#cheese the day with puns

[cheesynotary]

Moving is the worst. But I'm back in Columbus where most of my clients are. So hopefully I'll be cheesin more business come my way. Then be able to save up enough cheddar to get my own wheels again and then take my business on the road! Just gouda market myself more and keep my focus. I got this. Sweet dreams are made of cheese 🧀 who am I to dis a brie. 😁 My cheese puns are feta than yours! I'm nacho average girl. 😘

[honeysunchild]

Libraries are just about the punkest places in existence and ppl wanna be transphobic in them? Not on my watch fuck you very much

[dazzlesizzle]

Check out the new product Nacho Average Day

[humbums-inatrenchcoat]

it's been, officially, ten years since i signed up for eldemore. i still remember the shape of that day; stumbling upon the site, probably from a CS thread, and clumsily navigating to the sign-up on my elderly secondhand phone with the pull-out keyboard. i remember agonizing over the username. thinking myself so smart when i pulled "interestingword" out of the ether - because it's a word that's interesting, see, aren't i clever - and looking with adoring fascination on the batches of ungrown pets i adopted immediately afterward.

i took to the forums. i was an idiot kid. i ran my mouth and posted everywhere and was unabashedly social, partaking in every activity i could find with ravenous enthusiasm. i stayed up late to make dozens of posts and send PMs, constant PMs, daily, good lord; yesterday i sent one PM to someone on FR, and immediately shut my computer off afterwards.

am i embarassed by so much of what i did back then? oh, 100%, no question. i promise my character has developed wildly since then. but do i regret it? god, no. i've made lasting friendships, all of whom i think of everyday, even if our actual orbits only bump occasionally. people shared recommendations for shows and music i maintain a vested interest in now, all these years later. my name, to those i know and love most, was coined on those forums by someone else's hand.

i can trace so much of who i am today to that curious evening ten years ago, signing up for a site with a cool dragon on the front page, and it is with flagrant honesty that i say: if i had the choice, i would still do it all again.

here's to ten more years, whatever the future holds for us. <3

[filled-with-fat]

How to have a RAPID💨 weight gain

You’ve always dreamed of getting fat, you’re obsessed with the idea of being overweight. But no matter how much you eat, the pounds never seem to stick. You’ve become trapped in this ‘skinny fat’ body — too fat to be considered a twink, but too skinny to actually be considered fat. So here’s what you’re gonna do:

1. Start eating earlier. When you’re trying to become obese, you need to change your eating habits to those of an obese dude. Fat guys don’t stick to the normal 3-meal-a-day routine, they’re constantly snacking and eating food. They’ve stretched their stomachs far beyond a healthy size for a human, which allows them to eat an excessive amount without feeling full. And you need to do the same. So, each morning set your alarm to 5am. You probably won’t have much of an appetite this early, regardless, it’s time to start eating. Make sure to chug at least 2 gainer shakes, before moving onto a palatable breakfast, perhaps with a large stack of pancakes topped with whipped cream? Good job, now you’ve had over 1,000 calories before the day has even begun.

2. At 9am, after you’ve slept on those calories, it’s time to fit in another breakfast. It’s important to cram as much in during this sitting! Maybe try another gainer shake, with a different flavour to *shake* things up (no pun intended). Then, move onto a full English, with extra helpings of bacon and eggs, alongside waffles topped with cream cheese and chocolate. Good boy, now it’s time to go and rest again. Remember to limit your movements so that you can maximise the calories you’ve just eaten.

3. Time for a mid-morning snack? You’re probably not even hungry yet considering you’ve already consumed over 3,000 calories in the past couple of hours, but to really start feeling those gains, it’s time to order a McDonalds straight to your door. Grab a BigMac, and a large side of fries, as well as two large cokes and a McFlurry for dessert. Your mid-morning snack should be larger than most people’s lunch. And when it comes, time how long it takes for you to get through it all. Remember, as you eat faster, you’re belly stretches, and eventually it will start getting easier and easier to fit a fuck ton of food inside of you.

4. Then you’re ready for lunch (hopefully you haven’t passed out yet). Invite a (fat) friend over, and order several large pizzas. Given how much you’ve already eaten, you’re probably going to struggle to eat a whole pizza, but with your fat friend by your side, who will doubtless be chomping up his slices, hopefully this should encourage you to do the same. Say goodbye to your friend, then head back to the couch. At this point in the day, you’re probably feeling so full that you never want to eat again, and you’re belly doubtless looks so bloated 🫃 it could pop at any moment. Take the afternoon to rest on the couch. And as soon as you start to feel a little lighter, reach for that chocolate bar you left on the coffee table.

5. Dinner time. It’s date night! Let your boyfriend take you to an all-you-can-eat Buffett, and don’t go shy! Make sure to wear a short sleeve tshirt, so that you can use the full length of your arms, to take as many plates of greasy food at a time. And when you start to feel bloated again, take a gut gummy to relieve your symptoms before piling into another stack of donuts 🍩 😋🤤

Repeat this routine daily, and hopefully you should start to feel a little heavier!

[letsgoletsgetit08]

soft hours pt. 1 - christmas

how they would celebrate christmas with you (plus a suprise they have trouble keeping secret)

hyung line

warnings: mdni, christmas fluff, smut

pairings: park seonghwa x f!reader, kim hongjoong x f!reader, jeong yunho x f!reader, kang yeosang x f!reader

word count: 3.4k

author's note: I picture this as slightly aged up members and their significant others, still famous and working in the industry but with solo careers (hence the ability to take actual time off for themselves). But I did try to keep that part vague. I'm not religious but I grew up with Christmas, but feel free to sub in whatever winter holiday tickles your fancy. Maknae line coming soon!

likes, comments, and reblogs always welcome as long as you're not a minor!

Park Seonghwa: Park Seonghwa loves Christmas and even moreso, winter. He has gifts and activities planned every day of December leading up to Christmas Day. He takes you ice skating, sledding, to have your picture made with Santa - even though you're both definitely too old, and yes, some of the gifts are small, like your favorite candy, some are tokens to use for quality time with him, he’s a big fan of an advent calendar. But some of the gifts, the ones closer and on Christmas proper, are very nice. Matching bracelets with both of your birthstones, a purse you had your eye on that you mentioned in passing earlier that year.

The gifts are wonderful but your favorite part is the quality time you get to spend with him. Christmas Eve is spent in the matching pajamas he gifted you, White Christmas playing in the background while the two of you assemble the Lego set you gifted him a day early, sipping on spiked apple cider and taking breaks for long, tender make out sessions and short bursts of aggressive kisses and cuddle attacks.

You take a break from building the set to read your book, curled up behind him on the couch, and when you inevitably nod off, he only pouts for a minute when you don't reply to his excitement about finishing an elaborate section of the Lego set, turning to see you with your chin to your chest, book slipping out of your hand.

You stir only when he's kissing your forehead and urging you to go brush your teeth because, “You always regret it when you don't, my little rein-dear”. He looks at you expectantly when he makes the pun and you try not to laugh at his stupid joke but you can't help it when he's cheesing in anticipation. He stares at you for a while as you fall asleep next to him in bed, watching your eyelashes flutter, resisting the urge to keep kissing your cheeks, lest he disturb you. He's too excited for the morning to fall asleep fast, but watching you is a treat.

He's up at the crack of dawn with anticipation and resists waking you up for as long as he can until eventually, he caves, situating himself between your legs, pulling down your underwear and taking his sweet time as he eats you out, his mouth gentle and languid as he eases you into consciousness. It's one of your favorite ways to wake up and he saves it for special occasions. By the time you're fully awake, you're a whiny mess, begging for him until he gives in, too excited to start the day to make this one of his longer sessions. 

“Merry Christmas to me.” You joke sleepily as he pushes inside of you slowly. 

“Mmh your pussy is the best gift I could have asked for.” He replies as he bottoms out. 

It doesn't take long for either of you to finish, and it takes every fiber in his being to not dash out of the room immediately to go get coffee started and watch you open your final gift, but he exercises some self control, cuddling you and helping you back into your pants. You giggle at his urgency. 

His last present is an envelope containing a hand-written love letter and two plane tickets for a weekend together over New Years on Jeju Island. He's just glad you’ve yet to find the ring he's had hidden in his closet for three months now. He plans to propose as the clock strikes twelve into the new year. 

Kim Hongjoong: Hongjoong is oddly withholding, nervous, and antsy around two weeks before Christmas when you assume your gift got delivered. He's bad about spending way too much on you, despite swearing up and down that it's, “Just something small!” Fortunately for you, you can tell when he's lying because his eyes go shifty and he gets cagey and jumpy. He feels bad he can't spend as much time with you as he'd like around the holidays but when you bring him coffee to his studio on Christmas Eve, he surprises you with a song he's working on about how he'd like to spend the holidays with you. 

“My mind kept drifting to you while I was trying to work on something else so I had to get this out of my system before I could keep working on something else. It's kinda cheesy but-”

“Joongie, no.” You pull him in for a kiss, laughing at his dumbfounded face, “It's perfect, baby. You know, I would be perfectly happy if this was the only thing you got me for Christmas.” 

“Baby! No way.” He pulls you into his lap on the couch in his studio, “You're far too special to me for that. Plus, I really think you're going to love what I got you.”

“What did you get me!?” You try to catch him off guard. 

“I-” He almost fell for it, “Hey! I'm not telling.” He starts to tickle you as punishment, ending with the two of you nose to nose, limbs tangled, horizontal on the couch. 

“Can you give me one gift early then?” You let your hands wander between his thighs, sticking your bottom lip out and widening your eyes, knowing he has a hard time saying no when you pout and plead. 

“You’re going to end up keeping me here all night.” He pretends to resist, but he was already kissing down the column of your neck and reaching for the hem of your shirt. 

“Please, Joong.” You didn't know which thing you were pleading for at that point as he derobed you and worked you open with his fingers before taking you right there in his studio, both of you glad for the sound proof room. 

You convince him later to give his work a rest for the night and come home to sleep in a real bed. The next morning, you wake to him sitting by you on the bed, meticulously wrapped gift in his hands, nearly bouncing with anticipation. 

“Baby-” You blink your eyes open, knowing you look a hot mess from your slumber. 

“Merry Christmas!” He shoves the gift in your hands. 

You unwrap it painstakingly slowly just to watch him vibrate on the spot in his excitement. 

It's a beautiful custom winter coat from Balmain, lined with silk that has Hongjoong’s “No1LikeMe” printed on it, exactly in your style and you can tell even before trying it on that it will fit perfectly.

“So this is why you needed my measurements in March. Not because you would lose a bet with Wooyoung.” You laughed at his silly excuse. 

“Yeah, yeah, you caught me but DOYOULIKEIT?!” His words rushed out as you tackled him to the bed. 

“Kim Hongjoong. I love it.” You pepper his face with kisses, “Please never tell me how much you spent on this.” 

He knew this commentary was coming because he gave you a smarmy grin, “Actually! This was a personal favor. It's one of a kind. Olivier refused to let me pay a dime because, ‘Your girl keeps you fed and for that I owe her.’ His words.” 

“Ask me from my childhood if I ever thought I'd have personal favor with a designer from a high end brand and I'd laugh in your face.” You shook your head as you checked yourself out in the mirror. 

“Thank you so much, baby.” You cage him in on the bed. 

“Wait, wait. Check the breast pocket before you seduce me again.” He says this a bit breathless and you think you might kill him if he proposes to you while you wear one of his old t-shirts, your Christmas underwear, and the coat he just gifted you. Not to mention you still had bed hair and morning breath. 

Kill or kiss, they were only two letters different, and you ended up choosing the second as you stared at the ring of your dreams in your hand. 

“Hongjoong-” You were at a loss for words. 

“Please marry me, my love. My life won't be complete until you agree to be bound to me spoiling you and surprising you by the law.” 

“Yes!” You kiss him, still in disbelief, “Yes, Hongjoong. Of course I'll marry you.”

You shimmy his pants down enough to free him and move your underwear to the side, too excited to do more, and take him in one go, making love to him wearing both of his gifts. 

“This is embarrassing but I got you the exact same things.” You joke as the two of you cuddle.

“Oh, how embarrassing!” Hongjoong jokes back. He's impossible to buy for, always getting himself what he needs as he discovers a need for it. 

He doesn't expect you to have put together a binder full of photocards for your final gift to him. You put together a collection of photos of the two of you and some of just yourself. Some naughty ones of just yourself. “I was tired of being the only one with the collection.” 

“It’s perfect,” He nuzzles his nose to yours, “My fiancé is a genius gift giver.” 

Jeong Yunho: The man loves the holidays and this year is certainly no exception. He's so excited because he's convinced your families to celebrate together on Christmas Eve. You're more than a little suspicious with his hushed phone calls and the guilty puppy face he makes when you ask who called and he has to make up a lie. Twelve days before Christmas he surprises you with your first gift, a pre-paid facial appointment. The other days follow suit with a massage, hair appointment, nail appointment, things of that nature, culminating with shoes, a dress, jewelry, and a very nice set of lingerie that he wants you to wear on Christmas. It's beyond obvious at that point, but you suspend your disbelief for his sake, knowing how excited he is for this moment. 

Christmas Eve with your combined families goes better than you imagined it would. The food was good, the wine and conversation flowed, and mass hadn't even lasted that long. He waits until everyone is playing charades in the living room, and he brings you up with him after pretending to read his word on the slip of paper, holding up 4 fingers to indicate it was a four-word answer. He scans the room with his eyes before taking your left hand in his own and getting down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?” You ask as if you're still playing the game. 

“You're too good at this game.” He kisses your hand and pulls the ring box out of his pocket, “Sweetheart, I'm convinced you were created just for me. Falling in love with you over these years has been the greatest joy of my life and I never want to stop. Will you please do me the honor of marrying me?” 

“Yunho…” Tears escape your eyes at his words, “I would love nothing more. Yes, baby.” 

He drops the ring box after removing the ring and slides it onto your finger before standing, picking you up, and twirling you around to the tune of the applause of both of your families. 

Later that night, he unwraps you like the gift he considers you to be, taking off the clothes he bought for you piece by piece before turning you into a panting mess on his mattress as he insists on getting you off with his hands and mouth twice before he finally pushes inside of you, guiding your legs back with careful hands until you're practically bent and half and he’s able to fuck you deep like you like it, the head of his cock kissing your cervix every few strokes. 

“Fuck, I love when you take me like this, honey. I can’t wait to fuck a baby into you.”

“God, yes, Yunho-” You groan as he hits your sweet spot over and over. “Give me a few years, but we can pretend in the meantime.” 

“Mmh, I like the sound of that,” He grunts from the effort, “Gonna fuck you so full.”

“Everyone will see I'm yours.” You're about to fall apart around him. 

“All. Mine.” He punctuates his words with thrusts, “All. Fucking. Mine. Forever. Fuck, baby, come with me.” 

“Yunho!” You cry out as you finish, your orgasm prolonged by the feeling of him pumping you full of his seed.

Truth be told, at least in the heat of the moment, you wouldn't have cared at all had he been able to get you pregnant right then. But you knew as you fell asleep in his arms, how peaceful it was with just the two of you, you would be glad you had a few years with him as yours alone before bringing a whole other human being into the mix.

Kang Yeosang: Yeosang was not necessarily a fan of the holidays before he met you, but he adores them now. More than anything, he adores watching you enjoy them. He buys you matching berets and thinks he's so slick booking the two of you a room at a ski lodge in Austria the week of Christmas. Neither of you intend to ski, but Vienna goes all out for the holiday and he wants to spend several snow days shopping, eating, and sightseeing with you. He buys you anything you show a slight interest in, despite your protests, but his real gift is tucked safely in his luggage at the lodge. 

Two days into your trip, the two of you are exhausted and decide to spend the day around the ski village rather than in the city. You find Yeosang staring at you with hearts in his eyes more than usual that day. Normally you would blush and tell him to stop, but today, you allowed it. After all, you were doing the same thing. 

“Oh! This looks fun!” He holds up a Sanrio puzzle he found in the kid section. “I know it's for kids but-”

“We're getting it.” You smiled at how his face lit up. He was so impossible to not just completely adore and fawn over at all times.

“What if we go back to our room, order room service, and open this bad boy up?” He asks you, conspiratorial glint in his eye.

“This is why I love you.” You kiss the apple of his cheek. He's had to train himself not to move so you can't reach him when you try to kiss his face, due to years of acting like he hated it when his friends would do it. 

“I love you more, angel.” He grabs your hand and leads you over to check out, calling a slightly mispronounced “Bitteschön!” over his shoulder to the woman working the cash register on the way out. 

After dinner, spiked hot chocolates in hand, fireplace roaring in the hearth, the two of you work on the puzzle in comfortable silence. As much as you love talking to Yeosang and would pay good money to live inside his brain for a day, you cherish the fact that the two of you can have such peace in one another’s company. No compulsion to disturb the stillness. 

“Oh!” Yeosang looked up after a while, “Look, jagi. It's snowing!” 

“Really?!” You loved the snow. Well, you loved looking at the snow. 

“I wish it could snow inside. But not be cold.” Yeosang stood, pulling you to your feet and leading you over to the big bay window overlooking the powdery slopes.

“You know what? Yeah, that sounds ideal.” You chuckle, amused as ever at how his mind works. You tuck yourself under his arm and he picks up on your cue, pulling you securely to his side. 

Sure, it had been snowy the whole time you'd been there, but there was something magical about the big, fat flakes swirling in the air and glittering as they fell on the ground in the bright moonlight. 

“We'll probably be snowed in tomorrow.” Yeosang concludes as the two of you watch it accumulate, pulling you in front of himself so he could loop his arms around your waist and kiss the side of your neck.  

“I mean, we're at a ski resort-”

“Shh, babe. We're going to be snowed in tomorrow.” Yeosang says a little more firmly. 

You catch his drift, “Oh! Right. Yes. We'll definitely be snowed in tomorrow! Oh no! What will we do?” You humor him. 

“Don't worry, my beautiful girl, I'll make sure we're entertained all day while we're snowed in.” He mumbles in your ear, his voice low and carrying an unmistakable edge of desire on it.

“Mmh, like what?” You answer, breath hitching in your throat as his hands roam your body, one of them skimming the waistband of your pajama pants, the other finding a light but possessive position around your neck, “I can think of several things. But to start I'm going to fuck you against this window so we can watch the snow fall as I make you come over and over again on this cock.” 

“Fuck, Sangie-” You gasp as his hand blazes a trail to your core, knowing it will already be wet for him because he knows well what he does to you.

He's good to his word, dedicated as ever to your pleasure, stretching you around his girth, fingers on your clit as he makes you come the first time, heeding your request happily to move in front of the fire as you caught a chill with your bare face and nipples pressed to the cold window. 

He lays down one of the many plush blankets in front of the fireplace, ensuring you're comfortable before kissing down the slopes of your form, mouth landing between your legs, fingers taking over what his dick finished the first time, taking a more leisurely route to your release the second time, but quick to stuff you full again immediately afterwards for the third, words lost on both of you as pleasure rolls through your bodies in tandem. 

He washes your hair in the shower afterwards and you're nearly overwhelmed with love for the man you get to call yours. Perfect in every way. 

Both of you realize it's well past midnight as you cuddle together in bed, “Merry Christmas, precious.” Yeosang smiles at you, eyes once again full with a depth of love you had seen before but not as often as you had recently. 

“Merry Christmas, Sangie.” You return his gaze, hoping he knows just how much you mean it. 

“Marry me.” He blurts out, lost in your eyes, “Sorry, I had a whole thing planned and I have a ring, I swear-” 

You cut him off with a kiss, “Kang Yeosang.” You snicker, “Yes. God, yes, I'd be so happy to.” 

“Really?” He smiles so big it looks like it hurts his cheeks and it definitely hurts your heart with how pure and sweet he is. 

“Yes, baby, of course!” You kiss him again, unable to resist. 

The kiss deepens and your activities from earlier have an unprecedented encore, all but rendering your shower pointless as you fall apart repeatedly in one another's arms well into the early hours of the morning, watching the sunrise paint the ground pink, the exact shade, you note, of the birthmark by Yeosang’s eye. 

The two of you sleep late into the day. You're disoriented for a moment as Yeosang flies out of bed and begins rummaging through his luggage, finally finding what he sought and returning to bed with the ring box in hand. You had almost forgotten, or thought it was a dream, and you can't stop the tears as they fall when he fits the most beautiful ring you've ever seen onto your finger. 

“I'm yours. Forever. For as long as you'll have me, my love.” Yeosang’s deep voice rumbles through your bones, rearranging your neurotransmitter transporters to stop the reuptake of the norepinephrine, serotonin, and dopamine that was produced any time he spoke. 

“I want you forever, Yeosang.” 

And it was true. You were sure you were the happiest and luckiest person on earth to have earned the trust, love, and dedication of the man beside you. He felt the same way and he intended to show it to you every day for the rest of your life.

[drtwit]

Random Fic Idea

Since I've been seeing more people reading this post, just a heads up: the fic has been made.

______________________________________________________________

You know, we have a lot of 'Villain Chat Noir' AU fics, but is there any that have it be positive?

Like, Adrien getting to work along side his father actually leads to more father/son bonding because their villain identities are both goofy drama queens who finally found something they have in common. As well as both having outlets for the frustration of what they have to pretend to be in their real lives.

In the day time, Gabriel is sitting in his office, lecturing Adrien about upholding the Agreste name and dolling out his strict schedule. By night, Hawkmoth and Chat Noir are hold up in the lair, brainstorming puns and quips while Chat gently tells him to stop akumatizing Mr. Pigeon.

Their version of a fishing trip is stealing from the Dupain Bakery. "We're rich, can't we just pay?" "No, because we're evil." *Chat proceeds to leave money on the counter anyway.*

Gabriel coldly reprimands Adrien for getting anything less than an A, while Hawkmoth akumatizes the teacher who dared give his son a B+.

Ladybug is like 'Oh my god, there's two of them.' as Chat and Hawkmoth synchronise their team rocker-ass intro speeches and Mayura's just shaking her head because she has to live with these two goobers.

Gabriel's making a snobbish speech about those damn hooligans wasting their time with silly shenanigans, all while Adrien's resisting the urge to laugh 'cus Hawkmoth akumatized a baby yesterday and spent half of the fight trying to get the baby to pronounce his name right.

Master Fu wonders what horrors the villains are putting his innocent kwamis through, and it just cuts to Nooroo and Plagg dropping the beat.

Chat: *Starts helping old ladies across the street.* Hawkmoth: I knew that Marinette Dupain Cheng was a bad influence on you!

Adrien in the middle of class having a heart attack as an akuma flies straight into the window trying to get his attention. Adrien: Father, now is not the time! Hawkmoth: I just- I just- I just want to check if Chloe's pissed anyone else off yet. Adrien: Didn't Nathalie say no akumatizing until you finish your paperwork? Hawkmoth: She's not the boss of- Nathalie: Gabriel, I can hear you monologuing from the dining room. You better not be interrupting Adrien's education! Hawkmoth: Gotta go!

Adrien: Father, can you not akumatize one of my friends for five minutes?

Hawkmoth: Young man, what do you think you're doing? Plagg: Don't panic, Kid. Show him who's boss. We don't take grief from anybody. Adrien: I'm r-rebelling, Father. You don't own me! Hawkmoth: I do, however, own all of Plagg's cheese. Plagg: ...Okay, Kid, let's think about this-

[wiselyghost]

《Incorrect Quotes mw2》

Y/n: we can't tell you because your not part of the club

Alejandro: What club?

Y/n: The hating Graves club.

Alejandro: …The fuck? I should be the leader of that club!

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Soap: Are you a painting?

Y/n: What-?

Soap: Because I want to pin you to a wall.

Gaz: OH GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY YOU WANTED TO HANG THEM OR SOMETHING-

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Y/n: WHO ATE MY BREAD?!

Y/n : I'M GOING TO FUCKING K-

Simon : I did?

Y/n: Kiss you and buy some more, you haven't been eating anything today Simon .

*walking away*

Simon :

Simon : Their gone Soap.

Soap, coming out the closet with bread stuffed in their mouth: Twankh uh!

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Simon , working at McDonald's: Sorry sir, we don't serve a McFuck here, so either you throw that one slice of pickle out or we're gonna have a McProblem.

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Y/n: You know, , when you generalize, you tell general... lies.

Gaz: ...

Gaz: Are you trying to teach me moral lessons through puns.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

König : May luck (and this picture of Y/n eating shredded cheese at 3 in the morning) be with you.

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(Gaz trying to flirt 💀)

Gaz: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out?

Y/n: ...Have you never taken a shower before?

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Gaz: When you said 'Magic in Bed', I wasn't expecting this...

Y/n: *pulls out card from deck* Now, was this your card?

Gaz: Holy moly-

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Price: So, y/n is no longer allowed to take the trash out at night.

Soap: Why?

Price: Because I've caught them trying to train raccoons to fight five times in a row.

Y/n, arms crossed and pouting: You'll be thanking me when the third raccoon battalion saves your ass.

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Alright that is all folks thought this would be funny to share if you guys have any requests l will be happy to see them but before you do go to my page and check out the post where it talks about what l can and can't write and other things l will do in the future love you all and have a wonderful day/morning/night :) <3

[pretzel-box]

I have a funny headcanon. Sebastian loves dad jokes. He's an old fart after all and he just looks like that. How about I request Seb with reader who knows a lot of dad jokes

Tags: Super bad jokes I googled, bear with me. Sebastian and Reader sharing a braincell and the same humour. Comedy.

Words: 1,4k

Authors Note: The Impasta got me.

Sebastian had never been one for humor. Down in the depths of the Blackside, there wasn’t much to laugh about. The darkness, the constant threats, and the never-ending struggle to survive were no joke. But there was one thing he had always secretly liked, something he’d never admit to anyone down here: dad jokes.

It had started as a way to pass the time, a way to distract himself from the cold emptiness of the halls. He had found an old book once, torn and waterlogged, filled with terrible puns and silly one-liners. At first, he had scoffed, but then… he started reading. And to his surprise, he found himself chuckling. The jokes were so bad, they were actually good. They were simple, lighthearted���a rare commodity in this place. They were a small slice of normalcy in a world that had long forgotten what “normal” even meant.

So, when you first wandered into his shop, dripping with sweat and shaking off the nerves of a close encounter with some unnamed horror, the last thing he expected was for you to make him laugh.

“Hey, I'm back!” You called out.

“Sup’ Back, I'm Sebastian.” You two laughed before he continued.

“Rough day?” he’d asked, eyeing you with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

You had nodded, catching your breath. “Yeah, ran into some… thing in the hallway. Almost took my head off.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, they do that sometimes,” he replied dryly, leaning back against the wall. “Gotta watch your head.”

You nodded, but your eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to keep it attached. Bad habit to lose your head, you know.”

He chuckled, despite himself. “You’ve got a point.”

You grinned, catching him off guard with your next line. “Hey, speaking of points… what do you call cheese that isn’t yours?”

Sebastian blinked. “What?”

“Nacho cheese,” you said with a deadpan expression.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, unexpectedly, Sebastian laughed—a short, sharp sound that echoed through the dimly lit shop. It was the first genuine laugh he’d had in… well, he couldn’t even remember how long. You joined in, your own laughter bright and contagious.

From that moment on, you were hooked on getting him to laugh again. Every time you came by the shop, you’d try a new joke, a new pun, a new one-liner, and every time, Sebastian found himself waiting for it, looking forward to it even. He’d pretend to be annoyed, rolling his eyes or shaking his head, but he couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at his lips.

“Why don’t skeletons fight each other?” you asked one day, leaning over with a grin.

Sebastian sighed, but his eyes were sparkling. “Why?”

“They don’t have the guts,” you said, your expression serious.

He snorted, covering his mouth with one of his hands to hide his grin. “You’re terrible,” he muttered, but there was no hiding the laughter in his voice.

You laughed too, clearly delighted with yourself. “Come on, you know you love it.”

He shook his head, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “Maybe a little,” he admitted.

You had a knack for it, a way of turning even the darkest situations into something a little brighter, a little more bearable. You made him laugh, even when he didn’t want to, even when he was tired or frustrated or feeling the weight of this place pressing down on him. Your humor was like a breath of fresh air, a light in the darkness.

One day, after a particularly close encounter with a wall dweller, you came back to the shop with a new joke ready. “Hey, Seb,” you called as you entered, breathless but grinning. “Why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself?”

He glanced up from his spot, already smirking. “Why?”

“It was two-tired,” you said, your grin widening.

Sebastian shook his head, chuckling. “You really have a thing for these, don’t you?”

You shrugged, leaning against the wall beside him. “What can I say? Life’s too short to be serious all the time.”

He looked at you, his smile softening. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess you’re right.”

There was a pause, a comfortable silence settling between you. And for a moment, just a moment, it was easy to forget where you were, easy to forget the dangers lurking just outside the door. In that moment, it was just the two of you, sharing a laugh and a smile in a darkened shop.

Sebastian didn’t say it out loud, but he was grateful for you—grateful for the way you made him laugh, for the way you brought a little light into his world. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with a soft spot for dad jokes after all.

Sebastian leaned back against the wall, his grin slowly fading into a competitive smirk. "Alright, since you're so keen on these dad jokes, how about a little competition?" he challenged, his fluorescent eyes glinting with mischief.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in with a matching grin. "Oh, you think you can out-joke me, Seb? You're on," you replied confidently. "But just so you know, I've been preparing for this my whole life."

Sebastian chuckled, crossing his arms. "We'll see about that. First one to laugh loses. Deal?"

"Deal," you agreed, taking a deep breath to steel yourself. "You go first."

Sebastian thought for a moment, his face serious. "Alright," he said slowly, "Why don't oysters donate to charity?"

You tilted your head, trying to keep your expression neutral. "Why?"

"Because they're shellfish," Sebastian said with a perfectly straight face, though the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

You fought the urge to smile, barely keeping it together. "Not bad," you conceded, "but I've got a better one. Why did the math book look sad?"

Sebastian’s lips twitched again. "Why?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

"Because it had too many problems," you said, your eyes twinkling.

Sebastian let out a small chuckle but quickly coughed to cover it up. "Alright, not bad, not bad," he admitted. "Your turn."

"Why did the scarecrow get promoted?" Sebastian asked, his tone deadpan, knowing this one was a classic but with potential to get you.

You smirked. "I don’t know, why?"

"Because he was outstanding in his field," he replied, his voice steady.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. "That’s a good one, but I’ve got another. What do you call fake spaghetti?"

Sebastian tilted his head. "What?"

"An impasta," you said, and for a moment, you could see his resolve cracking.

He chuckled again, shaking his head. "That’s terrible," he groaned, though he couldn’t hide his smile. "Alright, my turn."

He leaned in a bit closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Why did the coffee file a police report?"

You frowned, genuinely curious. "Why?"

"It got mugged," Sebastian said, a hint of laughter in his voice.

You snorted before you could stop yourself, and Sebastian’s grin widened. "Ha! Got you," he declared triumphantly.

You waved a hand, still trying not to laugh. "Alright, alright, you got me. But it’s not over yet!" You took a deep breath. "Okay, here’s one for you: Why can't a nose be 12 inches long?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because then it would be a foot," you said, trying to keep a straight face.

Sebastian’s lips twitched, but he held it together. "Not bad," he admitted, "But I’ve got another one. What’s orange and sounds like a parrot?"

You blinked. "What?"

"A carrot," he said, his face deadly serious.

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, the image too ridiculous. Sebastian threw his hands up in victory. "Yes! I win again!"

You shook your head, still laughing. "Fine, fine, you win," you said, catching your breath. "But I’ll get you next time, Seb."

Sebastian grinned, his eyes warm. "Looking forward to it, Starfish," he replied. "But I’ve gotta admit, this is the most fun I’ve had in a while."

You smiled back, the warmth in his voice making your heart flutter a bit. "Me too," you said softly. "Me too."

And in that dimly lit shop, amidst the darkness and danger of the Blackside, you both found a small slice of joy, and you had to admit, this might become a regular thing. After all, there are many untold dad-jokes in the dark of the Hadal Blackside, waiting to be told.

[kimberly-spirits13]

How Bruce Wayne Is On Your Period

This is really just meant to make me feel better tbh- lol kill me

He won't tell you, but he knows that it's starting 

like come on- the mood swings are terrible, you get more violent on patrol (you put Joker in the hospital for a few days), you're quicker to be snide towards shady business partners, you cried when you dropped a cracker and then went right back to normal, like seriously 

When you start to get bad PMS symptoms, you don't do patrol for the week

It's hard to control feelings, thoughts, and painful cramps while fighting crime

You're basically on probation from patrol

You and Alfred make a lot of food (or Alfred makes it happily and you devour it)

Bruce tries not to stay away during patrol for too long since you start to worry about him and he really, really worries about you when you're not feeling well

He makes sure to bring home lots and lots and lots of chocolate and meds if that's what you need

Goes to your favorite bakery and gets a massive amount of whatever you want 

Makes sure that you get plenty of water

like all the water because it helps so much 

Is totally fine with you raiding his closet for any sweatpants and massive t shirts

doesn't care if there's blood anywhere or if you ruin a set of sheets

he's a billionaire, it's not a loss 

he makes sure you aren't uncomfortable or if you need space, that you have it but you know that he's there when you need 

Sometimes being around guys when you're on your period is gross and idk why it's just like ugh get away from me you trash bag 

speaking of trash bags, if anything grosses you out or starts to make you feel icky (even if it usually doesn't), he totally removes it from your presence 

for me, it's cheese and weird or strong smelling things 

or anything that looks slimy or too rough *bleh*

If you're ever feeling bloated or just really really gross, Bruce is the hype man

"no gorgeous, you're stunning, exquisite, perfect, amazing, I'm in the presence of an angel babe." he'll spin you around and press kisses all over you 

"No, don't say that about yourself, you're so pretty, you're not gross."

I mean he's like this all the time, but he'd definitely play way way into it if you're feeling down

If you're married and wearing a wedding ring, he gets the ring custom made to be adjustable incase you fingers swell 

I can see you expressing something nasty about yourself like that you hate a scar or you feel like you're stupid or something and he'll start crying when you start crying 

like don't say that dude it's not nice to yourself 

You feel like a sweaty hog because your body is pushing out blood and tissue 

you're going into mini labour, leave yourself alone

When you can't sleep, he pulls you very tightly into him and plays with your hair 

braids it into a hundred tiny braids or brushes it 

anything that relaxes you

you probably have a treasure trove of comfort movies and tv shows and if you can't sleep or just want to watch something, he'll happily stay up with blankets wrapped around the two of you and watch whatever

rubs your back and makes sure that you're taking pain medicine every few hours to stay in your system 

sometimes when he's working in the cave and you're lonely but not feeling good, you'll wrap yourself in a large blanket and sit on his lap, head against his chest while he works

He thinks you're like a cat and finds it adorable 

You basically turn into a cat for a week and maybe some change and he finds it very very funny

makes sure that there are no galas or any meetings that you have to deal with

plans events and meetings around your periods to make sure that when you're on it, you don't have to deal with high society because they make anyone's blood boil (no pun intended)

When you get mad or start crying, he doesn't take it personally at all and just lets you get it out

sometimes laying in the fetal position for a few hours and falling asleep is the best thing that can happen for periods and he will happily cuddle you the entire time, even if it's not the optimal position for cuddling 

he tries to stay as neutral as possible on subjects when you're on your period so that you don't kill someone because he seemed equally as unhappy 

trust me, period mood swings are incapacitating, it's not a snarky thing, it's just so so sosososoososososoooooooo bad

please don't talk to me when I'm in my mood swing phase, I'll accidentally insult you and then cry about it later or decide never to talk to you again 

Local villains will not pull insane shenanigans while you're on you're period because they're terrified 

Terrified. 

if batman has to call in the calvary, its the calvary call out of hell

You're busting skulls and taking names the entire time 

Bruce is scared, the villain is scared, everyone is terrified of this blood thirsty being that wants everyone to be in as much pain as they are

Bruce knows that the world is insufferable and being super hormonal and feeling disgusting and being in pain doesn't help ignoring that fact, or even just living with it

He just wants you to feel better 

Bruce gets sad when you don't feel well 😂

[opiopal]

mc actually helping solomon improve his cooking .... Tooth rotting fluff

dude the first thing I thought of was matching aprons,

like maybe they don’t even say anything cute on them, or maybe they do, but it’s absolutely a baking pun,

but I also immediately thought of mc having to let him down gently like…. Pookie your cooking has almost killed all of us at some point… but that’s ok because i know how to Cooke more then just mac’n cheese! I can imagine mc starting him off with very basic stuff, like things you’d make in a highschool culinary class. They’d start him off with a simple stir fry, just with noodles, chicken, and some veggies- and after multiple attempts he gets something that doesn’t resemble the souls of the damned! Which they are both equally excited about!! Mc boasts about him to the others and shows off pictures that they took of his edible creation, the others may not be as impressed but they do give a simple compliment or two(strictly just bc mc is the one so happy abt it- also half the time it’s praise given to mc for being so willing to take on such a challenge)

as time goes on they could even start having little cooking dates, which is just them both working in the kitchen together, which normally consists of Solomon asking what would be a good ingredient to add into the stew/fish/chicken/potatoes, and mc typically steering him away from things that would make the food inedible- but over time they end up with better and better meals for dinner! I could also see mc going up to the human realm with Solomon once he gains enough experience to participate in a potluck! And he’s just so excited for weeks before the trip, what should he make? He heard that chili is popular- but if it’s popular then other people would be doing it too! Maybe something sweet? He couldn’t do a cake or cupcakes since making enough to feed everyone, since it would be too much of a hassle to carry with them. Maybe he could make some sort of stew or soup- or he could try making ravioli noodles from hand! Oh but that would also take a very long time, though of course mc would help him. eventually mc helps him to make up his mind, and it’s such a blast. Even though the food they end up bringing is a bit simple, it’s very much so enjoyed by the other people there! And honestly the smile on his face is just so precious,

also mc totally has a chart hung up on the wall for him, which is basically little cooking tips, like, you made something a little too sweet? Add a small amount of vinegar or lemon juice slowly to combat it. Do not mix too much baking powder with a cake batter unless you also want to be feeding the oven. Is the stew a little bit thin? Let it simmer a bit longer- is your sauce a bit thin as well? Try a bit of flower or heavy whipping cream, in small amounts. Ect. ect. and mc absolutely makes him call them whenever he has questions, it doesn’t matter the time of day, mc would rather step out of a student council meeting for 5 minutes then come home to the kitchen being completely destroyed…

[crystallizedtwilight]

🎃 LSBC Questions: Part 16! 🎃

Lock, Shock, Barrel, and Calliope questions that call for quick answers will be under the cut in batches of 10-15 🧡

Previous bulk questions batch

First one to complain would be called a BABY so they were all troopers!

LSB always go as themselves for Halloween—a witch, imp, and ghoul. Removing their masks to reveal that they're the real deal is still their favorite trick!

There are so many to choose from! The Fog Juice prank is a classic (and the queen agrees)

You mean what did Lock do when Barrel was on his date with Belladonna? Run off, finally realize his feelings, panic, cry, spiral...

Calliope is my OC!

Jack isn't the best at noticing that sort of thing. Maybe Sally drops a line about it years later and he's like "Is that so??"

They'll swim in the town lake if they're looking for something brisk, but for more beachy days they'll head to 4th of July town during the off-season or a secluded human world beach!

Lock and Barrel love junk food! Mac n' cheese, pizza, and candy count as 3 balanced meals! Shock has a more sophisticated palate, enjoying things like salads, tea with honey, or a lemon-lavender cake.

Thrift stores or hot topic type places. He looks the most human so he just walks in haha. If they're wearing something cool, Sally made it. If they're wearing something with a corny pun on it, Barrel found it.

Shock and Lock never force Barrel to accompany them so there's nothing Barrel ever needed to refuse. And the mischief Shock and Lock concoct is (mostly) harmless, which Barrel doesn't mind participating in. He loves being with his friends, so the activity doesn't really matter. If they're having fun, he's having fun!

[sugarcreambiteskingdom]

https://www.tumblr.com/dollyrin/764243962401849344/hey-yo-can-i-request-headcannons-of-the-ancient?source=share

I'm not the original Anon but I would like to see your take on this idea

Cream Oreo Cookie: Sure thing! I'll do my best because I didn't read the whole thing and only the ask of it 😅

Pure Vanilla Cookie

The way you steal everything in his castle and then bring it back confuses him and got him interested in it actually

Instead of stealing the artifact or anything that holds great value in history or could be sold for riches you bring it back

Though there is one thing you stole that you never went and give it back which was his heart

As he walks through the halls just to get a glass of water he would saw a glimpse of you in the darkness on the window ready to leave..."Y/N Cookie?" He called out to you

Which you only turned your head around and gave him a wink which immediately made him blush and had his heart skip a beat

And just like that...you took his heart and never gave it back...which he doesn't mind at all actually...

Now every once in a while he will stay up and wait for you...

White Lily Cookie

She was confused on what you want to steal from her when she barely has anything that worths anything since she's always on the move...

Unless you want her soul jam that is? And yet you never touched it..

But you did stole her tools and items she needs for her expedition and has to wait a whole day for you to give it back

She got used to it at this point and while she waits for her items to brought back she improvised to what she can use which actually helped her to be more creative with her ways of doing things like...climbing a mountain...getting something away from her path...or how to light a campfire and etc

You we're very helpful and Wonderful in her perspective..

And she wants to also thank you for giving her flowers in each item you gave back to her

Hollyberry Cookie

You are one cheeky Cookie to be stealing her juice every once and awhile and give it back while putting sticky notes on every juice you stole giving it ratings whether you like them or not which surprised her and actually find it quite funny and entertaining

At this point she would put one of her personal favorites out and check if you like it and some of it did made it to be one of your favorites which she was glad

Wild berry Cookie on the other hand is confused to why Her Majesty is even entertaining this but unfortunately he can't do anything about it let alone his son either...

So they let her be

In one of the juice you stole you actually found a sticky note on it saying..."You do know having juice all alone is very dull right? But having a plus one doesn't!"

Dark Cacao Cookie

You are one very odd Cookie for him

I mean how can you break in his walls and stole some of his weapons but what is much more baffling is the fact you put it back where you find them

You even out sticky note on some weapons saying where you got in and how you managed to get the said weapon which...helped him to actually be more secure and improvised with his way of securing his kingdom which he..thank you for that...

Those notes also have small puns from here and there which he unfortunately inherited from you despite how he has it but...because of you...he starts to actually smile which he won't admit Ofcourse

Golden Cheese Cookie

She was amazed from your greediness and how you managed to get pass her most trusted and most strongest guard of the gates Burnt Cheese Cookie

You stole a lot of gold from her and yet you give it back...you are one interesting Thief Y/N Cookie

She told Burnt Cheese Cookie to actually let you pass which he was baffle and even was taken a back from that but...he can't do anything because her Majesty has made up her mind so...he lets you in whether he likes it or not

Until...you gave her a sticky note saying to let him fight you because you had fun playing with him and his jackals and snakes

Burnt Cheese Cookie was not sure if he should be annoyed or relief to not let in a thief like you into the Golden City whether you give the stolen items back or not

Golden Cheese Cookie was entertained by your greediness and wondered if you plan on stealing more artifacts from her in her Golden City and Palace

[freedomfireflies]

iFall for Harry pt. 9

Summary: The ninth part to iFall for Harry

Turns out, destiny has other plans for you and Harry.

And you're taking a trip...back to the future.

Word Count: 2.2k

Grieving Harry is linear.

The moment the call goes dead, so does your connection to him.

Your heightened emotions dwindle down to nothingness. Your memories, your pain, your past. Every cheese pun, every sexy text, every word from his lips.

You erase them all.

You shut out a majority of the world. Revert back to a state of mind where you refuse to trust or engage with anyone. You protect yourself. Punish yourself for letting him get away. For being so broken. For being everything he doesn’t want.

And for making him everything you do.

You don’t work through the problem. You don’t even allow yourself to admit there is a problem. You simply tuck him away into the darkest corner of your mind…and you forget him.

Your friends are worried about you. They reach out, they plan dates, they arrange sleepovers. 

You decline them all.

You stay in your apartment, and you watch old reruns of The Big Bang Theory, and you pretend to laugh at the jokes you’ve heard a hundred times before. 

But most importantly, you pretend like Harry didn’t mention this was one of his comfort shows and that that’s why you’re watching it.

Two weeks go by. Nothing changes for you. You’re still a hollow version of yourself. Dedicating each day to wondering why you couldn’t have just…gotten over your fear. Gotten over what happened to you. And just…let him in.

Your therapist tries to tell you that healing takes time. Trauma lives within the body and no amount of cute boys and perfect scenarios will change that. Until you learn to forgive yourself, you will always be stuck.

 She might be right. But unsticking yourself now doesn’t bring him back.

Occasionally you’ll hear that he’s doing well. He’s on tour. He’s booked a new movie. He’s been caught making out with a model.

But it falls on deaf ears. Passes right through you like air. You’re indifferent now. Choosing to pretend as if he never existed to you.

Now he’s just that famous guy nobody will shut up about.

But on those late nights, when the fragility of your heart slips the crack of your apathetic persona…you pull up his contact.

You have it blocked. Nearly deleted it countless times so you’d lose the temptation to memorize his number and find a way to reach him.

Still, you can’t resist typing out a message. You’ll pour out your heart, write him paragraphs of apologies and explanations. You’ll wish for things to go back. Wish for his happiness. Wish for everything.

And then, you’ll hit the delete button.

Erase everything you want to say, exit out of his information, and turn your phone off.

You almost don’t see the email.

You’re going through your inbox, cleaning it out, responding here and there. But mostly rifling through all the ads so you can delete them and create a bit more space.

The name Marty McFly is what catches your eye. And despite yourself…you click.

Back to the Future! One Night Only! Buy your tickets now!

Your local theater is doing a triple feature, one movie each night for the next three days. You almost don’t consider it. Almost click out of the advertisement and move on.

But then you think of Harry. Think of how you promised to take him, and your heart sinks a little as you stare at the painted poster of Michael J. Fox standing in front of the time traveling car while staring at his watch.

You decide to go. It’ll be nice to watch something that fills you with so much joy. It’ll be good to laugh again. And to revel in the opportunity to forget, at least for a couple of hours.

You think about it for the rest of the week. Countdown the days until you can finally make your way for the theater. 

It feels good to go out again. Feels good to have the sunshine on your face and the promise of a good time ahead of you.

When you slide up to the booth, you’re wearing a smile. A real, genuine smile.

“Hi! Can I get one ticket to the five o’clock showing?” you ask the ticket taker, who nods and accepts your cash.

With that, you’re waved through the doors, and your heart begins to pound. The smell of popcorn and promise washes over each sense as you grab your snacks, and look for your specific door.

After slipping your way inside, you take a look around the darkened theater.

However, the room is empty. At least a hundred seats without a single soul to use them.

Your brows furrow. “The hell is everyone?”

You walk along the aisle, looking for the best seat until you decide on the middle chair about halfway back. 

Snuggling down with your popcorn, you settle in, and wait for the opening credits. Truth be told, you feel a bit odd to be taking up a whole theater by yourself, and you have to wonder if perhaps you got the date wrong. Or maybe the time? Maybe you’re early? Although according to your clock, the movie should be starting any second now.

And then…someone else walks in.

You release a relieved breath as the dark shadow strides along the aisle similar to how you had, looking for a seat as well. Selfishly, you hope they don’t get too close.

Then, they turn down your row.

Shit.

Returning your focus to the dark screen, you pretend not to notice, instead studying the velvet red curtain that’s draping on either side.

The stranger stops right beside you.

Assuming that they’d like to pass by, you glance over, and begin to pull your legs in.

You make the mistake of looking up.

And your heart instantly sinks to the soles of your shoes.

Harry.

“Hi. S’this seat taken?”

The sound of his voice makes your stomach drop to your toes. Even in the dark, you can make out the familiar slope of his nose and sharp curve of his jaw.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know if he recognizes you or if he knows what he’s even doing.

Either way, you swallow thickly, and nod once.

He smiles.

After settling down into the chair beside you, he sighs, and wiggles back into his seat to get comfortable.

You try not to look at him. Try to pretend like you can’t smell his expensive cologne wafting toward you. Try to pretend as though his hand isn’t right there, dangling over the armrest as if taunting you.

And then, the movie begins.

You try to get lost into the world of Marty and Doc. A world you’re already so familiar with.

But it’s nearly impossible with the way he continues to shift, or laugh, or snort beside you. As if trying to distract you.

You have half a mind to turn to him and hiss, “Shhhh.” 

Somehow…you resist.

“Doc…are you telling me…that you built a time machine…out of a DeLorean?”

Harry laughs beside you, chin resting in the palm of his hand, and for some reason…your chest swells with pride. 

You want him to enjoy this movie. Enjoy the lines you used to memorize as a kid. Want to be able to talk about it with him after and exchange favorite moments.

But the second you start to indulge in this fantasy…you remember.

And your smile quickly slips.

The rest of the movie is spent with your focus glued to the screen. You don’t sneak any extra glances. You don’t listen for his sounds. You don’t allow your peripheral to catch him. 

And when the infamous car flies toward the camera before disappearing in a flash as the title card explodes across the screen, you jump to your feet.

You don’t waste another goddamn second. You get up, you turn on your heel, and you book it toward the middle aisle.

“Wait…wait,” you hear Harry murmur as the dramatic score carries you out of the theater. “Ladybug, wait.”

The nickname nearly makes you flinch as you slip through the door and rush for the lobby. You can tell he’s following after you, the sound of the seats flipping up as he pushes by following you out.

You nearly reach the double doors before his large hand wraps around your upper arm and yanks you back. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, brows furrowed as your eyes meet his chest.

You can’t look at him.

“Listen, I know you wanna go, but I just need to talk to you for one second,” he continues, but his fingers won’t leave you. “Please.”

Your heart is hammering inside your ears. You can’t seem to look anywhere else but the buttons on his shirt.

It’s quiet for a long time.

Then, you nod.

He takes a deep breath. “Listen, I know…I know why this shouldn’t work. I understand the mechanics, and the difficulties, and the issues. I get it. It shouldn’t work.”

A beat of silences settles between you as you apprehensively allow yourself to travel your gaze up.

“…but it does,” he whispers, and your mouth goes dry. “It works, and I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. But I can’t fucking let you go and it’s driving me up the goddamn wall.”

You don’t know what to do. What to say, what to think.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he continues. “I don’t want to block you or remove you. I don’t want to miss you. Or have to remember you as just some fucking thing that happened. I want to talk to you. Wanna send you pictures of the sky and play games with you. Wanna watch TV and bitch about Sheldon with you. Wanna beg you to let me come just to have you do that little smirky thing you do that makes my fucking stomach flip.”

You take a deep breath. And then another. And then another, but nothing helps. Nothing seems to unwind this knot that’s growing tighter with each confession. 

“I can’t wrap my head around you,” he says, and his voice is heavy. And confused. Almost as lost as his expression. “I can’t wrap my head around this—us. I just…I fucking try to think about anything else and it always comes back to you. Every goddamn time.”

You know there are tears in your eyes. You wish there weren’t but they’re coming faster than you can stop them.

“And I know why you’re nervous,” he sighs, squeezing your arm once. “I know. And I can’t fix it, and I really fucking wish I could, but I…god, I’ll do anything to make your future better than your past. I will do anything…to keep you, Cheese Girl. Whatever it takes, whatever you want. Name it, and it's yours.”

“I don’t want you to do anything, Har,” you nearly whimper, head shaking quickly. “I never wanted you to feel responsible for my shit—”

“I don’t. I don’t, I just…you can’t carry this alone. And I can help you—”

“But why should you? You have your own life, and your own trauma, and you deserve the fairytale ending—”

“Ladybug,” he breathes, cutting you short. “We met over text and now we’re here in a movie theater while I profess my adoration for you. Tell me how this isn’t a fairytale.”

Despite yourself…you smile. “Yeah, how…how did you even know I’d be here?”

He releases you now, but only so he can grimace and run a hand through his curls. “Okay, don’t…don’t judge me, but I just…I paid them a shit ton of money to let me rent out the building for…a day or two.”

“A day or two?”

“Well…I wasn’t sure if you’d see the email in time, so I had to keep sending it until you came—”

You rear back. “You sent the email?”

His nose scrunches. “I was desperate, all right? You had me blocked, and I figured you wouldn’t agree to meeting.”

Your lashes flutter as you work in this new information. “Shit, Har. That’s…that’s a lot of work to go through just for one person you barely know.”

He suddenly surges forward, palms pressing to your cheeks until he can take hold of your face and tilt it up. “You’re worth it. My god, Cheesy, are you worth it.”

“Cheesy?” you repeat incredulously, but your smile is big. “God that’s…”

“…cheesy?” he finishes for you. “About as cheesy as renting out a theater in hopes that the girl I like will show up and take me back?”

You nod quickly, lip between your teeth. “Yeah, but…cheese is kind of our thing.”

“It is,” he agrees, chuckling to himself as he pulls you closer, your chest brushing with his. “Listen, I can’t…I know this isn’t some sort of magic fix. But please…please let me try. Just…just let me keep you. For a little bit at least. Let me make all those puns worth it.”

Maybe you know better. Maybe this is a horrible idea. Maybe every red flag is waving wildly in your face.

And maybe…you just don’t care.

“What if I’m your destiny?” he finishes, and your heart just about breaks. “Or…density.”

You both laugh as he catches a stray tear that travels down your cheek, eyes pleading with yours. 

And when you offer the subtlest of nods…everything changes.

He kisses you before you can take a breath, his lips warm and full of promise.

You stand there in the middle of the lobby, trapped in his arms as the soft sounds of Back to the Future play on in the background.

Maybe he is your destiny after all.

One more part 🥹 Will be sobbing violently

Dedicated to @nof0odallowed for the original ask! 💞

Next Part:

~iFall for Harry pt. 10* (Final)

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~ iFall for Harry pt. 8

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

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Taglist:

@walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @cherryshouse @lydiarry @justlemmeadoreyou @tiaamberxx @yoruse

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I hear you want to write but are having a hard time answering prompts. Don't feel obligated to answer this one either, this is free labor, you never have too!!!! But maybe it would help by giving you a free space. What's eating at you [pun intended hehe]?

Me and this anon be like:

You are so thoughtful, thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

And you know what has been eating at me 😂 for whatever reason, I have no idea what turned me onto this idea, or why I can't stop thinking about it but there is something about the idea of completely, entirely spoiled Bucky that's been heavy on my mind.

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink under the read more, complete with lots and lots of stuffing, weight gain, and teasing/fat-shaming, too.

I'm talking about silver-spoon, generationally wealthy Bucky. He never has known what it is to want, yanno? Everything he could ever dream of, he gets immediately. He's never had a job other than learning what fork to use during meal times and which to use during dessert.

He looks like Wakanda, Jesus Bucky in spirit.

His hair is lush and shiny but his is proper, high-society style. So, it's cropped short at the sides and marginally longer at the top, coiffed back into stylish, fluffy waves. His face is clean-shaven, not beared, but his skin still glows and his marble-carved bone structure has been filled out by good food and constant pampering. He's always in the latest fashion, too. He looks the part of his high-maintenance, rich lifestyle.

When he was a kid and then a teenager it was totally fine that he fit so, so well into his lavish upbringing - including his taste for excessively sweet food and excessive amounts of food - because he had a speedy metabolism and the whimsy of a child, always running through his parent's expansive mansion or spending hours in the endless, deep green lawns playing by himself or roping one of the servents or his tutor into his games. His parents always were too busy with their socializing to raise their own messy child, instead passing responsibility off to someone, anyone else.

For a while, Bucky also took an interest in polocrosse, so he stayed slim for his elegant, equestrian sport. Loping through open, well-manicured fields on horseback, going after the ball with his racquet. But, as he grows and matures into a snooty young adult, with his twenties comes a slowing of his hummingbird metabolism and a boredom of sport. He has more important, more luxurious, relaxing activities to attend to than riding some beast that he doesn't even pick up after or care for - that's what the help is for. Besides, the medals mean nothing to him. He knows he's deserving and is a blue-ribbon winner without the physical reminders. Naturally, it's in his genes, he may as well be a hot-blooded, thoroughbred himself.

Bucky's metabolism slows and his activity level wanes but neither can be said about his appetite - not slowing, nor waning.

His hunger was one of those wants he's always, always had met through his generational wealth. His dire want for sweets. When he was younger, he always got a slap on the wrist for gorging himself on sugary sweets - pastries, candy, and the like - but never truly punished. His love affair wasn't tamed no matter how often he "spoiled" his own dinner, charming the cooks to feed him more than he needed, secretly getting their driver to go and retrieve him something from the city's candy shop, or even simply tiptoeing into the well-stocked pantry at night to give himself a tummy ache.

Now, his appetite is insatiable and he is growing more and more unfit seemingly like the hour. All because his days aren't spent working - he's never had to lift a finger for anything - but, instead, his hours are filled to the brim (and then some) with wine tastings, occasional tours of the winery grounds, cheese samplings, fine dining reservations or world-class chefs inhabiting his home for a few nights, and more. As soon as he's allowed by Mommy and Daddy, he moves off the sprawling family property to buy his own. He comes in and sweeps up a swath of land, putting a huge, pretty house on it and filling the rooms with staff. Most of the time, he doesn't leave his home. His driver's chauffeur experts in drink and food back and forth, bringing waves of delicious, expensive delicacies straight to Bucky's beautiful abode from the private airport nearby.

He. is. spoiled.

As he grows, he becomes rich fat, not poor fat - which becomes an important, prideful distinction in Bucky's spoiled, snobby mind. He is high society. He is well taken care of. So, of course, he's large.

Rich fat is fat that's undeniably plump and round with perfect curves. Rolls. Pale and smooth. No cellulite. No stretch marks. No blemishes. Just milky, pale swells of flesh that are soft but still firm and high. Something of a cherub straight from a masterful Renaissance painting.

His body tells the truth of his life - he doesn't lift a finger. He's practically a Roman Emperor, lounging on his side, draped in a sheet that barely fits over his bulging, excessive curves, fed the finest wine and offered peeled grapes that he lazily consumes until he's so full and drunk that he has to stop his servants by lifting a dainty hand, breathily moaning. No more. He can't take anymore now, he's so full that his fat, normally plush, soft belly has swelled to be as firm as a drum. But... give it an hour and he'll be snapping his fingers, rolled onto his back, under the weight of his belly, needing more. He won't even bother to get back up unless his servants help him, at that point, all he wants is more.

Always more.

Bucky becomes so insatiable with his life of luxury orbiting his round belly (rapidly transforming to be so large and spherical that it might be its own planet with a gravitational pull, keeping his hands to it at all times, unable to stop rubbing and touching his big body), that he hires someone new to live on his estate with him.

A masseuse.

Bucky becomes accustomed to eating until he feels fit to pop, stuffing down delicacies as if they're commonplace. Then, when he's so achingly tight, it's only natural to crave hands on his belly. He needs all the help digesting that he can get on a steady diet of peeled grapes, chocolate-coated strawberries, and other delicate fruits alongside the finest cheeses in paper-thin slices (but so many of those slices that he may as well have eaten the entire wheel by biting hunks off rudely) paired with jam and honey and bread and meats cured and prepared just so, plus bubbly champagne to wash it all down. That excessive diet leaves his tummy churning, groaning, and gassy. He has to stifle his burps behind one hand while the other works to soothe himself - it's instinctive, those rubbing motions.

Working? Aching? That just won't do. Bucky isn't dumb enough to expend energy when he doesn't have to. His private education afforded him better common sense. And he often goes to the spa, so he's familiar with massages. One plus one is two. Bucky needs a masseuse to rub his belly.

His masseuse is a tall, broad man - muscular and handsome with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. He has a pleasantly pale complexion with freckles but his nose that like it's been broken once or twice, bumped in the middle, and his hands are certainly the hands of a working man. He has obviously worked hard to get where he is with veins obvious in his arms and the backs of his hands and callouses on his palms. Even with all the lotion and oils, his hands are just the slightest bit rough thanks to those callouses.

If he weren't so handsome and hadn't proved himself to be so good at his job, Bucky might not keep him around. Thoughtlessly he could fire him, or any of his staff, and hire someone else.

Bucky doesn't like anything rough. He likes simple, easy, and luxurious. He likes softness. He reclines in overstuffed chairs and couches, expensive and sink-into-the-softness, and sleeps (and eats) on a perfectly swallowing-up bed. His body is currently being transformed into the same type of sensation - plush, soft, overstuffed. He likes that. He's becoming as excessive as his lifestyle - shaped perfectly for it.

He doesn't enjoy roughness.

He doesn't enjoy the bit of resentment on his masseuse's face and weaved secretly into his voice when they first meet.

Steve is a good worker, though, and Bucky appreciates that. He's accustomed to throwing money around, but he only throws it when it's what he wants or something he needs that he's having done his way. If a gardener, cook, or tailor doesn't work as fast or as hard as Bucky thinks they ought to - they're gone. Simple as that.

Steve works hard, Steve works fast, Steve is... interesting. He doesn't approve of Bucky's lifestyle, that much is clear, so he must need the money. But also, he doesn't complain. Not really. He does tease Bucky, though. It seems they both know their differences and there's something there. Something exciting. They both have their tastes and the clash of their differing tastes becomes electric.

Bucky learns to enjoy a little bit of roughness because of Steve.

Steve is called in to support Bucky either nearing the end of a massive meal or after his meal has been finished. His job title is "masseuse" and he does massage Bucky but, just, one part of him -

His belly.

His job is to aid Bucky's body in digesting after a splurge... if you can call his gorging meals and oversized snacks that happen every day, multiple times a day like clockwork "splurges." Splurging implies you don't do it all the time. Bucky is consistently stuffed to the gills. The only time he's not full is when he wakes up, first thing in the morning, and that's not always a guarantee - Bucky has gotten especially fat recently, it's why he needs Steve, and now, he can't always make it through the night without a snack. If he needs one, he snaps his fingers or rings the little bell he keeps by his bedside, rousing his live-in servants and making them retrieve a "light" snack for him from the kitchen. If he's had a midnight snack, his belly might still be firm and bloated when he wakes up. Regardless, Steve helps settle his belly.

At first, when Steve was hired, he did his job without comment. Now that they know each other a little better and each of them is rubbing off on the other with Bucky enjoying a little bit of roughness and Steve learning to embrace comfort and a taste of luxury - now, Steve prods and pushes verbally while he does the same physically. He rubs big circles on his big tummy, presses into the parts where he's the tightest to release pockets of gas and make him more comfortable, giving him more room (that he often immediately fills with more food), and kneads his soft flesh, using lotion and oil to keep his flesh supple and stretch-mark free. He lets his mouth run, too.

In low tones, just for the two of them to hear, he murmurs roughly about how he's never had so much to work with. Bucky knows under those sugar-coated words, he's calling him fat. Then, he goes on to say that Bucky feels especially tense today, is there anything particular on his mind? That's Steve telling him he's bloated as fuck, just a bit of sting behind his "polite" tone to communicate, oh my fucking god, you're a blimp. Or, he asks how his tailor is doing, the vague way to ask how he fits into any clothes at all. It's a damn mystery to Steve, after all, he only ever sees Bucky when he's naked with all of his soft, pale, thick fat on display. Round. Firm. Ready to be massaged until he's not so tight he could burst which, to Bucky, means he's ravenous. Bucky has no understanding of hunger. He doesn't remember what it's like to be empty, so when he isn't gasping in pleasure and pain, so full that his stomach is strained and there's food packed into him all the way up his esophagus to the back of his throat, he thinks he's starving.

Bucky savors those comments in a way he doesn't savor food - he just shoves it down. More.

More.

Bucky starts eating even more, pushing himself further, to make sure he can see Steve regularly. Weirdly, for someone who's never needed a damn thing from anyone else, he aches to impress this guy. It's strange, how much he wants to preen and parade around. He makes even more of a gluttonous mess of himself just so Steve can come in and berate him underneath his professional, light tone. It's embarrassing. Bucky has never been able to deal with humiliation or shame or anything other than resounding acceptance because of his high status, so it's strange for him to go after it now but...

God, is it good.

Steve commenting on needing another set of hands to reach and work on all of Bucky's glutted tummy sends a shiver down his pinned spine in spirit, in reality, he can't fucking move. He's so fat. Bucky almost moans at the thought of more hands groping and kneading his fat, working his cramps and burps out of him, easing the way for those calories to smoothly transform into more fat but, strangely, he only wants Steve to do this. He's used to hiring more help, having so many people around him, watching and aiding him in even the most intimate, private moments. This feels too intimate to share, though. He just wants Steve's big, strong, rough hands on his fat. He wants it bad. So, of course, he gets it.

He feasts on multiple rich, large courses. Steve massages him. He snacks on foods that would be enough for a meal if he were anyone else. Steve massages him. He gorges until he's hiccuping, whining, and curled around his fat belly like he can hold himself together, preventing himself from bursting at the seams with too much, too good of food. Steve massages him. He wakes up, belly gurgling with digestion that he can delude into being hunger, so he stuffs himself late at night into early morning. Steve massages him. Steve massages him through it all, witnessing him at his fullest and watching, judging, as he packs on more and more weight.

Bucky has been drilled to follow etiquette and be polite, but with Steve, he slips. He's just so full. And Steve's so good at his job. He can't deny himself the pleasure of moaning and burping loudly as Steve works.

"Buuuurpp-"

"Hic! Ah! Oh! Hic! Ouch! Hic! Hup! Oww!"

"Ooooohhh, yess. That's good."

"Uuuuuuurp!"

"Yes! Right there, press there, it's so tight, oh, oww-"

"Hnnnn-"

"M-mmmph- more. More pressure. Yes! Like that! Oh-uuurp!"

"C-cahhh, careful, I'm, oof, I'm soo full. Mmngh, I might - hic! - pop!"

Steve might disguise his interest well under a judgy, almost resentful exterior - which is truthfully how he felt when he got here, like, look at this fat asshole, Steve grew up struggling with a single mother making tough decisions between feeding her child, buying the medicine her child needed badly, or keeping the heating on to keep her child from getting sicker, no good options and no compromises - but he is interested. Bucky is miles and miles of plush flesh that jiggles and ripples. So much for Steve to sink his hands into. He's just fat. That's all he is. Greedy and oversized. He deserves a little shit for it. It's fine. He can squeeze a little harder than necessary, he can relentlessly push down on the part of his tummy that hurts the most just to hear him groan through a painful yet releasing burp, he can see his face pinch in pain when Steve goads him into finishing the last scraps on his plate despite having called Steve in expressed because he's too full for more, he can make comments about how he's getting fatter, bigger, and more spoiled. He can snidely inquire if Bucky has gotten his bed reinforced yet or wonder out loud how his personal tailor keeps up with his expanding waistline, actually, how does his tailor measure his waistline these days? Does he have to make a custom tailors tape or have they given up on numbers by now? He can pretend to be a little weaker than he is, just for an excuse to call the other staff into Bucky's master bedroom, "needing" help with rolling his big, voluptuous body or sitting him up as much as possible under that heavy, fat belly that overflows his lap.

It's fine for Steve to look over his shoulder as he leaves, his job well done, to smirk like a shark at one food-drunk Bucky moaning through a bite of buttery, flaky pastry, telling him off, "haven't you had enough, Mr. Barnes?"

He's the only one willing to challenge Bucky. The other staffers suck in shocked breaths and duck their heads, embarrassed and trying to stay out of the way, assuming Steve's about to be fired. It's going to get ugly. Right?

But it doesn't.

Bucky likes it. His stomach is groaning - only barely soothed thanks to Steve, complaining with heavy sloshes, deep gurgles, and loud glorps - but Bucky doesn't care. All he cares about is more. More food, stuffing his gob. More of Steve's merciless touch, his mean words, and his judgemental eyebrows. More.

"Nu-uh," Bucky moans petulantly.

"Only you would think that," Steve's eyes flick down to his gut like the big, round thing is offensive, "isn't enough."

Bucky crams the rest of his pastry into his mouth, puffing out his cheeks and dusting crumbs down his double (closer to triple) chins and heaving moobs, it's a challenge.

Steve rises to it, stepping back into his bedroom to slap his blubbery belly hard.

Even though all the others have scuffled away, leaving the two of them alone, they must be able to hear the clap of his hand against his fat. That, or, they hear the guttural way Bucky moans. His white, pale flesh is stamped red with Steve's handprint.

"You just have to ruin my work, don't you?" Steve sneers, sitting on the side of the bed next to Bucky's immobilized form of rolls and curves, pinned in place by too much fattening, sugary food. "Nothing is ever good enough for you, so you just keep going, don't you? You're gonna pop, you know that, you fat, spoiled brat? You need to learn you have limits. You need to learn restraint. If you don't learn your lesson by yourself, you'll force my hand to teach it." Steve threatens, his hand raised again, on the cusp of slapping his tender, overstuffed tummy again.

Bucky whimpers, pouting at him, his bottom lip crumby and stuck far out, "don't need your help," he argues, mumbling, just to be contrary. He really does need him. He wants him too. So badly.

"You do, princess. You need me whether you like it or not," Steve teases. "You can't do anything by yourself, not with this-" Steve rears back to slap his belly hard a handful of times until Bucky's whimpering and squirming around like a turtle flipped onto its shell, inelegant and stuck "-in the way."

Bucky moans loudly. It hurts! But it hurts like it does when he pushes himself over his limits, his gut too full.

"I'm gonna put you on a diet," Steve threatens, "teach your spoiled, fat ass what restraint and hard work is the way Daddy and Mommy didn't, they just shoved a silver spoon in your mouth and called it a day 'cause you shut up."

It's terrible. It's awful. Bucky likes it.

"Please-!" The word falls out of Bucky's mouth for maybe the first time. He's Bucky Barnes. He doesn't beg. He has everything he wants and more! He's never had anything he had to plead for, he always just demands.

With one last hit right to the top of his belly, where the bulging is the worst, where he gets the tightest, Steve knows all too well, Steve leans in. His smile is all teeth. "Good boy," he rumbles, "that's a start. I might be able to whip you into shape after all, God knows you need some shape, too," he unkindly grabs a handful of fat, shaking it and thus sends jiggling ripples throughout Bucky's entire, fat body. He's all lard. "'Cause right now you're just a blob."

Bucky says it again, as it turns out, it feels good to say, "pleeease."

Steve gives him a dark look and despite what he was saying about shaping up and slimming down with a diet, he wastes no time reaching over to the tray of fine French pastries perched on Bucky's elegant nightstand, selecting one at random and shoving it into his face.

Bucky moans his way through every chew and swallow. With Steve's relentless force, massaging and now feeding, too, he's due for a growth spurt like he's never seen on his own. He's gonna outgrow his king-size bed in no time 🥵🥵

[soaps-mohawk]

In honor of father's day, who (aside from Ghost) do you think is the best at dad jokes?

Ghost is dad joke extraordinaire, but I feel like if you were to put him in a caretaker position of any kind, he'd be uncomfortable at best. He'd look at a child and immediately recoil. Like "why is it sticky, I don't want it. I don't like how it's looking at me either."

Price. He's a sleeper agent of dad jokes. Will just deadpan deliver the cheesiest dad joke you've ever heard and you have to laugh because one minute he was serious and then next he's pulling the "hi tired, I'm John" kind of cheese. Also a master of puns. Constantly making them, constantly pointing them out.

He and Simon share jokes at the expense of Johnny and Kyle. (They both love the jokes unironically)