#but once again I see no point to this movie

[jarofstyles]

Can you do a valentines blurb where she has her period and feels bad about it but he reassures her? Thank you Miss jars!!!

Aw that would be so cute! Yes let me do that.❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Warnings- mentions of period/ period sex, light food play? If you wanna consider it that. Fluff

Harry hummed happily as he dipped another one the ripe, red strawberries into a bowl of dark chocolate, coating it thoroughly before setting it on an appropriately heart shaped plate. Turning to her with a hand cupped underneath, he held out one of the ones that had set up and she had drizzled with white chocolate. "Open up, gorgeous. Need someone t’taste test. Don’t want them to be shit, do we?"

As she took a bite, he couldn't resist moving the fruit to the side stealing a kiss, tasting the rich chocolate directly on her lips. "Mmm." he hummed, wiping the corners of his mouth with his thumb and pointing finger. "Almost as sweet as you- but you’re better." With a little smirk, he turned back to the counter to start the process again.

"These are basically foreplay, Y’know." he joked, dipping another strawberry and swirling it by the stem to get the excess dripped off as he leaned over to press a kiss to her neck, making her giggle. "I mean, chocolate-covered strawberries? Really?" He fanned himself dramatically, earning another laugh from her. "They're fucking dangerous..." He held another one out teasingly as she leaned forward. "Here sweets, open f’me again..." He fed it to her slowly, watching her lips close around the fruit. “See? It works for more than just my cock.”

“Har.” Y/N coughed, covering her mouth so the chewed up strawberry didn’t spray everywhere. “Can we be wholesome for once? This is a nice and calm activity.” She was teasing, but mostly didn’t want to get too far into it because then she would be miserable. It was very easy for him to work her up, but she had woken up with her period coming early.

"Alright, alright... if you insist. We'll be wholesome. Sorry, baby." He chuckled, wiping his hands clean on his half apron before taking another strawberry and dipping it carefully. "See? Wholesome Harry, feeding his sweet girlfriend strawberries... I can do it." He fed her another one, this time without any innuendo, simply enjoying the quiet moment with her.

She took the strawberry from him gently, her fingers brushing against his as she took a bite, chewing slowly and swallowing before speaking without the fruit in her mouth. "Mmm... Milk is my favorite. I know dark is healthier but.." She shrugged, wiping a tiny drip of chocolate from her chin with her finger. "Thank you. I know that it’s inconvenient that I got my period on Valentine’s Day but I’ll make up for it when it’s over." She reassured him, feeding him a strawberry in return, trying to keep the moment light and sweet. He hadn’t made her feel bad about it at all when she had told him, but she was still a little disappointed. The cute outfit she had wanted to wear was wasted.

He bit into the strawberry she offered, his teeth sinking into the ripe fruit as he chewed thoughtfully. "Baby, y’don't need to make anything up to me." He insisted. That wasn’t what this was about. "This right here? It's perfect." He gestured between them with the hand holding the strawberry, a small smear of chocolate now adorning his finger. Thankfully she had reminded him to take the rings off before they’d gotten too deep into it or he would have a whole different mess. "Us, being goofy over strawberries? S’my kinda romance."

It was actually rather nice to have a lower key Valentine’s Day. The presents were still waiting to be opened and the new plan consisted of movies, making their snacks and relaxing. Simply being in each others presence. As much as he liked to make a big effort and do some grander gestures, it made him feel good that she truly craved his mere presence more than anything else.

“Today isn’t about sex. It’s about bein’ together and showing our love. M’just happy that I’m here with you doing something. I may tease you, because I definitely would do it… I don’t mind blood-“ The wrinkle of her nose made him snicker. “Hey, M’just saying it doesn’t bother me. But it does you, and I don’t want it if you aren’t very, very enthusiastic about it. Praise kink n’all of that.” It was a joke… kind of. He did have a praise kink, but he really didn’t give a shit if they had sex tonight.

Being able to eat and laugh with her was the best sort of night. When she had said she didn’t feel too well, he had no problem cancelling the reservation and changing from the stuffy outfit he’d been in to a pair of sweats and one of her graphic tee shirts to make homemade pizza and chocolate covered strawberries. Domestic stuff was something he loved, anyways. Y/N was the best thing he loved.

He brought his chocolate-smudged finger to her lips, pressing it gently against them and encouraging her to clean it off with a small kiss. She obliged, her soft lips brushing against his finger as she licked off the remaining chocolate. "Love you, angel." He murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Always."

[issysh3ll]

Valentine's ♡ Chris Sturniolo

Summary: Chris devouring his favourite gift Warnings: SMUT, oral (f receiving), squirting, public?(kinda) Wordcount: 700

This whole day has been about you. Right from the start Chris made sure you felt special. Waking you up with breakfast in bed, taking you out for the most adorable picnic date with painting and homemade snacks. And to top it off, his gift to you was so personal. Wrapping up the night at the same drive in theatre where you had your first date seemed like the perfect end.

The drive in movie theatre is quiet. Every car in the lot is filled with couples watching attentively as the latest romantic film plays out on the huge screen ahead. The only sound that can be heard is the muffled car speakers echoing the audio of the film.

But in your car, there are other noises...

"mmph, fuck." Chris's voice is muffled against your pussy. His tongue lost deep inside you, and his lips gripping sloppily to your clit. Your back is pressed firmly against the back seat with one of Chris's hands resting on your stomach to keep you in place.

It's been like this since the movie started, but you're completely unaware of what's going on outside this car. The only awareness you have is of the man between your thighs, worshipping you like you're the best gift he'll ever receive. Which is what he told you when you tried to hand him the actual gift you bought.

Now that gift lies discarded on the passenger seat. Chris's focus is instead on your clit throbbing between his lips. Each movement of his mouth sends flames of burning pleasure through you, and as his tongue swipes up through your folds, circling over your clit you cry out.

"Ah! Chris— s-so good."

Your moans seem to spur him on, his efforts intensifying with each pleasured sound that leaves your lips. Every gasp has him sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves further into his mouth, each whimper earns a teasing glide of his tongue over the burning point of pleasure.

His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer as he devours you with growing desire. And as your legs begin to tense, he never relents. Drawing you impossibly further into his mouth and doubling your pleasure all over again.

If this is how it feels to burn, you'd gladly light a match.

Every inch of your body is alight with pleasure, pulsing and aching for release. "Chris, so close. I need—"

Before you can finish the sentence, he gives you exactly what you were missing. Driving his tongue deep into you once again and running it against that spot inside.

Your vision goes hazy as the fire takes hold, pleasure burning out of control. Your hips fly off the car seat, thrusting up to meet Chris's mouth as your release torches through you.

Every inch of your body is spasming, completely senseless contractions running through every muscle. And as you lose control, it feels so good. To revel in the searing bliss overwhelming your senses. With no room for thoughts in your mind, Chris's next words ring through you easily. "Give it to me, baby. Push."

And so you do, with no effort at all, the slightest push down of your body sends the most satisfying spray of release into Chris's waiting mouth. His tongue laps at you eagerly, cleaning up the mess gushing out of you until there is none left.

Your body relaxes, the fire easing as Chris's mouth lets up, his lips moving to kiss up your body instead. Once he reaches your face you see him, looking more beautiful than ever. A sloppy grin is pasted over his face, dazed eyes hanging low and you, dripping down his chin.

"Happy Valentine's Day." Chris grins, wiping at his chin. “Best gift ever.”

Masterlist

[pinkboaclub]

Scene Stealers

Summery: You and Harry decide to film yourself having sex for fun, until you decide to upload it and become famous over night.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: a lot of smut, sex tapes/filmed sex, pornstars, slight dom Harry, fem!reader (you and Harry attend a University in the US, but he is still English :)

It started as an intimate moment between you two, something that you thought would be funny. You were cuddling in your dorm room, squeezing yourselves into the twin bed, watching a movie on your laptop. Your roommate was gone, she was spending the weekend with her family, which allowed you two to get close.

It was slow, Harry giving you light kisses on your head as it rested on his chest, your hand resting on his abdomen, slowly rubbing up and down every once in a while. It wasn’t until Harry paused the movie and closed the laptop that you climbed on top of him, straddling his body. You leaned down to start making out with him, letting your hands grip his shirt as you started to grind yourself against his crotch. Your already short shorts were starting to ride up while he gripped your ass.

“Mmm, let me see you.” He lightly pushed you forward, motioning you to sit up as he pulled away from your lips. You giggled, not really knowing what he was trying to do. “I want to take a picture of you.”

“No, my hair looks so crazy right now.” You laughed, covering your face as he grabbed his phone from the nightstand.

“You look so perfect.” He placed one hand on your hip, capturing you while you hid behind your hands. “C’mon baby, let me see your pretty face.”

You finally uncovered your face to let him quickly snap his photos.

“Are you done yet?” You laughed as he kept his phone pointed toward you.

“I’m taking a video.”

“Harryyy.” You said, drawing out his name. “I wanna keep kissing you.” You tugged on his shirt, hoping to get back to where you were and leaned down to kiss his neck.

“We can keep this on.” He whispered, gesturing to his phone, you both stared at each other for a moment. He leaned over to place his phone on the nightstand, propping it up against his water bottle, the camera pointing towards the bed. “Is this okay?”

You slowly nodded your head, “You’re not going to go around showing this to all your frat buddies, are you?”

“Hell no, this is only for me.” You knew he was telling you the truth, not only because you trusted him, but because you knew he wasn’t wasn’t the stereotypical frat boy—going around showing intimate photos of his girlfriend to everyone.

You leaned down again, going back to kissing him, his hands immediately finding their way back to your ass. He flipped you over, still being careful in the smaller bed. His hand traveled up your shirt, feeling every inch of your chest.

As he began to lift up your shirt you stopped him, remembering the camera pointed at the both of you. “Are we going to keep recording?” You smiled, looking up at him.

“We’ll do whatever you want, baby. Do you want to keep recording? Get your pretty face on camera, taking my cock?”

That was the first time you made a sex tape together. And it definitely wasn’t the last.

It was almost three times a week that you would film yourselves. There was something about it that was so exciting and sexy. It was a deeply intimate and vulnerable moment between you two and filming it to watch over and over again made it much more fun for some reason. It was very casual though, you weren't worried about getting certain shots, about anyone viewing it, it was just two University students filming themselves for fun.

Until it wasn’t.

You couldn’t remember who suggested you upload the videos to PornHub, but you do remember sitting on his bed in his frat house, watching the video slowly upload to the website.

“I can still cancel it, if you want to change your mind.” He reminded you.

But you didn’t cancel it, you both watched it upload with no regret in sight. You stared at the video for minutes, watching the view count. When the number went from 0 to 1 you both jumped. Someone just watched you two have sex.

Though it wasn’t your initial intention to make money from this, when you woke up to 100,000 views on your first video, after going to bed with under 50, and 20,000 subscribers, it wasn’t a conversation you could avoid. You were two broke students who needed extra money…and now you could get that by just having sex.

“I mean it’s not a bad idea…we’ve already made 100 dollars, for one video.” You said, pacing back and forth in your dorm room while Harry sat on your bed. “I guess I just worry about people finding out…our friends, our parents…that’s the only thing I worry about.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Fuck ‘em.” He shifted to the edge of the bed and grabbed your arm to pull you closer. “We’re making good money just off one video, we’re not showing our faces, it would be a wasted opportunity. Who cares what other people think, assuming they’d ever even find out.”

“I know……but we can’t tell anyone, if they find out, they find out, but let’s just try to keep it a secret as long as possible.”

Harry gave you a kiss, letting his lips linger on yours for a moment, until he moved to your jawbone, then your neck.

“Plus, I’ve been enjoying having these…..watching my pretty girl get fucked whenever I want…and you’re so good on camera, you’re a natural. You’re pretty moans…pushing your beautiful tits together, I want people to watch us, knowing I’m the only one who gets to fuck you.”

So you continued making videos. You still weren’t worried about the quality, it was the only art form where people were quite content with quantity over quality.

You still didn’t show your faces, only shooting videos from the neck down as he fucked you in missionary, setting the camera up behind you as you were riding him, and yet, people loved it.

You were getting millions of views per video with thousands of comments…people were actually taking the time to create an account and comment on a porn video for you guys. They loved how gentle Harry was with you while also being dominant, how he praised you, gave you the best aftercare, sometimes even stopping before his orgasm to cuddle with you and help you come down from yours. They loved your moans and how you knew how to be a perfect mix of sweet and sexy.

Comments (1.3k)

User497063848:

i’ve never commented on a video before but i created an account just to let you know how perfect this video is 👍

KeeponWorking0527

I need a relationship like this. You two are perfect.

cherryangel444

he is sooooo hot,,,she is very lucky

Keepcumming8742

→ HE is the lucky one she has such a perfect body

It wasn’t long until you felt like porn celebrities.

You were constantly being featured on the home page, people in your comments were begging for more videos minutes after you just posted…but most of all, they were dying to see your faces.

“I mean…it’s not a horrible idea, and a lot of people are demanding it.” Harry pointed out, as you debated whether or not to reveal your identities.

“But it’s also something we can’t take back…once our faces are out there, they’re out there forever.”

“That’s true…but is that such a bad thing? We'll make so much more money if we use our names and show our faces, that we'll be rich enough to just disappear if we end up regretting it.” Harry replied, knowing that pornstars who had a face to their content make way more money than anonymous performers. “We could buy a house in the Italian countryside as retired pornstars.”

You laughed as he outlined your future together. “This is something you’ve thought about a lot?”

“Of course I have, the only thing I’ve been worrying about since we started dating is how we’re going to comfortably spend the rest of our lives together, and we’re making a fuck ton of money…this is the only time that weight hasn’t been on my shoulders.”

You looked at him softly, not knowing he had been stressing over your future together. You would be lying if you said your life hadn’t improved once you became sex workers. Not having to worry about tuition, food, finances after graduating, you felt liberated.

“Let’s show our faces then.”

For your next video, not only did you show your faces but you upgraded everything. You went from iPhones to a professional camera and microphones, capturing the perfect shots and noises of each position.

You decided to film in Harry’s bedroom at his frat house while all his friends were at some party at a sorority. You could be as open and loud as you wanted. You swapped out Harry’s gray and navy blue sheets for some pretty florals that matched well with your lingerie.

Harry set up the camera on a tripod at the side of the bed as you waited on the bed, sitting on your heels. Once he hit the record he walked over to you, his hands immediately finding your hips and pulling you close.

“Tell me if you want to stop, or if you need a break, whatever you need.”

You nodded and smashed your lips onto his, eager to make your video. His hands roamed your entire body to highlight each feature for the camera.

“You look so sexy, I love this set.” He complimented you, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

“I figured I needed to wear my best for the special occasion.” You cheekily replied, pulling him down with you as you threw your bra aside and layed down on your back.

It wasn’t long until the camera was off the tripod and in Harry’s hand, filming you as he hovered above you, running his hands up your stomach and kneeding your breasts.

“So perfect.” He whispered, admiring your body.

His hands slowly fell to your panties, hooking his fingers in the waistband and pulling them down. Teasing you, his fingers danced around your pussy, but never touching where you wanted him to.

“mmm, please Harry.” You whined, trying to roll your hips into his fingers. It felt odd to say his name on camera, which you had previously avoided doing.

“Okay, baby, I’ve got you.” He finally slid two fingers inside of you, causing you to let out a heavy breath and continue to roll your hips as he curled his fingers upward.

“So good, Harry.”

Your fingers found the waistband of his briefs in between your legs and pulled them down. As his cock sprang out you grabbed it and started to slowly jerk him off.

“Can I suck you off?” You ask, looking up at him and the camera.

You both definitely played up your sexuality when you were filming, because you knew how porn worked, but what made people like you so much is that it was still natural and realistic, it never crossed the line of being theatrical.

“Do you need to ask, pretty baby?” You gave him a satisfactory smile and shifted to where he was sitting on the bed, still holding the camera, and you sat on your knees in front of him.

You grabbed his cock again, using your mouth and lips to lick and kiss along his entire shaft. Your eyes stayed on him, and the lense of the camera, most of the time, giving them a seductive look.

“Such a perfect cock sucker.” Harry ogled, switching between looking directly at you and through the camera.

Your mouth found his tip, preparing him and yourself before lowering your mouth down repeatedly. You moaned as you pleased his cock, another thing your viewers loved. From your very first videos they would comment how you seemed to love Harry’s cock by your repetitive hums and moans as it was in your mouth.

FranksPH1985

Listen to how much she moans while his dick is in her mouth, she looks so perfect.

lovelylovely<3

her moaning every time he praises her as she sucks him 😩 you are such a cute couple!! 💞

User29394682031

She sucks him off like it’s her favorite pastime. Lucky man.

You eventually found yourself back on the bed, laying down in the same position you were prior, laying down on your back. This time, you held the camera as he laid down in between your legs.

He peppered kisses on your inner thighs until his mouth found your clit, giving an initial lick before lapping and sucking at it. Your free hand grabbed his hair, gripping and pulling as he pleasured you.

“Oh, fuck, Harry, that’s so fucking good.” You cried, lifting your hips up and down, unable to stay still.

“Yeah? You like your pussy licked sweet baby?” You moaned in response. He lifted one of your legs, pushing it to your chest to get better access as his motions sped up.

“Need you to fuck me, please Harry.” You said after a couple minutes, knowing you wouldn’t last much longer, but wanted to cum on his cock.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

He got off the bed and grabbed the tripod, placing it on the other side of the bed, focused on you two.

“Flip over, let me see you on your knees.” He requested in a dominant tone, helping you flip over.

He dragged his cock up and down against you as a way to tease you, which worked. You whimpered out impatiently, causing him to lay a light slap to your ass.

“Be patient baby, you’ll get my cock eventually, no need to be a whiney girl.”

He finally slid himself into you and pushed his entire length in, causing you to slightly wince. His pace was very quick from the get go, causing a string of long moans to repetitively leave your mouth.

“Uh huh, fuck Harry…please keep going.”

He stayed quiet, focusing on slamming his hips into your ass. You struggled to hold yourself up as he pounced into you, both your arms and legs almost giving out at his fast pace.

Your stomach began to churn, a familiar warmness beginning to fill your stomach. Then suddenly, right as you were nearing your orgasm, his thrusts drastically stopped, causing your breathing to hitch. As he started to move again, his thrusts stayed slow, feeling like there were minutes in between each one.

Taking matters into your own hands, after silent whines didn’t work, you started to back yourself into him, hoping to get as close to your orgasm as you once were. Harry immediately stopped you, roughly grabbed your hips and pulled you into him, bottoming himself out in you.

You cried out as you felt his long cock reach the deepest it could go.

“Shhh, shhh, stop baby.” He told you, leaning down to wrap an arm around you and talk in your ear. “Are you going to be a good girl and let me fuck you how I want? Or do we need to stop?”

“I’ll be good…please, I was about to cum Harry.” You complied. He gave you a kiss on the cheek before leaning back up.

“I know baby, I know. We’ll get you there.”

After continuing working on an extremely slow pace from behind, he turned you around, so you were still on your hands and knees, but now facing him. Taking your chin in his hand, he looked down at you.

“Can you suck my dick again?” He kindly asked. You almost laughed, this was one of his ways he liked to edge you, roughly work on you until you were so close to climaxing, then take all the attention off you. You can’t say you didn’t mind it, it made the orgasm 10x, and your viewers sure didn’t mind.

“You’re so mean.” You sarcastically said, trying to hide your smile.

“Oh, I know, so mean.” He replied, pouting his lip.

You grabbed his cock again, giving it all your attention, knowing that would get him back to fucking you sooner. Your ass stayed in the air, almost as if you were trying to entice him. And it definitely worked as he leaned forward to move his cock farther into your throat and to grab a handful of your ass.

Once you couldn’t take it anymore, you kissed up his abdomen, coming and crawling toward him.

“Please Harry.” You begged, leaning in to kiss him with your pouty lip. “I’ve only asked nicely, and I’ve been good.”

“I know you have baby, you’ve been so good. Why don’t you lay down for me, hmm? On your back.”

You didn’t hesitate. You placed your back on bed and opened your legs as if there was no time to waste.

“Let’s grab you a pillow, make sure you’re comfy.” He grabbed a pillow and placed it under your head. Once you were finally situated, his thrusts went back to a steadily fast past.

Harry placed one of your legs on his shoulder, holding the other one at his side as he watched your breast bounce at the rhythm of his thrusts.

“So fucking pretty…I love watching you.” He admired you. You didn’t reply, letting your repeated moans speak for themselves.

“Harry, ‘m so close.” You cried out, arching your back.

“Let go baby, wanna feel you squeeze my cock.” He encouraged you.

You reached back, grabbing a fistful of your pillow and letting your mouth fall open in pleasure . Your stomach twisted again until you reached your peak, your orgasm erupting through you. It was almost like you blackedout from how powerful it was. You squeezed your eyes shut as all the sound around you was shut out.

Your breathing was heavy as you came down, like you had just run 5 miles. Harry’s pace slowed again, letting your now sensitive body rest.

“Need a break, baby?” This was the question he always asked after bringing you to an orgasm, knowing they could be quite powerful. It was something both you and your fans found endearing (and hot).

cycybaby1999

notice how he immediately checks in on her after she cums? 🥺 take notes men!

CherryLoved

The hottest thing a man can do is give you aftercare before he finishes. Y’all are so perf. 🫶

He pulled himself out of you, laid beside you and pulled you into his chest. He gently rubbed your back and rested his lips on your head.

“My legs are so shaky.” You noticed, smiling into his chest.

He chucked, looking down at your trembling limbs. “Poor girl,” He kissed your head and continued to help you come down. You felt your eyes become heavy, Harry’s now steady heart putting you to sleep. “All done?” He questioned, still rubbing your back.

“No, no, I wanted you to cum on my face.” He chuckled at your blatant vulgarity. “I thought it would be a good shot for our face reveal.”

You kneeled back down on the floor as Harry grabbed the camera again. You spit in your hand and began rubbing his shaft, using a mix of your spit and cum to get him off. The camera picked up Harry’s heavy, now unsteady, breathing as his orgasm approached.

He freed one of his hands and held the back of your hair before cumming all over your face. He took a moment to let the camera capture the white fluid that laid on your lips, cheek, and forehead.

After Harry gave you his sweet aftercare and stopped filming, you both cleaned up before getting back into his bed.

“That was so perfect, baby.” He complimented you as you rested against his chest, wearing one of his shirts and his sweatpants. “You still want to upload it?” He asked, clarifying once again.

“Of course, I think people will really like it…At least I did.”

Three days later, the video was uploaded and quickly became your highest viewed video, and the comments overwhelmingly positive.

Finally doing a face reveal!!! | HARRY & Y/N

CherryLoved

OMG??? YOU GUYS ARE WAY HOTTER THAN I IMAGINED?!?!

User29394682031

Never thought I’d see this day. Very hot.

lovelylovely<3

you guys are sooooo cute 😩😩😩 im going to love watching you even more now!!!

cycybaby1999

damn girl, you are so gorg !!!

FranksPH1985

Big day for horny people.

You would open your computer every morning and read all the wonderful comments you were getting, which motivated you to make more and more videos.

“This is crazy…we’re going to become sex fiends after this.” You joked as you sat in his bed.

“So not much will change.” He joked back.

As you continued to read through each comment, your phone dinged from the nightstand. It was a text from your roommate.

Laila

Are you and Harry pornstars?

Tag List!

@mema10 @lizsogolden @harrrrystylesslut @tulips4harry @cloudyluun

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

MAY THIS KIND OF LOVE NEVER FIND ME. ( HOTD! MODERN AU! X READER )

AUTHOR NOTE! Back to posting for a short time cuz I go back to full time college in a week. <3 pairing: Modern AU! Aegon Targaryen x Reader prompt : based on the trend of 'may this love / kind of love never find me' trend on tiktok, where Aegon is determined to make your relationship the opposite of the trend. word count: 1, 000+ words

Aegon had never been the best of boyfriend’s, he was well aware of that. He would often forget important dates, anniversaries⎯being the worst. Or the names of the women he dated, earning him a hefty amount of slaps and curses. He could be brash, too much to the point where it was no longer charming. He could be temperamental, jealous, and admittedly a spoiled brat. 

He’d like to think the concoction that was his childhood, with sprinkles of generational trauma added for ‘spice’, made him that way. But, he at least attempted with you, which was more than he could say about previous relationships. Key word on attempted to be the best boyfriend that he could be. 

He had once brought you flowers, though they were crushed from stupidly sitting on them. Or the time that he took care of you after your wisdom teeth removal, where he had smacked you in the face with the apartment door. Or the other time where he had tried to be romantic and carry you bridal style, only to smash his toe in the corner of the couch and drop you on the floor. The attempt was there, really, he just sucked at his execution of it.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Aegon scrolled through the photos of some random couple on social media, reading the caption. ‘Yeah, he doesn’t help me with the kids. But, it’s not that big of a deal.’, along with cheesy hashtags for ‘true love’ and ‘true marriage’. Wrinkling his nose up at it, he clicks on the comments, seeing a flood of ‘red flag alert’ and ‘leave him, girl’. Seeing another post linked to it, he clicks on it, unable to resist the urge to look into some else's relationship. After all, they were the ones airing it all out, it wasn’t his fault if he looked. 

Seeing another couple posing in cheesy photos, the caption once again airing out a little too much of their business, ‘He doesn’t help around the house, like ever. But, that’s what I like. It’s totally fine, so no hate comments about him, please.❤️’ Scrolling through each comment he could see, he pauses on the most liked, ‘May this kind of love never find me’. His gut churns in a way that he doesn’t like. Okay, that one kinda hit a little too close to home. He didn’t really help a lot around the apartment, but it’s because you liked things to be done a certain way. 

“No, Aegon, just let me do this⎯” You protest, visibly wincing at the way he dusted the bookshelf.

“Why? I wanna help. I’m not incompetent, babe.” He argues, wiping away specs of dust. 

“No, no, just stop.” You snatch the dust rag from his hand, “I just⎯I just like theses kind of things to be done a certain way. Just leave it alone.”

Clicking onto the audio attached to the pictures, he falls into a rabbit hole of posts, a hashtag attached. ‘#May this kind of love never find me’. Each post spouts out relationship dramas and ‘icks’, from leaving the toilet seat up at night to not doing anything for their partners on birthdays and anniversaries.

Then, there were the video’s. Some of them from couples, others from fanart of book series, and some from couples from TV Shows and Movies. His gut churns more and more as they point out faults that were a little too close to his own. The top comments are always the same in one way or another, ‘may this kind of love never find me’.

“Aegon?” You call, snapping him out of his daze.

“Oh, yeah, um, hey!” He forces a smile, turning off his phone. 

“Are you okay? You look like a kicked puppy.” You raise a brow, poking your head out from the hallway closet.

“Yeah, yeah, just my football team lost and now I gotta deal with some shit in my fantasy football league. Move some players around and try to trade others, you know?” He lies, trying to make you uninterested as possible to drop the subject.

“Um, not my expertise. But, um, hopefully, it all turns out well for your team.” You offer a soft smile, “I guess?” 

Faltering at your words, he stiffly nods his head in agreement, watching as you fill another cardboard box with clutter from the closet. He could see the specs of old warped pieces of newspaper and a broken vase peek out from the top. Licking his chapped lips, he shifts on the couch, turning his open on and off. The home screen pops up, showing a photo of you and him, posed in cheesy 80s inspired sweaters. Turning his phone off for good, he watches you pick up the box, softly closing the closet door shut with your hip. 

“So, um, what are you going to do with that stuff?” He 

“Oh, most of it is broken junk, so trash. But, I do wanna go to the basement storage and see what else is broken to throw out. We can use the empty space in the apartment, you know?” You explain, giving the cardboard box a soft shake to motion to the junk inside.

“Oh, cool.” He nods, not really paying too much attention to your words.

“Yeah, if you're not too busy with your fantasy football stuff, you can see what else is broken in the apartment and bring it downstairs with me.” You smile, offering him the chance to join. 

“Oh, yeah, um, sure.” He hums, not in the least bit interested in the idea of doing spring cleaning.

Looking down at his lap, he clicks the power button on his phone, the home screen popping back up again. He stares at your face, a hint of a pout curling at his lips. His mind kept wandering back to those posts, the captions and comments about how horrible the relationships sounded.

What if you felt the same way that those people in the comments felt about your relationship? Would you dump him? No, you should dump him. Just like those comments said in other posts. Watching as the screen goes black and his phone turns off, he knew that he should talk to you about it, after all, communication was something you wanted more of on his end.

“You don’t have to, Aegon.” You sigh, putting the box down on the coffee table.

“No, I’ll come down, just gonna take my time to look at my stuff.” He shakes his head, “I’m sure I’ve got some junk in there.”

‘He doesn’t help around the house. But, he can’t help it.’

‘He just forgets things a lot of the time, not stuff he likes, but stuff that I like or I consider kinda important.’

‘He doesn’t like when I wear revealing stuff. It’s not really his fault, it’s mine.’

‘He tends to get jealous really quickly, so I stopped hanging out with my friends.’

It kept on spiraling in his head, those captions that he swore he had heard you complain about at least once in your relationship. Or was he just being paranoid now? Were his thoughts just spiraling so much that he couldn’t tell what was real and what was just the influence of social media? Or had you truly said those things to him and he had ignored them?

Chewing on his bottom lip until he tasted blood, he turned on his phone one last time, just staring at the home screen. Seeing the time, he lets out a sigh, deciding now was the time to stop sulking and help you downstairs. Throwing his phone carelessly onto the coffee table, it smacks the lamp, sending it falling onto the rug. 

Bang.

“Aw, fuck!” He curses, scrambling to pick up the pieces of the now broken lamp.

The vase bottom was now cracked down the center, still held together miraculously, but cracked enough to ruin the aesthetic of it. Maybe he could fix it? Add some gold paint over the crack like in those art posts you liked on social media. Say it was a craft or something, right? Wincing softly at the damage, he turns the lamp on, the bulb letting out a loud crackling before popping. Nevermind.

“Fuck my life.” He grumbles, pissed he had ruined your lamp.

Running his hands through his hair, he looks for the cardboard box, hoping to hide the evidence of your massacred lamp under the other junk. Not seeing it, he grumbles as he realizes you took the box downstairs with you. Great, he was gonna have to explain what happened. Chewing on his bottom lip, he saunters into the kitchen, hoping to find some kind of sweets to sweeten you up with. Finding some slightly stale biscuits in the pantry, he puts them on a paper plate, snatching the old container to throw away along with it. 

Forcing himself to act casual, he walks down the stairs, heading to the basement. Seeing you throwing away some moth eaten christmas decoration, he tenses up, feeling like a guilty dog. You were gonna be mad. He just knew it, and it was gonna be like those comments on those couple posts. Stepping on the bottom step, it squeaks loudly under his weight, announcing his presence in the basement. 

“Babe?” You turn around, cracking a half surprised smile at the sight of him. 

“I got you something to eat, cause you were working up a sweat cleaning and all that.” He shoves the plate into your hand, hiding the lamp behind his back.

“Aw, thanks.” You smile, furrowing your brows slightly as he tucks his hands suspiciously behind his back.

“So, um, you’re really pretty, you know that right?” He blurts out, attempting to distract you. 

“Um, thanks, I guess?”

“Yeah, and you’re really funny. Like, the best kind of funny, you know?” He rambles on, attempting to smuggle the lamp in the cardboard box without you seeing. 

Leaning to the left, you furrow your brows at him, leaning to the left with him. Tilting your head to the side, he swore that you knew and were just torturing him. Or was he just being super paranoid now? Sweating slightly at your stare, he pulls you abruptly into a hug, tightly pulling you against his chest with his free hand. Forcing your head into the crook of his neck, he shoves the broken lamp into the box, it clanging with the other junk inside. Letting out a soft sigh, he lets you go, watching you stare at him like he had another head. 

“Aegon?” You ask, a hint of suspicion in your tone. 

“Yeah, sweetie?” He chuckles, trying to act as if he was not just having a mini heart attack just moments ago. 

“Is that my lamp?” You push him aside, pointing to the lamp in the box. 

“Um, no..?” 

“No, that is my lamp.” You argue, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Pff! It’s like totally not your lamp, you're just seeing things!” He weakly chuckles, sweating. 

“Are you calling me crazy?” You scoff, unamused by his incriminating behavior. 

“Yes..?” He asks unsure, “No? Um, like in a sexy way?”

--

[gilbertscurls]

just friends (until we’re not) — matt sturniolo

You didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. That was your first mistake.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything, not really. You and Matt had been best friends forever, and Valentine’s Day had never been your thing. It was just another day, just another excuse for people to buy overpriced chocolates and awkwardly confess their feelings. You had never really cared for it.

But this year was different.

This year, you found yourself hesitating before sending a text. You had already typed it out, deleted it, typed it again, and stared at your phone like it held the answers to the universe. It was just Matt. Your Matt. The same Matt who once got his foot stuck in a trash can in fifth grade. The same Matt who always split his fries with you without asking. The same Matt who never let you walk home alone, no matter how late it was.

So why did this feel so terrifying?

You took a deep breath, steadied your fingers, and finally sent the message.

You: Hey, wanna hang out today?

It took approximately three seconds for the typing bubbles to appear.

Matt: Obviously. Your place or mine?

You rolled your eyes. Classic Matt. Always acting like it was that easy. Like this wasn’t a potential turning point in your entire relationship.

You: Yours. Be there in 20.

Your heart was pounding, and you hated it. You were supposed to be cool about this. Chill. Unaffected. Not some lovesick idiot who had spent an embarrassing amount of time debating whether to wear the sweater he once complimented or something more casual. (You picked the sweater. Obviously.)

By the time you arrived at Matt’s place, you had given yourself at least three pep talks. This wasn’t a date. This was just another day hanging out with your best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

And then Matt opened the door, and all of your internal speeches flew out the window.

Because he was standing there, barefoot, in a hoodie that looked way too soft, his hair a little messy like he had just run his hands through it, and he was smiling at you like he was genuinely happy to see you. Like this was the best part of his day.

You suddenly forgot how to function.

"Hey," he said, stepping aside to let you in.

"Hey," you managed to say, pretending like your entire body hadn’t just short-circuited.

You followed him into the living room, where he had already set up a movie, blankets thrown haphazardly across the couch. There was an open bag of your favorite chips on the table, and you could smell the faint hint of popcorn in the air.

"You did all this already?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Matt shrugged, flopping onto the couch like it was no big deal. "Yeah, figured we’d just chill."

You sat down beside him, trying not to overthink the way your knee brushed against his. "You’re not secretly taking this whole Valentine’s Day thing seriously, are you?"

He scoffed, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "Please. You know me. I don’t do all that corny love stuff."

"Right," you said, ignoring the way your stomach twisted at his words. "Me neither."

The movie started, and for a while, everything felt normal. Easy. You laughed at the same stupid jokes, stole food off each other’s plates, and bickered about whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza.

But at some point, the space between you got smaller.

You weren’t sure when it happened, exactly. Maybe it was when you leaned against him, just slightly. Maybe it was when he draped a blanket over both of you without thinking. Maybe it was when your head rested against his shoulder, and he didn’t move away.

Whatever it was, you could feel the shift in the air. It was almost electric, this quiet tension crackling between you. And yet, neither of you did anything about it.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?

You were best friends.

You didn’t risk that. You didn’t just throw something like that away for a crush that could ruin everything.

Except… what if it wasn’t just a crush?

What if it was more?

The thought sent a shiver down your spine, and you weren’t sure if it was from fear or something else entirely.

Then, as if the universe itself was trying to mock you, a particularly cheesy romantic scene played out on the screen. The classic best-friends-to-lovers confession. The longing gazes. The almost-kiss.

You could feel Matt tense beside you. You didn’t dare look at him.

"God, that’s so unrealistic," you blurted out, desperate to break the silence. "No one actually does that in real life."

Matt let out a short laugh. "Yeah. Right. Totally."

But his voice was different.

Softer.

Like maybe he didn’t think it was so unrealistic after all.

Your heart was racing now, every nerve in your body on high alert. The moment felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.

And then Matt shifted slightly, his head tilting toward you, and you could feel his gaze on you. You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes locked on the screen.

Say something. Say anything.

But before you could, Matt let out a breath, forcing himself to relax against the couch. "So, uh… want more popcorn?"

And just like that, the moment passed.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Sure."

Matt got up, stretching as he walked toward the kitchen. And if he clenched his fists the whole way there, trying to shake off the way his heart was hammering in his chest, well… that was his problem.

Because, on the inside, he was jumping up and down, doing the cha-cha, and singing I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love in his head.

And that?

That was a much bigger problem.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry, @shadowthesim, @courta13, @frankdelreyy

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day thirteen: "you're so full of shit."

ᰔ pairing: joel miller x reader

ᰔ summary: when you confess something you've always wanted to joel, he decides to indulge.

ᰔ author's note: huge, massive shoutout to @joelsknees for everything that this is because they created this whole concept. largely inspired by this gif set they made. pls check out their work!!!

ᰔ content warning: 18+ /// MDNI!!!!! sub!joel, dom!reader, pillow humping, no outbreak

"What's something you've never told anyone?" You looked to Joel, who sat beside you on the couch.

The two of you had a night to yourselves, which you had filled with takeout and a spaghetti western he had chosen. It wasn't your style, but it was his turn to pick the movie and you didn't fight it. He rarely asked for much; who were you to deny him?

"What? Where did that come from?" Joel raised an eyebrow as he looked back. While you had often hit him with odd questions, there was usually some sort of preface or explanation that followed.

"I'll tell you one of mine," you assured him.

Joel seemed to hesitate before he shook his head. You weren't sure if it was a dismissal of the question or whatever he was thinking. With a huff, you laid back against the leather couch.

"Fine, I'll start. I've always wanted to take charge." You shifted closer, your legs stretched across his lap. Joel's hand rested on your knee as the pads of his fingers dug into your flesh.

"You're so full of shit. The hell do you mean? You're bossy enough as it is," Joel huffed. He chuckled as you rolled your eyes, a light smack to his chest.

"That's not what I meant," you lamented. "Like– I want to call the shots." You watched Joel's expression as it shifted. It had never been something you mentioned in the time you had been together.

Then again— this was a sort of confession, wasn't it? You told Joel something, wasn't it his turn to tell you what he had shoved away?

"You wanna call the shots?" Joel asked. "I'm guessin' you mean in bed, with the way you won't look at me."

You rolled your eyes, but still nodded. He had easily clocked you; he had a knack for seeing right through you.

"Why are you bringin' this up now? This somethin' more than what you're telling me?" Joel grilled you. He hadn't seen you like this. You seemed shy, almost embarrassed by what was on the tip of your tongue.

"I mean— Look, just hear me out," you started. "I got to thinking while I was out with the girls last night." Joel's eye roll wasn't surprising. He knew when you had gone out to dinner with your friends, you were prone to new ideas.

"If it's something stupid, you can forget it. Last time you asked for something, I was cleaning wax off the bed for a week," Joel huffed. That had not been one of your best escapades.

"Will you just listen? Please," you asked. "You know what, I shouldn't even ask. It's a stupid idea anyways." You took your legs off his and stood from your spot. As you leaned down to gather the takeout boxes, Joel's hand grabbed yours.

"Tell me what it is." Joel softened his expression. It wasn't often that he saw you so flustered, so stumped by whatever you thought of.

"I want you to fuck your pillow," you admitted. "I want to watch you, and I want to be the one calling the shots." There was no point in beating around the bush.

There was a full minute of silence as you two stared at each other. You waited for Joel to laugh right in your face, or even grow disgusted at the idea. When he did neither, you braved yourself.

"That's what you want?" Joel didn't sound like he hated the idea. A bit hesitant, but you could work it that.

"Just once," you nodded. "Joel, you trust me, right? After everything we've been through, I wouldn't ask this of you if I hadn't thought it through."

Joel was quiet for another beat before he nodded. He weighed it in his mind. Truth be told, it sounded nice. He wanted to give the control to someone else, someone he trusted to guide him and steer him towards the pleasure he sought out.

"And you don't want to be apart of it?" Joel asked.

"Oh, I'll be involved," you assured him. "I'll just be on the sidelines. Trust me, we'll both benefit from this." You leaned down to kiss him.

To your surprise, Joel agreed without much resistance. He helped you clean up before the two of you headed to the bedroom.

"No clothes," you told him as he began to climb on the bed. Joel hesitated for a moment before he nodded. His shirt and sweatpants were discarded, tossed into a heap on the floor.

You watched as Joel sunk onto the bed, his soft stomach pressed against the pillow in front of him. His eyes closed as the soft silk of the pillowcase shifted against his cock. It was softer than he expected.

"That's it," you praised. "Let yourself get lost in the feeling." You stood over the bed, a perfect spot for you to watch as Joel fucked himself with the pillow.

"You sure about this?" Joel asked. It had been the first time he had done something like this— at least in front of someone else.

"More than sure. C'mon, baby," you cooed. "Fuck yourself for me."

Joel tried to let his mind clear, focused only on what you wanted. He shifted his hips once, then twice. What was supposed to feel wrong only fed his temptations, the shutters of pleasure that made his cock ache more.

"Good boy. I know you like it, the way you try to stop yourself." You watched intently as Joel closed his eyes. His back muscles tensed as his hips rocked forward again.

After a few thrusts, Joel finally found his rhythm. One hand moved to push the pillow against his cock while the other gripped the bedsheets beneath him. The silk felt like heaven against his throbbing cock, the friction only spurred him on with each shift.

"Fuck," Joel muttered under his breath. The pillow was damp with what leaked from his cock and the sweat on his skin. That, mixed with the feeling of your sharp gaze on his back lit his skin on fire.

"Let go of the pillow," you told him. "Show me how desperate you really are."

Joel finally released the steel grip he had on the pillow and buried his other hand in the sheets. His hips rocked forward, a desperate attempt to chase the pleasure that was building in the pit of his stomach. He bit back a moan as he thrusted into the silk again.

"I'm, fuck— I'm close," Joel huffed. His eyes were still closed, screwed shut as he desperately humped the pillow.

"So quick? Poor boy, so desperate." You smirked as you watched him. This felt good— too good. You had found pleasure in his touch before, but this was different.

Joel wasn't greedy, like others had been in the past. He gave and gave until he was left with nothing. It was a part of him that you admired, what he was willing to do for others. There was a sliver of him that wanted to hand it to someone else. His hands had grown tired from handling the reins for so long.

"Please," Joel muttered. "Please." His thrusts had become sloppy, his rhythm thrown off by his desperate need for release.

You kneeled beside the bed, a hand reached out to run through his chocolate curls. Joel leaned his head back into your touch. His knuckles were white from how hard he gripped the sheets.

"How badly do you want it, baby? Use your words, Joel."

What had been a well spoken man only an hour ago was now a babbling mess as he tried to string together his thoughts. Joel moaned as you tugged at the curls near the crown of his head.

"I want to come," Joel finally panted. "I need it, please." He pressed his hips further into the pillow, which had grown slick and swallowed his cock in the wet warmth it had created.

"Come for me. Show me how pretty you look when you make a mess."

The pathetic, strangled gasp that slipped from Joel's lips as he finally succumbed to his pleasure was everything you had wanted. It set your skin on fire, how he continued to fuck the pillow until his cock was soft. As he rolled over, you noticed his cum smeared on the pillowcase and his stomach.

"That's my boy," you praised him. You leaned over and brushed the curls from his forehead. He leaned into your touch, his eyes still closed as he tried to catch his breath.

Joel hadn't felt a release like that in...

Hell, he wasn't sure he had ever felt something like that. Was this what he had been missing out on?

You slipped away, only to return with a warm washcloth to clean Joel up with. As you swiped it over his soft stomach, his cock weakly twitched. You bit back your smile and continued to clean him up.

"You did so well," you murmured. "I could have watched you for hours." You tossed the washcloth in the hamper, followed by the pillowcase. Once all was done, you laid beside Joel. He tugged you closer, his eyes finally open as he came to his senses.

"You enjoyed that?" Joel asked. He glanced down at you, his arm wrapped around you as you settled against his chest.

"In ways I couldn't even begin to explain." You propped yourself up on your elbow and ran a hand over his chest. Joel watched you with a lazy look in his eyes, his hand slipped down to your waist. He looked, for a lack of better terms, completely and thoroughly fucked.

Just how you liked him.

[luvfae]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a female reader x Thanos.

What about reader and thanos we’re close before the games both harbouring feelings maybe, but they both have mental health struggles and she is someone who dose things with out thinking of the consequences because she doesn’t care so anyway when they find each other in the games thanos is aware of her tendencies and is like kind of babysitting her.

Like in the first game she makes zero move once she finds out you die and he literally drags her across, and maybe the second game she is always his first choice but she just lays there depressed and cynical and makes sarcastic comments while him and nah gy go around finding team mates or in mingle she makes no move but ofc he always saves her ass, until one night he gives her a rude awakening a harsh pep talk feeling confessing etc. u can put your own spin on it ofc ofc!!

I DON’T CARE

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: swearing, mention of drugs and alcohol, mental health issues, death, blood, typical squid game stuff

You and Thanos had always been a little fucked up.

That’s what made you close.

You met him at a party two years ago—one of those loud, suffocating nights where everyone was either high, drunk, or trying to be. He was leaning against a balcony, smoking, watching the chaos unfold like it was a movie he’d seen a hundred times before.

You had walked up, grabbed the cigarette from his lips, and took a drag without asking.

He had let you.

“You look like you want to jump,” you had said, staring down at the city lights.

He had snorted. “You look like you wouldn’t care if I did.”

That was the start of it.

You weren’t exactly good for each other, but you understood each other. The reckless, self-destructive tendencies. The numbness that came in waves. You never had to explain why you did the things you did—skipping work for days at a time, getting blackout drunk just to feel something, making choices that could ruin you without thinking twice. Because he got it.

And maybe that was why, despite all the tension, all the times you nearly crossed the line from friends to something else, you never did. Because you knew the second you let him have you, you wouldn’t be able to stop.

Then he disappeared.

You heard the rumors—he got into drugs, got into trouble, owed money to the wrong people. You had reached out once, maybe twice, but you never pushed. And eventually, you stopped trying.

Until now.

Until you saw him again.

Your head was pounding. Your body ached. You barely remembered how you got here, only that you had woken up in this fucking tracksuit with the number 067 on your chest and some masked freak telling you to follow the others.

And then—

“No fucking way.”

Your stomach twisted at the sound of his voice.

You turned.

And there he was.

Thanos.

He looked like hell—bruised knuckles, tired eyes, the same cocky smirk that always made you want to punch him in the face.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flickered over you, as if making sure you were real.

You swallowed. “Yeah. Same.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then he snorted. “I should’ve known you’d end up in some fucked-up shit like this.”

You crossed your arms. “Takes one to know one.”

He huffed a laugh, but there was something behind it. Something tight. Something that made your chest ache.

“How bad?” you asked, voice quieter.

His jaw tensed. “Bad.”

You nodded.

He nodded back.

You didn’t need to say more.

Because he knew what you were asking. And you knew what he wasn’t saying.

And when the sirens blared, when you were herded outside for the first game, when the blood started spilling and the bodies started dropping, you froze.

Gunshots rang out. Bodies collapsed. Screams filled the air, and yet you just stood there, frozen.

You weren’t scared. No, fear would mean you actually cared about living. You simply didn’t see the point. What was the point?

You stood there, staring at the massive doll, blinking slowly as the words “Green Light” echoed in the cold air.

Around you, people were rushing forward, sprinting, their eyes wide with desperation. The tension was palpable, the sound of rapid heartbeats almost deafening as they tried to make it to the end before the next “Red Light.”

You weren’t scared. You weren’t anything. Just numb.

You could hear it—the gasps of fear, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, and then—gunshots.

Someone screamed.

But still, you didn’t move.

The moment it hit you, like a wave crashing over a brittle shore, was that you weren’t just standing still because you were numb. You were standing still because it didn’t matter. If you died here, it wouldn’t matter. If you made it out, what would it change?

Nothing. Everything was pointless.

And that’s when you felt it—Thanos’s hand, strong and relentless, grabbing your wrist, yanking you forward.

“The fuck are you doing?” His voice was a low hiss, filled with fury, but his grip on you didn’t loosen.

Your feet stumbled as you were dragged, fighting for balance. Your mind was foggy, distant, numb to the fear that gripped everyone else. The bloodshed, the screams, the flashing lights—it was like you were standing outside of it all, watching it happen to someone else.

“Move!” Thanos barked, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tried to jerk away, feeling the weight of his grip only tightening.

“I—” You blinked, but your voice felt hollow. “I don’t care.”

The next whistle blew.

Your body jerked with the momentum of his tug, and for a moment, you didn’t feel the ground under your feet. Thanos’s arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you, pulling you through the crowd of bodies that were tumbling and falling like leaves in a storm.

Gunshots rang out in the background. You could see it now—people, falling. Bodies collapsing like ragdolls.

But you didn’t care.

“You wanna die?” Thanos’s voice was harsh, just an inch from your ear, filled with raw anger.

You blinked slowly. “I don’t care,” you repeated, though the words felt strange in your mouth. Almost like a lie you’d told yourself for so long that you’d forgotten what it really meant.

Thanos’s grip tightened. He wasn’t listening, not to your words. He wasn’t letting you slip into that void again. His eyes were wide, jaw clenched, the muscle in his neck pulsing with barely contained frustration. The whistle blew again.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, lifting you off your feet entirely now, dragging you forward like you weighed nothing.

He didn’t give you a choice. He didn’t care that you didn’t care. He was going to keep you alive, even if it meant forcing you to fight against the numbness that consumed you.

By the time the countdown ended, you were nearly at the finish line. Your heart thudded in your chest—not from fear, not from adrenaline, but because of the strange, foreign sensation of being pulled back from the edge.

Thanos pushed you across the line. He was breathless, chest heaving from the physical strain of pulling you. His grip on your waist loosened only when the game ended, and the crowd’s screams faded.

When it was over, when the air cleared, you leaned back against the cold wall, your body sliding down to the ground, exhaustion settling in.

Thanos stood there, staring at you, chest heaving in rhythm with yours. His eyes narrowed with something dangerous, something you hadn’t seen before. Something deeper than anger.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he spat, but it lacked the usual humor.

You didn’t answer. You just sat there, staring at the floor. The adrenaline was leaving your system, and all you had left was the heaviness of everything—the gunshots, the blood, the screams.

“I don’t care,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

Thanos crouched in front of you, eyes intense, searching your face for something he didn’t know how to find. Something that he needed to fix.

“No,” he snapped, his hand reaching out to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. “We’re not doing this. Not anymore.”

His fingers dug into your skin, the intensity in his gaze so powerful that you couldn’t look away, even though part of you wanted to. His voice softened, but there was no less fire in it. “I won’t let you throw yourself away.”

Your chest tightened. Something deep inside of you stirred, but it was fleeting. You felt vulnerable, stripped bare in front of him.

“I won’t let you die,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his thumb gently brushing over your skin like it could erase everything you were running from.

You felt the ache in your chest then, the crack that began to form from the pressure of his words. The weight of his care.

And for a second, just a second, it felt like you were actually seen.

—

The next day when the guards announced the next game, you didn’t bother to move. You just sat there, your arms resting on your knees, watching the other players scramble to form teams, trying to sort out the chaos of who was going to be their partner. You could hear the shuffling of feet, the anxious whispers, the desperation in every movement. But none of it touched you. You were past it.

“Get up.”

Thanos’s voice cut through the haze of indifference surrounding you. He was standing over you, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you tilted your head back, staring at the high ceiling above, your mind drifting. He could wait.

“I’m not asking, sweetheart.” His voice was firm now, sharp like a warning. “Get up.”

You sighed, the weight of the world pressing on your chest. This wasn’t even the worst of it. You glanced at him briefly, and for a second, something flickered in your chest—a feeling, a pulse of something that made you almost want to smile. Almost.

You dragged yourself up from the floor with exaggerated slowness, not bothering to hide the way your limbs felt heavy, as if your body didn’t belong to you anymore. The sound of the other players forming teams, their voices blending into the background, became distant.

Thanos didn’t wait for you to make a move. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, pulling you with him toward the group that was gathering to select their partners.

“You’re with me,” he said, without asking, without giving you any say in it. His words weren’t a request—they were a demand.

You raised an eyebrow, raising your free hand to smooth your hair back. “Thanos, you need five people, not just one. Go find your three others.”

He didn’t even look at you as he grunted. “Get up. We’re doing this.”

You weren’t sure why it annoyed you. Maybe it was the way he thought he could just make decisions for you like that, or maybe it was the fact that you didn’t want to give a shit about anything anymore. But instead of arguing, you flopped back against the wall, letting out a deep sigh. “You’re so bossy.”

“I swear, if you don’t—”

“You’ll what?” you asked lazily, watching the other players scramble like rats. “Let me die?”

He stared at you, jaw clenched, clearly fighting the urge to snap at you. You saw the anger flaring in his eyes, the protective instinct swirling beneath the surface. But he said nothing. He didn’t yell at you. He just turned and walked away, a look of frustration flashing across his face.

It was strange. Normally, you’d see that and feel some sick satisfaction. But today, it left you empty, like the familiar edge of tension between you and him had dulled.

After a few moments, he came back. You didn’t look up from where you were sprawled on the floor, your legs stretched out in front of you.

Thanos took the spot next to you. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there, silent, his eyes scanning the group. You could tell he was waiting for you to make a move, to show some sign that you were still capable of caring about something.

But you didn’t. You didn’t move.

And maybe that was why, when he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter. “Come on. We’ve got to find one more person.”

You didn’t answer him. You just kept staring ahead, your eyes unfocused.

Thanos cursed under his breath. “Fine. Stay here. I don’t give a shit. But we’re playing this fucking game.”

When you didn’t react, he stood up, dragging a reluctant Nam-Gyu over to form the rest of the team. You could hear them talking quietly for a moment, but it barely registered in your head.

You hadn’t realized how much it hurt, how much the detachment had taken a toll on you, until you felt him next to you again, the weight of his presence a reminder that something—someone—still cared.

It was just a fleeting moment, but it stung.

“You with me or what?”

You finally looked up at him. The frustration in his eyes hadn’t faded, but there was something else there, something deeper, almost like he was begging you to show up.

You stood without a word, dusting yourself off as you followed him to the designated area.

Thanos didn’t say anything else as the game began. He just watched you, his eyes never leaving you as you moved through the tasks. His hands were steady, precise, but every time you stumbled, he was there to catch you. His grip on your arm was always firm, as if he were trying to anchor you to this world, to this moment where you were still alive.

Every time you fell behind, he didn’t yell. He didn’t berate you. He just pulled you up and kept you going.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you were fighting the game. You weren’t fighting him either.

You were fighting with him.

And as the game stretched on, the realization hit you: this wasn’t just about survival anymore. Thanos wasn’t just keeping you alive because of some unspoken duty or because he had no other choice.

He was doing it because he wanted to.

You couldn’t quite understand it, but you didn’t mind it. Not anymore.

—

The next game felt like a cruel joke.

You stood at the edge of the group, your mind numb to the urgency that seemed to swallow the others whole. The guards had explained the rules—nothing complicated, just survival—yet your body remained unmoving, despite the chaos unfolding around you.

Most of the players immediately scrambled, eyes wide, feet shuffling as they sought safety. You could hear the hurried breaths of your fellow players, the scrape of shoes against the concrete floor, the soft sounds of bodies rushing and tumbling in all directions. Yet, you just… didn’t care.

Everyone else seemed like they were fighting for their lives, but you?

You were waiting for it all to end.

And then, just like that, you felt the heat of a body next to yours. His scent—leather, sweat, something familiar—struck you before you even saw him.

“Nope,” Thanos muttered under his breath as his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist before you could even process what was happening.

You blinked, the numbness in your mind finally starting to fade as he yanked you toward him, pulling you into his space like he’d done countless times before. “Not today,” he said firmly, his voice low with that undercurrent of protectiveness that you had come to know so well.

You didn’t fight him. Not this time. His grip was strong, secure, and for once, you allowed yourself to lean into it. You didn’t want to make the effort to run or find a spot of safety. So you didn’t.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered, looking up at him, your voice quieter than you intended.

Thanos glanced down at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yes, I fucking did,” he replied, his tone hard, his grip never faltering.

You stayed quiet as he pulled you into an empty room, positioning you closer to the wall, where the guards couldn’t reach as easily if for some reason they decided to kill you. But it was more than that—he was keeping you close, making sure no one else could get too near, too close.

You hated how much it comforted you.

The minutes ticked by, the guards’ voices harsh in the background, and still, you stood there, pressed against him. His body was warm, solid, like a shield. You didn’t think about how strange it felt to have him act like this—to be the one protecting you. No, you just let him, because for once, it felt like you had a reason to stay.

You weren’t sure how much time passed, but it was enough for the panic to begin to settle. Enough for you to breathe again. You weren’t entirely safe, not yet. But for the first time in days, you weren’t just surviving; you were simply existing.

And it felt like an eternity before the sirens sounded, signaling the end of the game. The crowd around you began to move, restless and relieved.

Thanos released his hold on you just slightly, but he didn’t step away. His fingers lingered for a moment before dropping to his side.

“Think you can make it on your own?” His voice was quieter now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked, suddenly aware of how close the two of you still were, the heat between you both suddenly charging the air in a way that made your chest tighten.

“Maybe,” you muttered, looking away. “But you’re not exactly a bad guy to have around.”

Thanos snorted, a dark humor creeping into his voice. “Don’t get used to it.”

But you could feel his eyes on you, and despite everything—despite the absurdity of it all—you felt something inside shift. The games weren’t over, but something between you and Thanos had already changed.

And you weren’t sure if you could go back.

—

That night, Thanos snapped.

“I can’t keep babysitting you,” he growled, pacing in front of you.

You sat on the floor, arms wrapped around your knees, staring ahead blankly. “I never asked you to.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Then what, I should’ve let you fucking die?”

You didn’t answer.

That only pissed him off more.

“You act like nothing matters. Like you don’t give a shit if you live or die. But guess what, sweetheart?” He crouched in front of you, gripping your chin, forcing your eyes on him.

“I give a shit.”

Your breath caught.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what the fuck happened to you. I don’t know why you’re like this. But you do not get to throw yourself away.” His voice dropped lower. “Not when I—”

His grip faltered. His expression twisted.

Not when I care about you.

The words never came, but you felt them.

Something deep inside you cracked.

You swallowed hard. Your throat burned. Your chest ached. The weight of his words, of everything you’d been avoiding, came crashing down on you all at once.

For the first time in days, you felt something.

And you weren’t sure if that terrified you more than the games themselves.

But one thing was clear.

For Thanos, you’d try.

Even if you didn’t know how.

Something had changed.

It was subtle, but it was there.

Thanos didn’t say anything after that night—no more lectures, no more scolding. He just sat with you in the dark, his shoulder pressed against yours, and let the silence stretch between you.

But you could feel it. The weight of his words. The rawness in his voice when he said, I give a shit.

And maybe, just maybe, you had started to give a shit too.

Because the next morning, when the guards announced the next game, you didn’t drag your feet. You stood up. You followed. You let Thanos find you in the crowd without him having to pull you by the wrist.

You saw the way he looked at you—like he noticed the change, like he was waiting for you to slip back into that numb, hollow state again.

You didn’t.

Not yet.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Don't Stop Being You

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You have always seen the good in people, and the landlord is no exception. The guys are afraid of him but you’re going to prove to Bucky that no matter what, people are generally good. You just didn’t expect the night to backfire on you.

One in a Million Series

Square Filled: experience (2024) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

“Tell me again why you wanted me to come to the store with you.”

“We have a budget and I don’t trust the guys to stick to it.”

You look at Bucky. “So, I’m here for moral support?”

“Yeah.”

You chuckle and look back at your phone. He pulls into the store’s parking lot and looks for a spot, seeing one close to the entrance. He even puts his blinker on for good measure and starts to pull into the spot. However, a car on the other side decides he wants the spot and rushes to get it instead. Bucky and the man slam on their breaks, and you look up to see the man cursing at Bucky.

“I was here first! Go around!” Bucky yells back.

“This is my spot!”

“Go around!”

“Come on, Bucky. He’s probably a really nice guy. Maybe he’s having a bad day.”

“Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not!”

“You always do this. He’s in the wrong!”

The man honks the horn, and you two look at him. “Ge that piece of shit out of my space!”

“Why don’t you come over here and say that to my face!”

The man takes out a gun from his coat pocket and shows it off, and you gasp and duck down. Bucky would have gotten out and beaten the man’s ass. However, you’re with him and he doesn’t want to put you in any danger.

“God, that’s a gun!” you gasp.

“Do you still think he’s nice?”

“Maybe no one has ever been nice to him before. Maybe violence is his only tool to express himself.” You pop your head up and smile at the man. “Hi!”

“Stop! What are you doing? Get down!”

“Don’t use the gun. Sorry about this guy,” you say and point to Bucky.

“What are you--Don’t apologize for me!”

“Just put the gun away, okay? No need for that,” you smile. The man nods and puts his gun away, and you wave nicely at him. “Thank you so much.”

“I can’t believe that worked,” Bucky whispers.

The man backs up and puts his hands up apologetically.

“Have a good day!” You wave. “See? You always see the worst in people.”

The shopping trip is now ruined so instead of taking the spot, Bucky pulls away and heads straight home. Grocery shopping can be saved for another day. Maybe this time without you. Sam and Steve are at the kitchen table eating when you get back home, and Steve is on a ramble about his job.

“Disney has been working my butt off. I’m the illustrator for two movies, and they need at least five strips of film before Friday. For both films. That’s three days. Not to mention Natasha. She’s sending me mixed signals. Are we a thing? Does she like me back? Women are hard.” Steve looks up and spots you. “Oh, hey Y/N.”

“Why do you always have to start fights with everyone, Bucky? Not everyone is out to get you.”

“He had a gun, Y/N. I was more worried about you than me. I was ready to beat his ass.”

“See? That’s your problem. Your immediate response is to fight.” You look at Sam and Steve. “Isn’t Bucky one of the most negative people you’ve ever met?”

“Yes,” Sam and Steve agree. “All he does is stare at people. It’s like he’s murdering them in his mind.”

“See? They agree with me,” you smirk.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I guess I don’t live in a world where I can smile and people do whatever I want them to do.”

“You don’t smile. Ever.”

You turn the faucet on to wash your hands only to get a face full of water. You shriek and try turning the water off but to no avail. Bucky jumps in and jerks the faucet to the right before turning off the water. You cough from the water that gets into your mouth, and Steve hands you a dish towel.

“What the fuck was that?” you shiver.

“Don’t feel bad. We’ve all had a face full of water once or twice.”

“There shouldn’t have been any time when you get a face full of water. I’m calling the landlord.” Bucky, Steve, and Sam all protest, and you step back in shock from the outcry. “What?”

“You’re not calling the landlord,” Bucky says.

“He’s a terrible man,” Steve informs.

“Don’t call the landlord,” Sam warns.

“Okay, I won’t call the landlord.”

You really thought you could listen to them when they told you not to go to the landlord, but you can’t help yourself. It doesn’t matter if he’s a terrible man or if the guys are afraid of him, he’s a landlord. If something is broken, he has the responsibility to fix it. Bucky takes the guys on a shopping trip since you couldn’t go earlier despite them never following the budget. You’re all alone which is perfect for what you plan to do.

Desserts are a great way to break the ice, so you whip up a quick batch of delicious chocolate chip cookies. These cookies are universally liked so you don’t think there will be an issue. The landlord lives in the basement of the building, so you use the elevator and head down there. It’s pretty nice for a basement. Why live somewhere else when you can live in your own building?

“Excuse me? Mr. Landlord?”

“Back here.”

You follow the voice to the back of the basement and see a rough and burly man sitting by a table whittling something.

“Hi. I hope you like cookies. I made too many and decided to come down here to see if you could take them off my hands.” He looks up and just stares at you, and you put the plate of cookies on the table. “I’m just gonna leave this right here.”

“What do you want?”

“Okay, I’m one of the people living in apartment 4D, and there is a laundry list of things that are considered a safety hazard. I was just wondering if you could come upstairs and see about getting them fixed.”

The man pretends to think about his answer even though you already know he has it.

“No.”

You nod and look around the place to see what else you can talk about with him. There is a picture hanging on the wall of two stick figures. It looks like it was drawn by a child.

“Oh, that’s neat. How old are your kids?”

“I did that. That’s me and my ex-wife.”

A shiver runs through your spine. “Okay. Listen, my roommates are scared of you, but I can tell you’re not as bad as they say you are. I’m sure you wouldn’t want the four of us living in such a dangerous place.”

“Four?” You freeze. “There should only be three.”

“Did I say four?” You start to stutter. “I’m sorry, I always seem to count myself… twice. Okay, bye.”

You quickly leave before the landlord can say anything else about your situation. By the time you get back to your apartment, the boys are back from shopping.

“Hey, you guys are back,” you smile. “Listen, we should try playing a game. I want you to think of a time when you did something stupid, how you were treated, and how you wish you were treated.”

“What did you do?” Bucky asks.

“I talked to the landlord.”

“What?” All three men stand up in a panic. “Alright, it’s happening. Do we have enough time for Escape Plan 1?”

“What’s going on?”

“Only three people are supposed to be living here. Not four.”

“Why didn't you tell me this? Why did you let me move in?”

“We needed the money!”

Someone knocks on the door, and all four of you seem frozen in fear. No one can move from their spot, but you’re the first one to shake this off. You walk to the front door and open it to reveal the landlord.

“Someone told me four people were living here instead of three?”

Bucky looks at you. “That idiot doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Come on,” you whisper to him.

The landlord pushes his way in and observes the place with judgemental eyes. He walks toward Steve’s room that’s located next to the kitchen, and everyone follows him like sheep. He moves to the bathroom, your room, Bucky’s room, and Sam’s room. Apart from a fourth person living here, the place isn’t as bad as it could be.

“This could have been worse. Four people living here are fine. I don’t care. Just leave me alone.”

“Mr. Landlord? I’m sorry for lying about how many people were living here--”

“Stop reminding him,” Bucky whispers.

“--but since you’re here, why not fix a few things?” The landlord has tattoos running down both of his arms, and you notice a particular one that stands out. “Please, Remy?”

“How do you know my name?”

“It’s tattooed on your skin. I took a leap of faith. Look, Remy, I can tell you’re a good guy.”

He sighs and looks around the place before settling his eyes on you. “Fine. What do you need fixed?”

“Close your eyes and point to something,” Bucky says. 

“Her. Not you.”

You turn and give Bucky a smug smile to which he gives a mocking one back. The most pressing items on the list is your closet door that’s stuck, a leaking faucet in the bathroom, and the faucet in the kitchen. There are other things but you’ll start with those things first and see where Remy is at.

Remy decides to start with your closet door, and you sit on the bed to keep him company. To make him feel more comfortable, you bring up a conversation about his ex wife.

“Sorry about your divorce. I can’t imagine it’s easy.”

Remy gets on his knees and looks at the track your closet door is on. He takes out two of his tools and starts to tinker with it.

“Thanks. I’d say it was sudden but I should have seen it coming. We stopped talking, you know? We stopped doing things we loved. I’d come home and all I’d want to do is crack a beer.”

“Do you have any kids?”

“Oh, God, no. She never wanted any. Claimed that she wanted all my attention on her. Just as well, who would want a landlord as a father?”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Remy. I’d bet you’d make a great father.”

You could have sworn you saw him blush, but you move past it.

“It must have been really hard.”

He shrugs. “It is what it is.” He stands and looks at you. There’s a look of recognition in his eyes. “It was hard.” He drops his tools and steps back from your closet. “Alright. Give her a whirl.”

You get up from your bed and walk over to your sliding closet door. You grab the handle and pull to open it the rest of the way but it’s stuck. You yank a bit harder but again, nothing happens.

“Here, let me try.”

Remy walks up behind you and grabs the closet door. Even with both your strengths, it’s not enough to make the closet door move. Bucky’s in the kitchen when he hears grunting coming from your room. He is about to pass it off when he remembers Remy is in there with you. He scrambles out of his chair and approaches your room not knowing what he is going to see. He scoffs when he sees Remy behind you. He’s so close that your ass is practically touching his dick.

“Okay, that’s enough.” You and Remy part ways. “Can I talk to you alone, please?”

You leave Remy in your room and join Bucky in the kitchen with a smug smile.

“Ready to admit you were wrong?”

“That man wants to sleep with you.”

“No, he doesn’t. He was just showing me how to open the closet door.”

“Anytime a man shows a woman how to do something from behind, it’s just an excuse to make her heart race and get her all nervous in the cute way women get when they’re nervous. Here, let me show you.” He spots a mug on the table. “Pick up that mug.” You shake your head and pick up the mug. “Oh, no, Doll, you’re doing it all wrong. Here, let me show you.”

Bucky walks behind you and wraps his thick arms around you. For a split second, you allow yourself to feel what it feels like to have Bucky’s arms around you. You close your eyes and relax into his embrace, feeling your heart race. He moves his head closer to your neck so his nose brushes against your jaw. A shiver runs down your spine; and no, you’re not cold. Despite Bucky’s metal arm, he makes you feel warm.

Is this what love feels like? No. You can’t be doing this to yourself. Your eyes pop open and you shove Bucky away from you before you start to confess your feelings for him.

“He was not doing that!”

“That’s exactly what he was doing to you!”

“You always see the worst in people!”

“That’s because people are the worst.” He holds up his metal arm. “How do you think I got this arm?”

You sigh and look away from him. “People can be good, Bucky. You just have to give them a chance. Why can’t you just admit you were wrong? I was nice and now he’s fixing stuff in our apartment.”

Remy walks out of your bedroom without his shirt on. He has an undershirt on but it covers even less than what his shirt was covering.

“Man, I am working up a sweat. I hope you don’t mind the smell of a real man in your room.” He grabs a cup from the cabinet and pours himself a glass of water. “Let me know when you want to get started on that bed.”

When Bucky can’t see him anymore, he looks at you with a disgusted look.

“Don’t give me that look. He’s turning my mattress.”

“Yeah, sure he is.”

You roll your eyes and leave Bucky standing in the kitchen all alone. The things in your bedroom don’t take a lot of time, but the leaky faucet in the bathroom does. In fact, it takes all day. During which you got soaked from the faucet spraying all over your shirt. Bucky hears your squeal and sees you coming out of the bathroom in laughter.

He, Sam, Steve, and Natasha are in the living room just watching you and Remy walk out with water all over you.

“Oh, hey, Nat. You guys would not believe what just happened. I was watching Remy fixing the sink when water sprayed all over me. I was totally soaked.”

“You were so wet,” Remy smirks.

Bucky has to stop himself from going to Remy and beating the shit out of him.

“Man overboard! So, to thank Remy for the work he’s been doing, I invited him to dinner. Who’s in?”

“Um, Steve and I have something planned,” Natasha mumbles.

“Yeah, I have a… thing to do,” Sam follows.

“No, thanks,” Bucky straight-out says.

“So, it’s just me and Y/N, huh?” Remy asks.

“Oh, no,” Bucky immediately says. “I change my mind. I’ll be there.”

Bucky crosses his arms to make them look bigger, and you have to look away before he catches you staring at him. Natasha smirks when she sees the slight blush on your cheeks but thankfully, doesn’t comment on it. Everyone but you, Remy, and Bucky leave the apartment, and you start making something light for dinner. Salad, a little bit of chicken, and a nice bottle of wine. It’s nothing fancy, just whatever you had leftover in the fridge. Remy, after getting ready in the basement, brought his own bottle of wine… that he made himself.

“Remy brought over… whatever this is.”

“I ferment things in the basement.”

You pour yourself a glass of the homemade wine, but Bucky has other plans for you.

“You’re not drinking that, Y/N.”

“Yes, I am.” You grab the cup before he can and take a huge sip. That was a mistake. It’s fucking disgusting. You spit out most of it and swallow the rest, but you give Bucky a wounded smile. “See? Yum.”

“Would you like some?” Remy asks.

“Oh, no, thank you. Someone needs to stay sober to fight you later.”

“Bucky,” you hiss. “Stop it. You and Remy actually have a lot in common.” You look at Remy. “Bucky got out of a really bad relationship last year. I heard it was really bad.”

“In the end, we all go through the same issues,” Remy says.

“Okay,” Bucky whispers.

Dinner was mostly awkward but by the end of it, Remy and Bucky were in a much better mood. You three take the small party to the couch. Remy takes a sip of his fermented wine and laughs.

“Man, I didn’t think I’d ever get to enjoy myself again. Thank you for what you did here tonight.” You give him a kind smile. “I’ll be right back.”

When Remy leaves the living room, you move closer to Bucky.

“See? I was right.”

“What do you mean? Did you see the way he was buttering me up so he could move in on you?”

“Why can't you just admit you were wrong?”

“How can you live this long on your own?”

“There is no part of that man that wants to sleep with me.”

“He’s been creeping on you all night!”

“No, he hasn’t!”

Bucky is about to answer when Remy walks back into the living room. Only this time, he’s not wearing any pants. The look on Bucky’s face is enough for you to turn and notice Remy.

“Hey, Remy, what happened to your pants?” you stutter.

“I’ve never had a threesome before.” Your mouth drops several inches in shock. “That’s what we’re doing, right?”

“Okay, I never expected this,” Bucky mutters.

“I’ll be in the bedroom.”

He turns and leaves, and it takes several long seconds before you can find your voice.

“What the fuck?” you whisper.

You get off the couch and approach your bedroom slowly. Remy is inside doing leg stretches. You chuckle and close the bedroom door before turning to Bucky.

“I love watching you be wrong, Y/N,” Bucky smirks.

“Okay, I admit. Tonight is a bad night, but people are generally good. I’m not wrong about that.”

“People are jerks.”

“He is hurting from his divorce--”

“You’re seriously making excuses for this man?” Bucky smirks. “If you feel so bad then get in there.” You open the door and see Remy doing lunges to get himself warmed up. You chuckle nervously and shut the door again. “I’m so turned on right now.”

“You would seriously have a threesome with him just to get me to admit that I’m wrong?”

“We could do a lot worse than Remy. He’s got strong arms,” he says sarcastically.

Okay, now he’s making it into a game. There’s no way in hell you’re backing out now. Like hell, you’re going to be the one to admit that you were wrong. You’re going to get Bucky to admit that he was wrong even if takes you all night. You kick your shoes off and Bucky’s eyes widen slightly.

“Let’s have a threesome.”

You turn and head inside your room. Remy grins at the thought of doing this with you two, and he grabs your wrist to pull you in closer.

“So, a menage a trois is about three people… a trois… menaging fully.”

“Got it,” you nod.

“This is happening right now,” Bucky says. “We’re doing this.”

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Okay, this is going to get uncomfortable, but as long as we keep communicating, we will get through this. Let’s get some relaxing music going on in here.”

“Great idea,” Bucky says. Remy walks over to the small radio on your desk, and Bucky turns to you with panicked eyes. “Why can’t you admit that you’re wrong?”

“Why can’t you admit that he’s a good guy?” you whisper back

“We are about to have a menage a trois with this guy because you can’t admit that you’re wrong.”

“You are out of your mind. All I’m saying is that he’s a good guy.”

Music starts playing and Remy dances over to you and Bucky. You and Bucky stop whisper-fighting to dance along to the music.

“Yeah, get into it,” Remy grins.

“Oh, I am so into this. Are you into this, Y/N?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Admit that you were wrong and this will stop.”

“Nope. I love this song. Turn it up.”

Remy walks up behind Bucky and starts massaging his shoulder. His first instinct is to turn and deck the bitch in the face, but he won’t result to violence. He tries to shrink away from Remy but the older man won’t let Bucky go anywhere. Bucky’s face contorts in panic because he knows that Remy can’t see him. He glares at you but you refuse to back down. Honestly, you want to know what Bucky will do if you refuse to back down. Will he let things go too far?

“I know this is awkward but the more you loosen up, the better it will be. Right now, I’m just massaging your shoulders, but then I will be unbuttoning your pants.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, his voice cracking.

Honestly, this is kind of funny. At this point, it’s about how far you can push Bucky. How far is he willing to go if you’re willing to go all the way? Bucky hates when people touch him so it’s a miracle that Remy is getting as far as he can with him now. Remy slides one of his hands in Bucky’s hair, and Bucky looks at you with fire in his eyes.

“Then I’m going to unbutton my shirt, but I’m going to keep my underpants on.” Remy pulls away from Bucky but the relief is short-lived. Remy takes one of Bucky’s hands and one of your hands, bringing them together. “Right now, you two get us started.”

Oh, fuck. You don’t know if you can do this.

“You want Y/N and I to get it started?” Bucky looks at you and his grip on both your hands gets tighter. “Are you doing this?”

“Yes, are you doing this?”

“I will do this, Y/N,” Bucky says seriously.

“Good because so will I.”

“Say you’re wrong and this is over.”

“I’m not wrong. You admit that you’re wrong and then this can end.”

“Fine, let’s do this.”

Bucky grabs both sides of your face and leans in. No, this isn’t how you want this to happen. This isn’t how you imagined your first kiss with Bucky. You imagine it’s after you tell him how much you like him. Love, if it even gets there. You imagine doing it in private with no one else around. You imagine sparks to fly, like you two are meant to be.

No, this is all wrong. You are… wrong. Before Bucky’s lips can touch yours, you push him away in anger. Not at him but at yourself.

“Fine! I admit it! I’m wrong!”

“Yes!”

“Sorry, Remy,” you sigh.

“What is going on here?”

You, Remy, and Bucky look at the door to see Sam standing there with a confused look on his face.

“I’m not ready for a four-way. I’m out,” Remy says before leaving.

“Get out,” you sigh. “Please.”

Bucky looks at you and immediately feels bad for the entire evening. Still, he and Sam leave you alone in your room. A few hours pass before someone knocks on your door, and you open it to see Bucky standing there.

“Listen, Y/N--”

“Whatever you have to say, don’t. I’m not in the mood.”

You turn and walk to your bed but leave the door open for him to either come in or close it.

“Just because I see the worst in people, that doesn’t mean you should stop seeing the good in them. I admire that about you.”

You look at him with a smile. “Were you really going to kiss me?”

Bucky returns the smile and grabs the doorknob. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Guess you’ll never know, but deep down, you know the answer.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

x

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[infini-tree]

episodic - part 4

< back | next >

---------------------

Summary: Everyone doubles down.

A/N: alternative chapter summary: Melvin Has A Normal Day.

once again thank you art of book for listing all the faculty names and subjects. 

on that note: Melvin's characterization. since this au is primarily based on movie continuity, in the end i decided to defer to its lead. which makes things difficult, as most of his inventions were all pretty lowkey (and the turbo toilet had been further augmented by a third party), and some future plots hinge on his more OP inventions. scene 2 is meant to bridge the character gap between all his incarnations, and also narratively sets some stuff up for this AU. i did say he's a core secondary,

---------------------

With the final bell rung, Benjamin made quick work of packing his suitcase. Considering how fast the kids ran out of the school, the halls should be quiet now. The last thing he needed was noise and talking. And so, he stepped out into a reception room filled with faculty. 

Not just talking– yelling. At him.

He glanced over to Anthrope, who should have shooed them all away. Her now-empty seat was still swivelling. 

“Of course,” he grumbled.

“Whadd'ya mean 'of course'?” Rected griped.

“We’re up to our eyelids in marking these brats’ worksheets!” Ribble waved a stack of papers at his face– all from the impromptu beach day, if he read the date right. “And you expect us to mark an entire grade’s worth of volcano projects?!”

“Clearly it's not just the students that need to apply themselves.” 

The rest of the teachers froze.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He narrowed his eyes, his tone still as clipped from the announcements. “Aren’t you the one always complaining about their marks?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“But nothing, you're the one who insisted on teaching three subjects.” He moved on to other teachers. “Meaner, you’re only doing the running tests– I don’t see why you’re complaining. The most you have to do is make sure they don’t trip over their own shoelaces.”

“The papers–”

“Because its so hard keeping track of when kids stop running.” He turned to Guided. “And you– all the tests are based on stuff your class should have covered by now.”

Guided grumbled something about how the topics were from the start of the semester, no one remembers that.

“Dayken–” Said teacher jolted up from the back. “What are you even doing here? You're a kindergarten teacher.”

“I wanted to feel included--”

“In any case, all I’m hearing–” He pointed an accusatory finger at all of them. “Is that all of you are mad that you need to actually do your job.”

“Excuse you?!” Ribble shot back. No other teachers spoke up.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to do before you barged in here.” He pointed at Rected and Ribble. “You have until the end of the week to make it work.”

He could feel something tighten in his chest flare as he saw the teachers back off. It wasn’t relief, but it was a near thing. At least he wasn’t on the back foot. 

“Dismissed.” The tone broached no argument.

The impromptu staff meeting ended– not with a bang, but a whimper. More accurately, it was a grumble of swears that cannot be recounted in a fanwork made for general audiences. He watched all the teachers skulk out of the room with a leveled glare. 

None of them dared to look back.

If we could have, we would have. Who else would agree?

He stood there until he was absolutely sure he couldn’t hear anyone nearby. After that, it was just a matter of going down the steps. Of making it through the hallway. 

Ignoring how unmoored he felt. He looked to his feet– left, right, left, right. Repeat until he was at the door.

It wasn’t the first time anyone would have thought that about him. Heck, it wasn’t the first time the quiet part was said out loud. It was, however, the first time it was actually doable.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Ben?”

“Guh–” He whirled around. “Edith!”

She blinked. He stared. The silence lingered a bit too long for his liking, though it was clear she wanted to say something. 

“Do you need anything?” he managed.

“Are you alright?” When no answer came, she continued to trail off. “I mean, I– I saw everyone goin’ up to your office. And then there was the announcement earlier, so–”

“Of course I am.”

Another blink. “O– oh, uh, ok, then…”

“OK, then.” 

Edith persisted. She trailed behind him closely as he came closer to the door. Most days he’d be a little endeared to it, but right now, right now–

“So, where are you going to set up this whole ‘science fair’? You, uh. Forgot to mention it.”

Of course he did. “The cafeteria. It has the space for it.”

He held a hand up to the door. 

“I guess the floors have to be cleaned early…” she mumbled. “Uh, hey– wait!”

He had barely half-opened it.

“If you need anything, just ask, OK?” Then, in a lower voice, she added: “I don’t know why you’re actually doin’ this, but–”

His hand was gone as he whipped back to look at her. “Actually?” he snapped back. 

“I– I know you, and you wouldn’t be doin’ this without a reason.”

“Know me?”

His rage was already so spent– from the boys, the teachers, the other guy, it can only persist for so long. It doesn’t billow out so much as burn him out from the inside. And when pushed that far, something had to give.

“It took you a month to realize I wasn’t being an idiot on purpose,” he said. “The real question is why didn't I do it sooner.” 

Edith’s eyes widened and her shoulders shrank at the remark. Guilt curdled in him, but it was a distant thing. He wanted to leave. He wanted to reach out and take it back. His body chose the worst compromise between the two and made him stand there like an idiot.

“OK then.” She looked away. “Um, I guess I’ll prep the cafeteria for it then.”

“OK then,” was all Benjamin could manage before she left to do just that. Which was fine. That’s what he wanted, right? He needed to get going too.

Left, right, left, right. Car. Drive. He forced himself to focus on the road completely. To hold onto the wheel like a lifeline. And it worked. At least until he hit the first red light– and then the thoughts crept in.

He should have said something different. He should have said it differently. What kind of answer was I should have done it sooner, anyway? 

His knuckles turned bone-white at his grip. 

Still, he felt unmoored– like a sharp turn would make him leap out of his own body, and– If we could have, we would have, George’s voice rattled in his head. They had the motive, and they had shown time and time again they had the means. 

And yet here he still was: sweating in sixty-degree weather.

He wasn’t sure what that meant, but it was yet another thing to mull over and hang over the other guy.

---------------------

For the next two days, the elementary school was a minefield for George and Harold. Which was why they found themselves stumbling around a corner and quickly entering the nearest empty classroom. The small mob ran past the corner none the wiser.

Harold gave a forlorn look to the stack of comics in his arms. “I don’t know how much of the sales can take this.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” George placed a hand to the other boy’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

A pause. The other boy gave a cautious look around, now that they had a moment to breathe.

“Well, maybe put that on hold for five minutes, what the heck is up with this classroom?”

The classroom looked normal for the most part– if you ignored the absurd number of desks. There had to be triple the amount– several stacked up on each other like a fortress or maze walls. One precarious tower looked further away than it should be possible in a room this size, but it could easily be tiny desks.

“What the…”

“You two!” a voice cried.

“Ah!” Harold yelled.

“Ah!” George yelled with a little jump.

‘Ah,’ Melvin did not yell. Instead, he said: “I’m surprised you two aren’t out for recess.”

They were still standing by the door so there was no chance of him sneaking past them, and his shock of ginger hair would have stood out if he had decided to stay in. 

“Yeah, well, I’m surprised you, uh… you…” George said, letting the statement hang. “-- That you’re not working on something for that pop science fair.”

Melvin didn't react. He didn’t know whether it was better or worse– especially after Krupp made that dreaded announcement.

“What is it this time?” he continued, gesturing to the desks. “Something that increases the amount of class per classroom?"

"A scale model of the school’s pop science fair-- with additional statistics?” Harold added.

“Something to make people remember why they went into a room!” George added with a laugh, before snapping to a more contemplative look. “No wait, that’d actually be… not half-bad.”

“Hm. I’ll make a note of those,” Melvin said as he continued to stand there and not do that. The conversation lulled into silence a beat longer than comfortable. Before they could speak up, he added: “And for your information, I am working on it. Hold on.”

The both of them gave another cautious once-over to the room. The room– outside of the weird amount of desks– looked normal. It looked free of any invention, save for the muffled rattling noise. George had even peeked behind the teacher’s desk on the off chance it was hidden. 

“What do you mean hold on? There isn’t anything here.”

Melvin didn’t answer. 

Instead, the walls and some of the surrounding fixtures started shimmering different colors before settling on the color of error bars you see on TV.

Harold jumped away from a nearby desk he was leaning on as he felt it shift and become less sturdy, wobbling like heat hazes. As they lifted up to the ceiling, the whir had become a fraction louder.

“What’s going on?” he turned around. “Melv– ah!”

George let out a yell, seeing Melvin’s shape shimmer until he was a mass of red and greens. He ran to him, and his first instinct was to try and grab where his shoulder was. All his fingers met was air. Then thin strands as his hand sailed past where his shoulders would be and into the now-clump of what was the tattletale.

“Melvin!”

The strands rose up and darted away like all the other ones until they were standing in a regular classroom with its usual amount of desks and a third smaller than it looked before.

“He was too young!” George said.

“It should have been me!” Harold threw himself to the ground, bashed a fist against it, and stopped. He thought for a moment before continuing in the same dramatic cadence: “OK, I take it back, that’s a bit too much, but you get it!”

“Are you two done yet?” 

“I swear I can still hear his voice, even now–” the boy whipped his head around so fast his tie went askew. “Melvin!”

He got out of his overdramatic kowtow. “What the heck?!”

“Like I said, I’m working on the Warp-Weft-O-Tron 2000,” he said like it would explain everything. “Stress-testing it, to be more accurate.”

“The wh–” Before George could finish his sentence, the other boy stood up and pointed at the whirring thing behind Melvin.

In the corner of the classroom, around some tools and papers was something that took the space of two desks. Upon closer inspection, it looked like a sewing machine grafted beside a blocky computer . The needle continued its work and its now-unobscured rattling.

They all followed the threads converged to the machine, now completely colorless. They could just barely see the shiny thread zip through it and up the machine until even that thread dissipated. And once it did, the needle made its final whirring before powering down.

The adrenaline of seeing a kid disintegrate, like the strings a few seconds ago, dissipated to incredulity. 

“What kind of science is that thing for–” Harold pointed an accusatory finger at the machine. “Freak-People-Out-ology?!”

“It's built on the principles of techno-textiles and a bit of virtual simulation.” Melvin clicked his pen a few times before pointing it at them. “How about you two?”

“Huh?”

That was apparently the wrong answer as he put a finger to his temple. “I’m merely curious what you’re working on, seeing as Krupp’s announcement said you two suggested the pop science fair.”

And you believe him? George wanted to say, before answering his own question– of course he’d believe that.

Or at the very least, he wouldn’t cast further doubt. Doubting Krupp would mean doubting The Man. Plus, grades were on the line, and that was top priority to the tattletale than trying to think through whether they would ever suggest that.

It had only occurred now to George that that was the reason why Melvin wasn’t automatically on the defensive.

“We’re, uh– keeping it under wraps,” Harold said, realizing the other boy was taking too long to reply.

“Of course.” Melvin nodded in understanding as he made his way to the Warp-Weft-O-Tron and pulled out a spool the size of a lava lamp sitting on top of the sewing machine half. Its threads were soot grey and frayed. He placed it to the side and put an empty spool in its place, but not without grumbling about the material being insufficient.

“I will admit, the sudden nature of this assessment adds a wrench to everything, but– nothing like the stress of an unforeseen deadline to get everything in gear.”

Harold stared at the machine, and then to the boy still engrossed in fixing… whatever. In gear was an understatement if he made a simulation machine on a time crunch.

“You were really holding out on us all these years,” George said, eyeing the computer.

Rows of code scrolled up its screen. Most of it was gibberish, but there were parts he could understand. A record of previous commands and whether it was typed out or recorded through audio. S., MELVIN x1, DESK x15, and more distressingly, a MATERIAL PROCESS WARNING, whatever that was.

“How’d a sock sorter beat this out when you were picking out stuff for the Invention Convention?”

He poked around a nearby toolbox– which was more of a folder of assorted squares of materials. Many of them looked like normal threads, but a good chunk of them weren’t, from how the light bounced off them. 

“Firstly: it's a sock matcher. Secondly: Krupp only accepts the ‘practical’ ones–” He pulled out a square of the latter and placed it in an adjacent slot. Something between contemplation and annoyance edged into his tone. “The Turbo Toilet was pushing it. But, the pop science fair has no such restrictions!” 

“...It doesn’t?”

A thread the same color as the square spat out of some unseen cavity and began wrapping itself around the spool.

“I asked Ms. Ribble about the specificities for this assignment, and she said, and I quote: ‘sure, do what you need to do’.”

George and Harold both sucked a breath through their teeth. Unlike the tattletale, they knew that wasn’t full permission, so much as the classic grown-up tactic of dismissing a kid by giving them a vague answer to sate them.

“Guess not even tattling can get you all the perks you want,” Harold said carefully.

Melvin stopped typing on the computer part of the machine for a moment. With him faced away, they weren’t sure what expression was on his face, but they could feel a shift. Nothing as drastic as what happened in the principal’s office, but it was there.

“You should go.” It wasn’t a suggestion. “I need to troubleshoot.” 

Harold looked to the clock. Recess was almost over, which meant their opportunities to prepare were dwindling.

“Right,” George said.

And they slipped back into an empty hallway. They looked back, and through the window-sliver on the door, they could see the threads shoot up and around the room. The classroom became a black void, though it slowly made its way along the color spectrum.

“What do you think?” Harold asked.

“That our playground street cred is in the gutter at this rate,” George replied.

He gave him a light punch on the arm. Despite everything they couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing through the hall. 

“We could use it in the Captain Plan,” Harold replied. “It might be a little difficult to, ah–”

“Turbo Toilet it?” George finished, thinking back to the Invention Convention. He watched as Melvin tried to recalibrate it. “It’s a pretty big wildcard.”

As if on cue, after a few basic prisms popped into existence in the classroom, a rough approximation of a cat did. That, apparently, was too much as the simulation spooled itself back up like before. 

“But I think we do need a wildcard. It'd drive Krupp up the wall.”

Harold winced. “Well, I mean it can’t make anything worse.”

The both of them walked off to the abandoned art room. Harold shuffled his backpack to the front of him as he counted up the supplies he pilfered. To name a few: flour and water to make glue on the fly. Baking soda and vinegar, because those were Classics. Toilet paper– ‘nuff said.

He stared at a box labelled Office Supplies. In it were huge packs of sticky notes, for irony.

As wrong as Melvin was about whose idea the pop science fair was, he was right, frustratingly, about one thing: nothing like the stress of a deadline to get everything in gear.

---------------------

The Captain Plan was one of their simpler plans, in theory. 

It was simple in the sense that it was meant to only target Krupp. The hard part, for obvious reasons, was that Captain Underpants was integral to said plan.

It amounted to swapping them out at strategic places they set up. Things he can’t stand. Things that he’d be afraid of. Long enough for the experience to stick. Then they’d swap him back to Captain and slowly amp it up. Rinse and repeat.

They’d keep doing this until he took everything back– the whole assignment gauntlet, the whole thing with the science fair–

The whole capital T Thing with Captain. 

And if he refused, well– there wasn’t anything else for it except to rinse and repeat until he did. They’ve got almost half a decades’ worth of grievances to pull back up. 

(“Krupp won’t– can’t expel us for this,” George said the night before, his form backlit by a jumbo flashlight. “I mean, he’ll need us to ‘deal’ with Captain.”

The Treehouse’s windows were boarded up to get ready for the colder weather. They should be prepping it for winter, putting stuff away so it won’t get messed up, since they insisted they didn’t need George’s parents’ help, but here they were– 

“I mean, he could hold us back now.”

“But would he really want to keep us there if we keep doing this?”

Harold shivered. “Point taken.”)

The walkie-talkie in Harold’s pocket made a noise. 

“Yyyello’.”

“How’s it going?”

Right now, the ‘it’ in question was scoping out the cafeteria. The tables were all neatly arranged in rows and ready for whatever project the fourth graders will put on them later. There was no one here save for Edith, who was deep in the kitchen.

“Melvin’s stuff is here.” 

He made his way over to the Warp-Weft-shaped tarp. After double checking for any Tattle-Turtles, he was disappointed to find no obvious screws to loosen at the access hatch.

Harold began pulling at the spool on top, unsure of how exactly to mess it up outside of tying the thread in knots. One end of the thread snaked its way to the needle, while the other end–

The other end came out of a small hole, which in turn was connected to the strange hatch Melvin put in that material square that one time. He pulled out a pair of undies, courtesy of Captain himself, and stuffed it into the slot.

The sewing machine whirred, clearly having difficulty with processing a non-square material. The thread didn’t move to spool itself, but it must have processed it by the way the underpants were disappearing in the slot.

As for the computer: it reminded him more of the school printer. There were menus upon menus of settings. In any case, Harold set out to randomly poking at them all. Some he understood– audio commands on, because that may be useful for their plan since it would be easier than trying to get close to type anything out. Everything else?

“...What the heck is a Young’s Module?” Harold asked, less out of curiosity and more to commentate for George’s benefit. “What do you think? Max or minimum?”

“I mean, Krupp’s pretty old…” his voice crackled through the walkie talkie.

“High it is!” And with that, he quickly swiped it as far to the right as he could before quickly closing everything out to the first screen. “OK, I’ll get back to y–”

“Ben!” Edith’s voice called out from across the cafeteria.

Harold ducked under the tarp before either of them could see him.

“We got a situation. Krupp’s here,” he whispered loudly.

“What? Why?!”

Harold hazarded to peek at the small gap between the tarp and the floor. He had been expecting like-liking goo-goo talk. If he had to be honest, he would have preferred that to whatever angry inspector routine Krupp was doing.

“Checking, I think.” 

He tilted his head at the principal running a finger over a table for dust. The action was clearly more for acting out… whatever this was, than any actual concern for cleanliness. The lunch lady continued to trail behind him, trying– and failing– to start a conversation.

There was a quick inhaling noise through the speakers. “OK, give me a minute. Move when I give the signal.”

Harold didn’t reply, mostly because they were close enough that he could hear them. Even from this distance, he could see how heavy the bags under his eyes were. How his posture was more hunched than usual.

Krupp sighed deeply, and his shoulders sagged even further. “I’ve been through worse. Trust me.” It almost sounded like a plea.

The lunch lady had no time to dwell on a response as the intercom screeched to life.

“Principal Krupp, please report to your office immediately,” George’s voice crackled through the intercom with a mock-smug air.

“Oh, for–” Said principal ran past her brusquely that the pin that was keeping her bangs up over her face had jostled to cover half her eye.

The signal!

“Good talk!” she called after him belatedly, but made no move to go after him. Then with a big sigh, she mumbled, “I’m blowin’ this.”

And with that, she made her way back to the kitchen and finally gave Harold an opening to get out of there. He made a mad dash to the doors, making sure to not slam it as he trailed him. Now that he was in the hallway, the faint sound of crackling and shuffling echoed throughout.

“Hey, how far is he from the office?” George asked, his voice crackling from both walkie talkie and still-active intercom.

“He’s making his way up as we speak.” 

“Cool.”

Krupp was up the first half of the stairs when he turned around. He was breathing heavily, and it was definitely not just because he was speed-walking up the stairs.

“You two have got a lot of nerve disrupting everything–”

“You’re one to talk,” Harold replied, thinking about the pop science fair coming up in a few hours. To all their years in school. To the capital T Thing with Captain.

The principal halfway down a step to approaching him until–

SNAP. The sound reverberated through the school intercoms. For a split second he saw something cross his face. Wide eyes. Furrowed brows.

And then Captain Underpants fell on said face.

He snapped back up, the toupee sitting lopsided on his head. “Sidekick! Where’s–”

Harold held up the walkie talkie. 

“Up here,” George replied.

He gave an unsure look as he tried to find where up was in relation to a walkie talkie.

“In the office,” Harold clarified. He walked past him and up the stairs, motioning him to follow.

Captain stood up, wiping the grit from his cheek. It might be because he took a heck of a tumble, but there wasn’t the typical shock of liveliness he expected when he swapped in. All things considered, he was… well, maybe not calm, but expectant.

George was standing at the receptionist half of the office, one of the curtains tucked under his arm. 

“You ready?” Then, in a stage whisper to Harold: “Anthrope’s gone off because of… ‘printer repairs’.”

Harold stared at the empty corner of the room. There was a smattering of printer ink at the walls, outlining the office printer that was not there anymore. They couldn’t help but snicker conspiratorially.

“Er,” Captain leaned over to look at what had got their attention. “What’s the plan to Free The Children now, sidekicks?” 

“We’re putting Krupp through his own personal gauntlet.”

“I don’t think it’ll take long for him to crack.” Harold gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “We’ll make sure of it. Everything’ll be back to the way it was faster than–”

“A speeding waistband?” the superhero offered. He was definitely hiding it as he shimmied out of the principal’s clothes and put on his cape, but that same look was back on his face. 

“Exactly.”

“Where do we start?” He approached the ink stains on the wall, as if expecting the answer to pop out of the mess.

“Uh, Captain?” George pulled his attention back to the door of the principal’s office. He opened it with an overdramatic flourish. “Just step into our office for this first bit.”

Harold let out a low whistle at the sight. Every surface of the room was covered in sticky notes, leaving the room in an unsightly pale yellow that made the room look flat. Between the writing and the shadows, it did little to help figure out where everything was as Captain nearly tripped on a chair.

“What do you think of our Prankovation 2– trademark?”

Captain took to floating, mindful not to touch anything. He looked confused– he probably didn’t get things like irony yet. “…How long did this even take you?”

“Prankster’s trade secret.”

“This looks done, though,” he hedged. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help you here– especially with this–”

He gestured to his wrists, now tied together by jump rope courtesy of Harold. The boy went over to the sticky notes-engulfed water cooler and poured out a thimble’s amount into an open hand.

“For this one, we need to swap you back over to Krupp,” George explained. Seeing the superhero's disappointed look, he quickly continued: “This part's quick-- we're going to bring you back right after for the next bit.” 

“O– OK, then sidekicks. I trust you.” Captain twisted around so his face was in patting distance. This close, he could see the expression for what it was– hesitation.

And Captain was gone, leaving Krupp to fall on the floor, a flutter of pale yellow in his wake.

[pleasantspark]

GAH! WHY THE FUCK CAN'T I COMMENT OR REBLOOOG ON THE NEO-NAZI POST!?!!?!

Well you guys did it, you have restricted my replies to EVERYTHING. Shitting up and sperging and defending blatant neo-nazi rhetoric and shitting up my comments with your complaints ruined any sort of productive conversation.

Instead it resulted in defending or blantly disregarding the seriousness of Shota and Loli and all and all being a spectacle and disrespecting my main wish of not forcing me to repeat myself.

I will clarify.

She has not responded to the allegations and she did TWICE and defended that behavior

If you think its fine because its a character in the movie, and try to pull the "South Park DID IT DEFENSE." you're a idiot, because Viv isn't South Park nor the levels of Sasague Party, she's supposedly a staunch supporter of POC and LGBTQ+ Rights but drew shit that goes against it, thus making her a hypocrite

If you wanted to debate bro me, do it to where you're not adhomeiem me nigga seriously, I am a BLACK POC and I find it annoying most of y'all act brand new because of a accusation she can debunk.

Kiss my ass

VivziePop is never gonna answe, because she already implied her fans were neo-nazis and if she were to address it now, it's too little too late.

She defended the subhuman tweet as them being "exhausted of criticism." Ah yes, because I am exhausted of people saying Cell x Orion is shit so I like a tweet calling an entire group of people from different walks of life (including Jewish heritage) a term that Nazi's used. That's completely fine!!!1!!!

I am only accepting asks for Dragon Ball now, because two people have ruined my day and misconstrued every single point, if you really think she's not a neo-nazi ask her to respond, do it and come back to my profile.

You can still reblog from me but reblogging to start shit or inboxing me to start shit will result in a full scale call out once again starting an infight I am fucking done bringing assessments to a table and having the knee jerk response times of a people who consider these statements and drawings as fine or not enough, y'all niggas need to settle the fuck down and understand that these are allegations and not fucking claims.

Comments are restricted to mutuals and I hope KiwiFarms sees this SHIT. Because I am READY for the Critical Community to get a fucking thread.

Y'all have become an oboros of constant sperging and harassment to the point y'all wanna harass others who try and claim their sides or downright harass others for their involvement with another creator you don't like, you need to all grow the fuck up and block one another.

I am welcoming to this thread because everyone wanna claim I am a POS for one singluar fucking post, this is why I hate this community and I rather die then justifying my claims, she's a fucking neo-nazi and I'd kill myself on this hill for that, she's never gonna change and you need to accept that, instead of living in lala world.

Sorry if I am mad, it's just that those shitting up comment threads been going on for three days with no end.

I am done giving the benefit of the doubt, so if you wanna talk to me about DBZ go ahead, but for now only mutuals can mention and comment, do not drag me into infighting circles or talk shit about me to other critics because you got mad I called a racist and general transphobic woman a neo-nazi. Grow some pairs and learn to grow the fuck up.

I'm leaving this for you guys.

[pro-dumbledores-office]

Breaking Down Dumbledore's Outfits - Crimes of Grindelwald Edition

In the Fantastic Beasts prequels, Dumbledore's clothing gets a complete reboot. Instead of long sweeping robes, he dons a variety of tweed suits. The one problem with all of this is that it is a touch muggle looking, but as someone who adores muggle dress clothes, his outfits are still pretty great. Here is a breakdown of his outfits in Jude Law's first outing as Dumbledore.

1. London (1927)

When we first meet Dumbledore in Crimes of Grindelwald, he is standing on a roof looking out over interwar London. Dressed in a snazzy wide wale corduroy blue coat with the collar popped. The coat is double breasted and in true gentlemanly style he has not buttoned the bottom most button. The sleeves are polished off with squared off button tabs. He is also wearing a fedora with a slightly pointed crown (to make it look more wizardy) and rather narrow brim. The hat is a dark blue that matches the coat but has a pale gray ribbon around the crown. Always dressed for the occasion this outfit is Dumbledore at his most spymaster - dark and mysterious. Though a touch of whimsy still comes through in all his clothing (after all, does James Bond ever wear double breasted corduroy coats?).

Since Dumbledore wears his coat throughout his whole trip to London - the parts we see anyway - it is hard to get a good look at the suit he wears under it. Luckily for us, there are a number of behind the scenes shots of Jude walking around set with the coat off. These photos reveal that it is a grayish brown tweed suit. The style is very much a shooting suit - hence the four large pockets on the front that were historically used to hold ammunition. Truth be told, this is not the sort of thing that should be worn in the city but we can assume Dumbledore came straight from Hogwarts so we can forgive him this fashion faux pas. Like the suit, this is the best look we get at his tie which seems to be dark blue silk.

The suit is accessorized with with a small square watch in the style of a Cartier Tank with a brown leather band. The shoes are perhaps the most eccentric thing about the outfit. They appear to be brown suede with tiny cobwebs at the the tip.

2. Hogwarts (1927)

Next time we see Dumbledore he is in his element (at first anyway) - teaching the young minds of tomorrow and clearly loving every minute of it. Its also my favorite of the outfits we see Dumbledore wear in both movies. In these scenes, Dumbledore wears a light gray tweed three piece suit. Though it is not obvious in his classroom, when talking to Leta later that day it becomes apparent that the suit has very subtle red (almost pink) stripes on it. The jacket is a three button jacket but Dumbledore never seems to button it up. Like all of Dumbledore's suits in the films, the pants are high waisted which would have been the common cut for a pair of pants at the time.

He accessorizes the suit with a dark reddish brown tie that is from a thicker material than his blue silk one but not quite as thick as wool. Not entirely sure on the material and I am open to suggestion. The pocket square is a dark blue with a red and pink floral pattern. The most whimsical item in this outfit.

When we first see him, Dumbledore has the jacket off which gives us a good look at his shirt. Later when he is looking into the Mirror of Erised we get an even better look at a more informal (and this time vulnerable) Dumbledore. His collar is slightly longer and more pointed, which perfectly fits the style for the time period. Though the shirt looks white at times, the harder I look, the more I am convinced it is a very very light blue - almost white but not quite. He also wears small round silver cufflinks.

3. Hogwarts (1910)

When we journey back in time to witness the origins of Newt and Leta's friendship, Dumbledore is dressed even more professorially. Once again he is in brownish gray tweed (his trademark outfit for the Fantastic Beasts movies seems to be various shades of gray tweed). This one is a windowpane tweed that he pairs with a pale green sweater vest. This flashback is the one and only time we see Dumbledore in a fun little bow tie - a red one with white microdots. The pocket square for the outfit is a muted blue color with some sort of gold design on it. Dumbledore's polishes off his teaching outfit with another set of brown suede shoes. It is possible these are the same from earlier but impossible to know for sure at this distance.

4. Hogwarts Bridge (1927)

The last time we see Dumbledore in the film he is on the bridge leading to Hogwarts. Though I have tried my level best to find differences, I am almost one hundred percent sure this is the exact same outfit he wears in all his other scenes at Hogwarts. Perhaps he did not sleep the previous night while waiting to hear news from Paris? I am unsure but it sadly leaves me with little to say here. I can however provide a couple more pictures of the suit from different angles.

So that is the end of my breakdown of the Crimes of Grindelwald clothes of Dumbledore. Stay tuned sometime in the coming week for one on Secrets of Dumbledore.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

chat if i may speak

[turtleblogatlast]

Small but significant character moments that I actually really adore are from both the times we see the boys as tots. There is a reoccurrence that happens in both of them that I find so incredibly interesting.

For the turtle tot short, Splinter leaves the boys with weapons. In the short, Raph is the one who suggests they do “what Lou Jitsu would do” and Leo is the one who takes point when Splinter comes back to reprimand them. Leo, in taking point, is the one to defend them and get Splinter off their tails.

And then, in the flashback regarding the Kuroi Yōroi helmet, Raph is the one who grabs and throws “Skully” as a way to replace their missing ball which breaks it into pieces, but Leo is the one who speaks for the group and rushes into action to fix the teapot.

I love this for multiple reasons, but the biggest are how it shows that Raph has always been inclined toward the bold and fun and making the plans to include his brothers in what he loves and believes they’d love, whereas Leo has always been inclined to be the “Face” of the group and shoulder the attention even if it’s potentially negative all while coming up with on the spot attempts to fix the situation.

[howtodisappearcompletelyand]

20/10 stars little guy

[macchiatosdumptruck]

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[idiosyncraticrednebula]

People who say that Beauty and the Beast (1991) endorses Stockholm Syndrome and domestic abuse have very grossly missed the entire point of the story.