscent of the banter you had with her, and some jokes were made at the expense of the other lords (and sometimes Donna), much to her embarrassment. You rested your chin on her shoulder and couldn't help but laugh along.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Donna whispered, tilting her head slightly to look at you.

"You... noticed then?" Your shoulders sagged, head weighing heavier onto hers, feeling like you wanted to hide.

"I did. It was a little hard not to." She gently took your bandaged hand in hers, pressing a tender kiss onto it. "But I didn't want to stand by and not do something about it, so... I hope this was okay."

You felt your heart swell with affection for her -- when did you get so lucky to have such a thoughtful woman by your side? "More than okay. This was very sweet of you and Angie."

A moment passed before Donna spoke again, "I just want you to know that... if there's anything you want to talk about, anything at all, know that I'm here for you, love. Always."

You could almost feel a tear come to your eye at that, "I'll keep that in mind."

You caught a glimpse of her smile at this angle, "You know I'd do anything to see you happy."

And she could see yours, "You already do."

.

.

.

(After learning of the existence of these "lord puppets", it became a game between you and Angie to hide them in plain sight whenever each lord would come visit the estate and bet on how long it took for them to notice it.

Lord Heisenberg almost never seemed to see his -- you weren't sure if he just didn't care to look around, or found it once and opted to ignore it, muttering something about it being "creepy".

Lord Moreau took a while to find his too, but when he did, you couldn't forget the look of joy and flattery on his face. It was quite adorable, and it turned to how quickly he could find the doll in a new room instead.

Lady Dimitrescu never visited, but when you and Donna went over to her castle, you always made sure to bring it with you. You would catch her daughters trying to hide their snickers when you would just stand around carrying the doll like Donna did with Angie, but whenever the lady tried to find out why, she never thought to look at you to see the commotion. Your girlfriend sometimes scolded you for it, but Angie always had a high five ready for you at the end of every visit.)

[fanficsandfluff]

Squealing Santa 2k20: Her Place

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Emily, JJ

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to @ticklishraspberries​!!! I was so excited to see this prompt because I have NEVER written w|w fics. like.... maybe one. maybe two. IT’S NOT A LOT OK. (side note: why do i feel like we’ve been each other’s gifters for a couple years now??? or at least i’ve written for you more than once. idk but it’s an honor bc you’re a legend). Also my writing block has been so severe ever since the end of tickletober. So I legitimately woke up at 2:00am on Christmas Day because I had a SMIDGE of inspiration to finally sit and write this fic up. I’m nervous as hell because I am still only on like Season 2 of CM, so my characterization of the characters is solely based on what I know up to that point. 

Okay, enough rambling, get to the fic, Michelle. Another thank you to @ticklygiggles for hosting Squealing Santa this year! 

~~~

The two-days-before-Christmas-Christmas-Party came and went and things went shockingly smoothly for the crew at the BAU. JJ twitched every time her cell buzzed in her pocket, flicking it open and checking to make sure they were indeed clear of any new cases for the time being. At least for the holidays, she prayed. 

Emily took note of how not-into this night JJ was. It was strange to her because she understood (at least from her minor experiences at fun times with the BAU) JJ was usually a life of any party. Emily started telling jokes to her table of her, JJ, and Penelope. JJ would laugh but it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. And yeah, she noticed her checking her phone a lot. 

“Hey,” Emily leaned in a little closer to JJ to get her to hear her over the noise in the bar, “The world isn’t going to end if you click your phone off for the night.”

Wow, what an inconsiderate thing to say, Emily. Nice one. 

JJ smiled sadly at Emily, “I’m that much of a downer, huh?”

“No! No, honey, not at all,” Emily reached her hand over and placed it on JJ’s, “Sorry I said anything. This job is just... ooof,” she made a groan come out like a huff and she and JJ giggled together at the noise. 

“I knohow. I know,” JJ brushed her blonde locks behind her ear, “Habit, I guess.”

“Come over to my place after,” Emily said maybe too brazenly. 

“Tonight?”

“Was ‘after’ not clear enough?”

The women smiled at each other, and it was only after this few seconds of staring that Emily realized she still had her hand over JJ’s. She lifted it off and offered to get them both another drink. 

Drinks, bad jokes, and only one more check of her cell later, Emily and JJ walked to her apartment, not far from the bar. They were both equally tipsy and Emily noticed how much gigglier JJ was getting as the hours of the night wore on. Drink to blame, definitely. But there was something else. An added element Emily couldn’t quite place yet. JJ would bump into her during their walk, and at the bar she seemed to get more handsy with her, poking and shoving and hugging. Emily buzzed them in and she unlocked the door to her place, realizing at that moment that JJ hadn’t ever been up here before. 

“Make yourself comfortable. I would offer booze, but--”

“Yeah, I’ll take whatever you got.”

Emily’s brows raised, not unlike the look she gave when disbelieving how crazy some of the cases they worked on were. He did what to their kneecaps? Yeah, ew, ok, no work think tonight. 

JJ went and ran her fingertips over the countertop in the kitchen as Emily hurried to get together some wine for the two of them. Wine is a better close to the night than tequila, she figured. 

“You have a... really nice place,” JJ said through a near gasp as she turned the corner and went further into the living room space. She stared at the Washington Monument in view from the window. 

“Thank you,” Emily said, walking over and handing JJ a glass, “Merry Christmas,” she smiled and clinked her glass to JJ’s. 

“Merry Christmas,” JJ said in return. 

Emily got JJ over to her couch and the two sat and chatted. It was fun. Genuinely. They were just talking about everything and anything other than the BAU and it was wonderful. Emily snorted and barked out a loud laugh when JJ got very animated over a point she was trying to make. It was just too adorable. 

“Dohon’t make fun of me, you know I’m right!”

“I’m not making fun! Some part of me is believing that but I think it’s only because you’re the one telling me.”

JJ leaned into the back of the couch, already comfortable and curled up into it. Something like a blush creeped up her neck to her ears. 

“You still laughed at me.”

“Alright, yes, Pop Tarts have gotten smaller.”

“And everything else!”

“I got it--”

“Donuts, too!”

Emily laughed again, so wrapped up in the silliness and joy of the moment, that she just reached over and gave JJ’s sides a pinch. JJ jerked, her legs spazzing. 

“Hehey!”

“Ohohoho...” Emily covered her hand over her mouth when that embarrassing chuckle made its way out, but this was too good a discovery.

She scratched her nails over JJ’s kneecap and the media liaison squeaked, batting at Emily’s hand, “Plehease don’t.”

“I must,” Emily sounded earnest but then she went for the kill, digging her fingers into JJ’s sides. JJ slid down the couch until she was on her back, lost in laughs and higher-pitched giggles. There was something about how rough Emily was being with her tickles, but it still felt teasy when her nails came into play. 

“E-Emily!”

“I’d love to hear another conspiracy, please, Jay,” Emily chided and she scritched her nails against JJ’s belly after sliding her hand under her sweater. 

JJ cackled at the initial contact and arched her back, “Dohohon’t patronize m-meheheHEE!” 

It had only been maybe a minute of tickling, but Emily was certain her favorite spot was JJ’s belly. It came with such a variety of reactions depending on how pressure was applied. Dipping a finger into her bellybutton brought forth a snort. And Emily melted on the spot. A snort! From JJ! Emily was used to knowing that her own laugh usually came accompanied with snorts, it was just how her laughter came out. But to think JJ could make the same noise, but somehow so much cuter...!

“Ahaww,” Emily cooed, unable to help herself. To cap off JJ’s tickle attack, she pinched, stroked, scratched, and dug everywhere. Madly. Up, down, sides, back up again, neck, socks, it was so rapid fire that JJ was lost in her highest laughter yet, frantic and desperate.

Emily found herself leaning over JJ by the end of it all, watching her breathe and giggle herself back to composure. 

“Thahat... You... I cahan’t,” JJ covered her hand over her eyes, “Evil.”

Emily snickered. JJ lifted her hand from her face and was smiling so broadly. She booped Emily’s nose. She had such a great nose, too. Unique. Not a princess nose by any means, but it made her so... 

JJ leaned up just as Emily tilted her own head downward, and their lips collided. 

JJ’s phone did not buzz the rest of the night, nor did she find the need to obsessively check it. No, not tonight. Tonight they were good. For the holidays. 

[lemonsandstrawberries]

Ugly Pajama

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony), MCU

summary: Steve has one overworked genius to take care of.

length: 1 915 words

a/n: happy (late) birthday, @luvindowney !!! the bday request was something with ticklish!Tony (ONE OF US, ONE OF US) so I wrote you something fluffy and comforting. hope you will like it!

——————–

Ugly Pajama

Mind control. Alien invasions. Space dictators. Ghosts of the past making a sudden appearance in their lives. Natasha had seen it all. Was prepared for it all. She was a professional, a trained agent, capable of finding herself in every situation.

Yet, no amount of training could have ever prepared her for living in the Avengers Tower. The building in itself was a technological wonder with comforts of a five-star hotel, but it wasn’t the living conditions that made a home, but people inside of it. Nothing ever could prepare her for the bizarre mix of personalities. And when two of already bizarre personalities became more than just teammates, the combination was more than surprising.

Ding.

The elevator opened with a quiet sound. Natasha took the first step in, not faltering when she saw that someone was already inside. The person smiled at her and took a courteous step to the side to make room for her. There were two feet planted on the floor, but that didn’t mean that there was a single person inside. In fact, there was two.

“Agent Romanoff,” Steve nodded, inviting Natasha inside.

“Captain,” Natasha nodded back, adding without missing a beat. “Stark’s butt.”

There was some groggy sound, as the person slung over Steve’s impressive shoulder acknowledged someone addressing him, but nothing more. He just stayed in his limp position, breathing deeply, letting himself be carried.

“What’s the damage today?” Natasha asked, pressing the button and choosing the Avengers common floor.

“Nearly seventy-two hours without proper sleep,” Steve answered, sounding tired, but also amused in some way. He got used so much to forcefully dragging his boyfriend back to their shared floor for some proper rest, he would miss those days once Tony would finally develop some common sense. There was a high chance that such moment would never come, though.

“And without a proper shower,” Natasha added, scrunching her nose and smelling the strong scent of car grease and sweat. Choking and charming. “How can you even stand this?” She asked, meaning the smell. If it was already bothering her, Steve had to be suffering even more.

“You get used to it,” Steve laughed in good humor and well, wasn’t that sweetly disturbing. Tony made some groggy sound of protest, maybe something about being accused of stinking or maybe something about the way Steve’s shoulders jumped when he had laughed, jostling him up a little. “Shhhhhh. Sleep, babe,” Steve soothed, lovingly rubbing Tony’s perky butt in circular motion. One happy sigh later, Tony drifted back into calm sleep.

Really sweet and disturbing.

“Have fun with him,” Natasha showed her teeth in a smile, when the elevator stopped and she got out, planning to raid the kitchen. Steve smiled back and waved her goodbye, waiting for the elevator to start again and leave at his and Tony’s floor.

At being carried to the bedroom, Tony made some more sounds of protest and Steve shushed him quiet. He put his boyfriend on the bed, carefully peeling off his work clothes and buttoned up his red flannel pajama, warm and cozy, on Tony’s body, not needing any pants for the moment, as the edge of the material was just mid-thigh on Tony’s smaller frame. Tony didn’t fidget or say anything, his head permanently falling on one side and eyes closed, maybe just humming his agreement or disagreement whenever Steve talked to him. Without any problems, Steve lowered his boyfriend into the covers and tucked him in tenderly.

“Get some sleep,” Steve said, leaning in closer and placing a lingering kiss on brunet’s forehead. Shower. Tony desperately needed a shower.

“Nyeghrh,” was all the answer he heard, before Tony hid himself into the covers, even more, snuggling his face into the pillow, up to a point where there was only a man-shaped shape under the covers and some brown, messy hair sticking out. Steve smiled at the scene and quietly went to the kitchen to prepare some food for whenever Tony would wake up.

Steve’s guess was that Tony would sleep until late evening. Instead, he woke up rather quickly, barely after two hours which in comparison to how much time he had been awake was almost nothing and was just enough time to finish in the kitchen. Steve barely sat in the armchair in their bedroom with plans to catch up on his book, when Tony yawned loudly and sat up, looking around the bedroom with confusion written all over his face, until his eyes rested on the person nearby.

“Hi, baby,” Tony yawned again and stretched, his eyes catching a glimpse of the red flannel and he lowered his eyes looking with a pained grimace at the material. “Ew. Why am I wearing your ugly pajamas?”

Steve chuckled, closing his book and putting it aside. He could argue that Tony looked cute in his ugly pajama, but there was no point. And the easthetic wasn’t the most important, but its function. “To keep you warm.”

“Oh? Why didn’t you ditch the clothes and lay next to me instead?” Tony asked, eyebrows raising in a suggestive manner. Seemed that a two-hour nap was what his brain needed to restart.

“I don’t think my nose could stand that. And I don’t think our covers could stand you being naked in them. I am not sure if I won’t have to burn the bedding and my pajama now anyway,” Steve teased on his own, sitting at the edge of the bed.

Tony sniffed at the material, pulling a face and showing his true feeling for a moment before it morphed into a neutral expression. Okay, maybe he was a bit off with his personal hygiene in the last days. “Ah, that’s the smell of success.”

“Success for you smells very different from how it smells for me.”

Tony drummed fingers on his thighs, smiling playfully. His mind cleared up again and new ideas were making its way into his head. “Well, this was lovely, but I have to get back to work. Will eat in my workshop,” he said, unwrapping himself from the covers and attempting to stand up when he was pulled back to bed.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Steve warned, holding his boyfriend down. “You are taking the evening off. JARVIS saved your work. You will stay here and eat something warm, take a shower and back to bed.”

Tony struggled, whining a bit, although there was no real protest to it. An evening with his boyfriend pampering him did sound nice. Still, it didn’t mean that Tony would go down without a fight. “But I am sooo close to a breakthrough!”

“You were close to breaking your nose. I almost had a heart attack when you slammed face first into your workbench and collapsed on the blueprints,” Steve narrowed his eyes dangerously, still remembering the loud sound that frightened him so much. Sleep deprived Tony was a hazard to his own health.

“Oh, that is why my forehead hurts…”

“Oh, it does?” Steve asked with a small, evil smile and flicked his boyfriend in the forehead.

“Ow! The heck---”

“That was a pretty empty sound.”

“Alright,” Tony crossed his arms, not liking how being pampered looked in Steve’s version. “I get it. I am a moron for thinking that I can function without proper rest.”

“And?”

“And… I am sorry you have to worry about me.”

“Aaand?”

“Uh… And I love you and you love me back and can’t stay mad at me because even when I reek and I am being stupid I am still adorable?”

A small snort. Almost off the hook.

“And?”

“And… I… promise to… not do it… ever again?”

Some silence.

“Now you have to think that I am stupid,” Steve deadpanned.

This time it was Tony who snorted. It was a mistake, and he quickly covered his mouth, seeing how narrow Steve’s eyes became.

“Oh, you think that was funny?”

“No, sir,” Tony quickly shook his head, hiding a bit more into the covers as Steve got closer. It wasn’t a dangerous situation by any means, more of a playful one and Tony already felt giddy with excitement.

“You know,” Steve murmured out, gently caressing Tony’s cheek with the top of his hand, hovering over the smaller man. “You are kinda pretty like this.”

Tony’s lips twitched into a bigger smile at the compliment. He wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t have something to add to it.

“Pretty enough to let me sleep more without showering?”

“Heck no!”

At the quick protest, Tony laughed and laughed more when not even knowing when, one of Steve’s hands ventured under the covers, finding his side and digging into the soft spot.

“HEE! Hahahaha!” Tony jumped up, trying to roll away, but he was successfully blocked by a super soldier flinging himself beside him and keeping him trapped. “Steve! Dohahan't!” Tony laughed, both hands shooting under the covers to hold back Steve's one. Without any luck. "Hahaha!"

Steve laughed together with his lover, squeezing and prodding, loving the feeling of warm, supple skin under his fingertips. He would never have enough of this. “I think I found a great way to force you to clean yourself and to tire you out for the rest of the evening,” he pointed out happily, watching his boyfriend struggle beside him.

“EVEHIHIHIL!” Tony tossed his head back, squealing the next second and tensing up. “Ohmygoshnotthere!”

“Where?” Steve asked sweetly, finding the soft curve of Tony’s belly and scratching at the very middle. “Here?”

“HIHIHIHI!”

Steve could just melt. Listening to Tony’s laughter, watching his smiling face and the little nose scrunching he always did while giggling. It was making his heart soar. He couldn’t help but to lean even closer, hand firmly placed on brunet’s stomach as he kept teasing the ticklish spot with short, soft scratches. It didn't matter that Tony already curled into a protective ball, pressing knees close to himself, his hand was already there and was not going anywhere.

“I love you,” Steve whispered in a funny voice, kissing Tony’s cheek in quick pecks and adding to his boyfriend’s smile.

“Ahihihihihi… Stoahp,” Tony hiccuped out, his face heated and eyes sparkling.

“Stop loving you? Never,” Steve promised, but ceased the teasing and looped his hand around Tony's waist, holding him that much closer. With his free hand, he gently turned his boyfriend's head in his direction and locked their lips in a kiss. Long. Sweet. Tasting of happiness.

And…

Steve pulled away with a tired glare. “When was the last time you brushed your teeth?”

And Tony just giggled, shrugging his arms and sinking more into Steve, giving off happy vibes. Unfairly adorable.

“Alright, you stinker,” Steve decided that it was enough of playtime and sat up, forcefully pulling the covers away from his boyfriend. “Shower. Now.”

Tony sat up, pulling the oversized pajama top over himself as during their playtime the material had rolled up, leaving him almost bare. “Yes, sir,” he saluted playfully, jumping out of the bed and granting Steve with a perfect view of his bubble but before the material covered him again.

Steve repaid for the tease, by smacking Tony’s bottom as he pranced his way into the bathroom, sending him laughing for some cleanup. After a while, Steve decided to join his boyfriend under the shower. After all, someone had to make sure that Tony would get himself properly scrubbed and Steve was ready to offer his assistance in that matter.

[dewitty1]

Chapters: 12/12 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Various Harry Potter Characters, Original Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fluff, HP: EWE Summary:

Harry’s successful cake/pastry career brings an old nemesis as a new client.

Excerpt:

There was a soft sound of bells and Harry brushed his hands together, getting rid of the fine sugar had clung to them. Checking to see that his smock was fairly clean, he stepped from the large warm bakery into the front section of his tiny shop, the welcoming smile on his face growing tight as he saw who his prospective clients were.

The Malfoys; at least, Draco Malfoy and his children. Since his divorce from Lady Antonia Malfoy, Draco Malfoy’s public presence had rivalled Harry’s in levels of reclusive, emerging only to do his job of running the Potions testing department at the Ministry. No more extravagant parties that the Lady had been fond of throwing; no more grand soirees that were splashed on the front pages of The Prophet, Malfoy’s face a calm mask as his wife (ex-wife now, Harry’s mind amended) flitted from guest to guest, her long dark hair swinging from side to side.

Harry had disliked her immensely; she had once referred to his beloved shop as plebeian and, out of sheer malice, he had refused to cater a birthday party of hers, no matter how much of Malfoy’s money she had the gall to offer. Harry had been inexplicably delighted when Parvati, on one of her weekly trips for meringue, had whispered that they were finally separating.

Now, he flushed as Malfoy gazed at him strangely, more than likely taking in how messy his hair still was, most likely decorated with a streak or two of flour. Each of Malfoy’s hands were occupied; a little girl stood by his side, her small hand gripping his larger one as Malfoy shifted a tiny boy slung comfortably his other arm. Both children had the distinct Malfoy features, the wide grey eyes, and the sharp chin; the baby, however, had hair that was as black as Harry’s, obviously taking that from his mother. There was a small house-elf standing behind them, a basket in its wrinkled hands. Harry was more than a little surprised that Malfoy was walking with his children, instead of having them trail behind with the house-elf. He looked very…paternal.

The little girl spoke up suddenly, brushing blond wispy hair out of her eyes.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” she intoned politely. “My name is Iolanthe Malfoy and I would like a cake.”

Merlin, what a name, Harry thought and smiled faintly down at her, opening his mouth to speak. The baby in Malfoy’s arms pulled his thumb out of his mouth and addressed Harry as well.

“Ricky want cake!” the baby crowed and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Aelric, no shouting,” he admonished and gave Harry a frosty smile. “Good morning, Potter. I had forgotten this was your establishment.”

“Did you?” Harry said with an acidic smile. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me from your wife.”

“I don’t know if Daddy did,” Iolanthe said sadly. “My mommy doesn’t live with us anymore.”

Malfoy used a few seconds to glare at Harry, who felt abashed. He summoned his portfolio and went around the counter, inclining his head in invitation to one of the round tables that were scattered throughout the space that he had tried to make into a eating area, since quite a few of his patrons simply could not wait to go home and sample their purchases. The tables were old, but clean, helping to lend to the shops its comfortable, rustic air.

Iolanthe insisted on climbing onto one of her father’s knees, helped up by the house-elf, as the boy was placed on the other; his little hands reached instantly for the small bunch of wildflowers that had been placed in the centre of the table. Malfoy pushed it further away with the side of his hand, smiling a little as the self-named Ricky yelled in indignation.

“He’ll tear it to pieces,” Malfoy explained and nodded to his little girl. “Go on, Io. Tell him how you want your birthday cake to be.”

She shifted around so that she could place her arms on the surface of the table, settling into a serious look of debate. Harry met Malfoy’s eyes over her head; his face was carefully blank, but the light eyes seemed to hold a sheen of amusement.

“Butterflies,” Io declared and wrinkled her brow at Harry. “I want butterflies.”

“Please,” Malfoy murmured. Harry tried not to fall off his chair in shock.

“Please,” Io repeated dutifully. Harry nodded, turning his attention to his portfolio, flipping the pages. He had done butterflies once…where was it…ah, there. He turned it around and stood the portfolio upright, knowing that the photograph, being a Wizarding one, would show the bright sugar wings waving delicately. Io’s eyes lit up.

“Yes, like those!” She grasped both edges of the thick book and pulled it a little closer. “Oh, but not so large. May I have them smaller, Daddy?”

“I’m not the one making them, Io,” Malfoy said in that low drawling voice that Harry had always despised. Yet, now that it held an indulgent tone, it was very attractive; Harry kept his eyes firmly on Io’s face as he felt Malfoy eyes rest on him. “I’m sure Mr. Potter is capable of making them any size you like.”

“Very capable,” Harry said firmly. “And these are just plain colours. You can get them in polka-dots and stripes. Anything you like, Miss Malfoy.”

“Io,” the little girl said shyly, looking up at her father for permission. Malfoy nodded, bouncing her a little on his knee as a small smile flitted across the sharp features. “You can call me Io, Mr. Potter.”

“Eye-ooohhh,” The baby said in a soft, sleepy voice and grabbed after her long blond braid. They were all staring at Harry, even the baby, who was chewing contemplatively on the end of the braid. Malfoy noticed and pulled it out of his mouth, giving Harry time to collect his bearings. The weight of those grey gazes was heavy, especially Malfoy’s. Harry could have sworn that Malfoy had glanced at his mouth, for a split second. He licked his lips; maybe he had some sugar on there. No, nothing like that at all. Strange, because now that he had done that, those grey eyes had flickered to his lips again.

“Alright, Io.” Harry gave her a charming smile, resolving to ignore Malfoy; Io grinned back, looking more like the child she was instead of a little adult she was obviously trying to be. Harry wondered if this was how Malfoy had looked at this age. “You may call me Uncle Harry, if you want.”

“Alright.” She went on to explain how many butterflies she wanted (26); how many tiers to be on her cake (3); and the colours to be used (violet and pink). Harry took notes while fending off Ricky’s sudden interest in his quill. Ricky complained in babbling baby-talk to his father, who reached in the basket and gave the child a slice of fruit, encouraging him gently as the baby made a face.

“Come on, now,” he heard Malfoy croon as Ricky fussed. “How will you know you won’t like it if you’ve never tried it? Ah, see? Isn’t that good?”

“I’ve all the information I need,” Harry said, feeling a little shaky at this display of loving father, wondering just who Malfoy had as an example. Malfoy’s love for his children was apparent, the way he smiled as Ricky devoured the papaya, the manner in which he gently set his daughter on the ground as he rose to his feet. Malfoy’s family was small yet close; Harry felt a sense of longing burn in his chest, the same way it did when he visited the Burrow or his other friends.

“Kindly send the bill to my office,” he said now, the cool of his voice contrasting so sharply with the warm tone that he had used with Io. Harry nearly shivered. “Io, have you ordered any other treats?”

“Uncle Harry can make anything else he thinks of, I don’t mind.” Io took her father’s hand and grinned up at Harry. “Won’t you?”

“Of course.” Harry smile was still on his face as he glanced back up at Malfoy, who gave him a long unreadable stare… and then smiled slowly in return. His smile was a lot more predatory than Io’s had been, looking as if he would like nothing more than to snack on Harry.

Harry’s overactive imagination supplied him with an image of Malfoy nibbling gently on his bare shoulder; Harry ruthlessly squashed down that enticing picture. Malfoy had been married, after all. It was very unlikely he would be interested in Harry. Even with his subversive actions in the war that had gotten necessary information for the Order to fight, they had conferred only a few times and spoken even less. It had been a war, Harry mused. He had been busy trying to live. Oh, now and again he would think about the straight fall of Malfoy’s hair and if it felt as soft as it looked, but that was when he had been safely ensconced in his bed.

[fuckyeahexofics]

Hey i just wanted to ask a kinda touchy question. I really appreciate the fact that you ban fics on your blogs such as noncon and shotacon ect. I feel like fanfiction writers take this free speech thing too far and dont understand how damaging such things could be to peoples perceptions on sex and the unhealthy outlook certain things have! Ive always read fanfictions but im starting to feel uncomfortable with the smut ones particularly. (1)

(2) I understand writers disclaim at the beginning of a story that the stories are works of fictions but at the end of the day these are based off of real people and avalible for the public to read. I just find it kinda bad to fetishize a person, you know, wether its their stage persona or not? Its kind of violating i feel and probably very uncomfortable for someone to read their body being used a certain way to the enjoyment of a large audience.

(3) Anyways im just curious of your opinions since I respect your past ideals! Wanted to get into fanfic writing myself and im not coming for anyone just sometimes i stop myself and think i would hate for people to write about me like im a sex object in smut and get off on that in many cases!! But i dunno at the same time people would probably do it in their heads anyways. I dunno. i find romantic stories to be a different case,im touching more on the vivid sex scenes you know?

Warning: OP’s blog is a porn blog, do not click if you do not want to see.

First of all I just want to say that there’s no such thing as one genre that’s better or more worthwhile than another. People are allowed to like and enjoy different things, and change their likes and dislikes as they go along in life. I hope everyone is clear on that point. Free speech is just that, you are free to write and say what you want- and others are free to tell you that you’re full of shit.

I also want to address your false equivalency you make in this ask because frankly it is not what we stand for in FY!EF at all. Smut is not equal to nor represents shotacon or noncon. These are separate issues that exist aside from smut itself. This is why we don’t recommend them, because there is something illegal about them and at their core, morally repugnant. Are we the morality police? No, but it’s our blog and we will only post content we feel comfortable with. And we are very comfortable with smut.

Additionally, we (the fandom) have no right to judge what is “healthy” or unhealthy for another person, especially a fellow member of the fandom or for the idols that fanfic is written about. Fanfic is not a surprise to celebrities anymore, they expect it and in Korea they are trained to deal with shipping. Do you actually think ships exist by mistake? They are a marketing ploy to sell more albums and bring in more fans. Fanfic, at least in the US legal system does not rise to the level of being libel or defamation. Legally, it is a grey area and will likely continue to be so indefinitely. 

Idols don’t have to read fanfic about themselves if they don’t want to, we are not forcing it upon them (unless you’re one of those people who posts HUNHAN FOREVER on Sehun’s instagram…then you’ve gone too far.)

Next! I want to address what I see as the underlying issue in your ask, because at the end of the day its not about smut vs romance, its about the fetishization of gay men (and all queer relationships) by a largely cis population of women. For the purpose my argument I’m going to focus on gay men. 

Warning: Admin Aeryn is going to swear a lot.

A lot of fanfic is written by a younger audience, some of whom don’t know any gay people IRL and their exposure to gay people is through popular media such as yaoi anime, fanfic and popular bloggers. Media exposure does not mean you know or understand the gay population, doesn’t mean you’re qualified to speak on the behalf of gay folks or are even qualified to write about them. 

But hey! That’s what the internet is for. We can write what we want, right? 

No, not really. 

Fanfic does not exist in a vacuum and I think what some of your discomfort seems to be is just that, the fetishization of gay men into certain roles or stereotypes that are inherently flawed, degrading and uncomfortable. Example: Baekhyun is a whiny bottom bitch slut who cries and begs Chanyeol for his massive monster dong. *

That’s pretty much the plot of the majority of Baekyeol smut fics out there. So what’s the problem in there. Well first, that Baekhyun is a slut and that being a slut is bad. Nothing wrong with being a slut. Next, the assumption that because Baekhyun is SHORTER than Chanyeol, he must always bottom (equating being gay with being a woman, and thus degrading both gay men and women in the same blow). Crying and begging in sex are also associated with stereotypes from heterosexual porn where the woman cries and is called a slut and begs the man with the monster dong to fuck her. 

Being shorter does not mean a man will bottom for another man. Potentially having a smaller penis than another man does not mean he will bottom (not all men are size queens). Who tops and bottoms is not based on height, attractiveness, or muscle mass (all gender stereotyping, sexist, misogynistic). Not to mention all these “qualities” (ew) that writers base their fics on are exclusionary of transmen and transwomen. It is inherently fucked up.

But! Fetishization doesn’t end with sexualizing one person and stereotyping them into one particular sexual role. It also exists in the way you’ve made gay romance your pedestal where no “icky gay sex” exists. You’re essentially saying you have a problem with gay sex, but gay romance is fine. You are still guilty of the fetishization I have discussed up to this point. You have fetishized gay romance and excluded the sex because you don’t like it. Whether it’s because you’re coming to realize how fetishized and ugly the kpop fandom can be or because you’re inherently uncomfortable of dicks in butts because of homophobia, I can’t say. But I do challenge you to look at it deeper, because right now, it looks real bad. 

-admin aeryn

* this post is not intended to be an attack on baekyeol shippers