#cw poor dieting

[mewpirate]

A few general starson headcanons !

I am SOOOO NOT NORMAL ABOUT him

- he really likes mac and cheese , it's one of the foods he only wants to eat .

- other foods that he really likes to eat is pudding, strawberry cheesecake , and bell peppers

- he's a picky eater , probably because of poor dieting from Milo because Milo was also a picky eater.

-blasian , specifically Jamaican and Chinese

- 6 years old

- he really picks things up from Milo, that includes swearing and picky eating , along with being a little abrasive .

- he does have a few nicknames given by the crew , like Chick pea , little cancan (a reference to the yellow canary bird) , Goldie , Sunny boy , swine (NAME GIVEN BY HORACE IM SORRY LMAOOOO) , Stella ( y'know how some parents misname you like that when they're busy? That's what Milo does) and Starsy

- unfortunately he finds Milo has a older - brother / father figure since he never had a father .

- he does view Sariah as a "substitute mommy" but nothing can top his real one

- speaking of parents , His mummy is a star goddess (I've posted about her before) . Starson talks about her A LOT but most of the crew thinks hes lying or showing off , right until in an unaired episode where the Jolly hounds went to space and explored the galaxy ( this was inspired by that one deleted concept of Snow White and the prince dancing on a cloud with stars)

- he crash landed onto earth as a baby . The crew took him in .

- I'll explain this as best as I can, his appearance is like a half-moon half sun . Idk just think of Sundrop .

- I took a little bit of inspo after hearing @candle-cove-character-requests 's headcanon that starson is similar to a starfish. I like the idea that starson literally HATES sea stars/starfish , he finds it uncanny valley . (Kinda like that one video where a cat gets scared of a badly made plush of said cat) He does calm down about their appearance in later seasons , but he still feels like really uncomfortable when they are mentioned . He views them as a distorted , ruined version of the night stars. He hates how they feel hates how they crawl (tbh he's right though they are genuinely scary when walking in full 2x speed and a buuuuunch of sensory issues . Milo calls him Starfish / little seastar to annoy him .

- since he is the only black crew member and the other crew members either don't know how to handle his hair type or they don't care in general his hair gets a little matted and tangled unfortunately 💔💔💔 he keeps it under his bandana

- he's a little sleepyhead from time to time during the day , he usually stares out into the windows at night , thinking of his home world.

- he and Kimothy are a silly goofy duoooo I cannot quit thinking about them this duo needs to be normalized they are toy-box coded especially the songs best friend and ET and that one " i am both beef bastard everyone knows I am the ultimate master !" Song by Neil cigara or whatever I can't spell

- after he was killed by Milo he woke up back into his homeworld with his mama 💔💔💔 but in a lil ghost form since star people come back into the sky after they died on earth (IF they are on earth) .

- poor boy barely knows about his culture because he's been stranded on earth for God knows who and has been taken in by a bunch of white/nonblack pirates 💔

- he has a pilled brown stuffed rabbit that Roger sewed him , he named it cosmic ⭐

[dreamlogic]

...

[mrsmarlasinger]

Every time I snort Wellbutrin I'm like, "This is gonna suck absolute ass." And then it does

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 06 - rut

price x f!reader | 2.8k words cw: John POV, brief mention of food/diet, slight dehumanization, mean!Price, breeding kink, dubcon/coercion, italics stan, abrupt ending because look at that wc summary: john takes his au jus. banner by @/cafekitsune

John can’t help but watch as she licks a stray drop of juice from her lip.

The sight sends a jolt coursing through him, cock hardening at the thought of those lips wrapped around it. He’s only had her once since dropping his bag at the door, and his mind fills with all the ways he plans to have her next.

Tempting sight. His gaze weighs heavy, an unsated predator a table width away from a piece of meat and her steak.

It’s an ugly thought. One that comes unbidden, released with the onset of his rut. A shallow wave of guilt laps against the remains of his dignity and lucidity, but soon that tide’ll go out for a few days. At that point, there’ll be no regret. No keeping the ugly in.

His hand flexes around his fork, the utensil digging into his own cut. It’s no use trying to distract himself, watching the juices that seep from it. Immediately thinking of the slick that pours like a tap between her legs. The thought has him smirking to himself, anticipation buzzing in his veins. 

“Enjoying your meal?” He asks with a bite, eyes fixed to hers.

She pauses mid-chew, her free hand absentmindedly touching the clasp of her bite guard for a dozenth time.

Inwardly, he preens. Smug he’s rattled her cage. 

She swallows hard. "Yes," she manages to reply, her voice barely above a whisper. "I never get steak." She tears into another piece, chewing slowly.

Of course not. Professional Omegas like her, practically show dogs, are fed top-shelf, high-end protein shakes. Nutritional smoothies. Leafy greens and lean meat. Vitamins. Supplements. Everything to keep them healthy and robust, hardy enough to take the ruts of alphas like him. Unmated, overly aggressive loners—canon fodder that survived too long, wised up too much, and made it everyone’s problem.

She’s terrible at hiding her irritation. Her attraction, too. Her scent’s all over the place. That’s the problem with being on scent blockers between jobs. Poor thing hasn’t a clue how to control it, let alone just how intoxicating she smells. It’s a miracle the little farmhouse they sent him to, where he found her, wasn’t blown down by the huffing and puffing of some other alpha.

(And even if it was? He’d drag them out and kill them with his bare hands.)

She’s not ready to admit what he already knows: this isn’t another contract rut. She isn’t going to limp home to her facility at the end of her week-long stint in no man’s land. He’ll carry her to his truck, buckle her in, and nurse the mark he’ll leave in her neck. All in good time.

He finishes his steak, pushing the empty plate aside. "I’m glad it’s to your liking."

The room crackles with tension, the silence only broken by the faint scrape of her cutlery. He allows it to stretch a minute longer before leaning forward and breaking it with a low drawl. 

"Once we're done here…I think it's time we use the bedroom. Take you properly this time." His eyes bore into hers. His bare chest and neck are splotchy with heat, his body hair damp with sweat. The scratch marks on his back sting when he reclines in his chair.

She stills, meal momentarily forgotten, then nods. She doesn’t lift her eyes from the gristle on the edge of her plate. 

Her denial reeks. The sweet tang of the warmth pooling between her eyes wafts. His foot slides forward under the table, catching her feet on either side as she tries to close her legs. Finally she looks up out of surprise, and he grins at the dilation of her pupils. It’s rare for a rut to trigger heats nowadays, what with all the suppressants on the market, what’s probably pumped into her—but not unheard of. Her body’s primed to respond to him. Wants to. Whether she wills it or not.

And it would be just like his superiors—handlers—to dangle an omega like her in front of him. He wonders how much of the budget went into strategizing his domestication. How much time. He’d be angry and drive back bloody and enraged, if it wasn’t working.

Not domestication, no. That’ll always be a front. A disguise to adopt and wear. But the singular, intensive want for the creature in front of him?

She was never going to leave here unmarked and unmated.

And he doesn’t believe she knew until he told her, growling into her ear as he pulled an orgasm from her wriggling body bent over the couch.

When she’s finished eating, he takes the dishes, and his eyes cut to where his shirt hits her bare thighs. Where the fabric catches and bunches on her wide hips. His nostrils flare at the single teardrop working its way down the inside of her leg.

“I’ll…prepare.”

Mouthwatering.

He takes his time, leaning against the sink, hand jammed down his shorts. He should shower. Should drink more water. Should, should, should. But the creak of the bed perks his ears and wipes another helping of enforced propriety from his brain.

She's ready. Satisfaction fills him at the thought. Aching for it.

The hall is an eternity and he makes no effort to dampen the sounds of his footsteps rattling the old bedroom door in its frame.

His shirt’s the first thing he sees, folded and set side on the decorative stool across from the door. The second is the arch of her back, arse in the air, covered in spots of a sheen she obviously tried to dab with a towel. A clear invitation, equal parts traditional and clinical. She’d like to pretend there’s nothing else in the room besides instinct and that she’s only there for an assignment.

Fingers threaded into the linens, toes curled tight. Statuesque. All part of her training, he bets.

Tomorrow, he decides, he’ll deliver his own. He’ll let her keep the comfort of routine for now.

Her skin is warm and soft under his touch, leagues smoother than his hands. Omegas like her are far from delicate things, shaped for their purpose like any other tool. Still, he marvels. Everything about her is welcoming. 

“Look at you.” he whispers, smug and satisfied. He squeezes her hip as he drops onto the bed behind her, wasting no time in wetting himself with her cunt. He glides through her folds, relishing the shudders it sends through the rest of her, and reaches for the back of her guard. He hooks a finger into the narrow gap between it and her neck and tugs, pulling her back to meet him in a searing kiss. Her mouth moves against his as if rehearsed until he releases her neck, and tells her to keep her cheek pressed to the mattress. Eyes open.

He watches a flurry of emotion parade across her face as he continues to grind. He soaks in the steady slick pouring from her hole, listening to her breathing ratchet up louder than the lewd, wet slide of his cock. He focuses on the pure heat emanating from her cunt and steadying his own breathing, until a word hatches weakly on her tongue.

“What was that?”

She shakes her head, closing her eyes. 

“Eyes open,” He swats a cheek. “Speak up.” Say it.

She stares sidelong, tongue darting out to wet her lips, a mix of apologetic and conflicted. “Please.”

“Please what?” Say it.

“Please—Please fuck me.”

“Why should I?”

It leaves her at a momentary loss for words. The question is and isn’t a trick. More a test, or an outstretched hand.

“Because…‘Cause of your rut?”

“No, no. Why’re you asking me to fuck you if it’s my rut? Everything should be on my schedule, yeah?”

“I didn’t—didn’t mean—”

“Why should I listen to your begging?”

Because you’re mine. Mine. Say it. Say you feel it.

But silence follows. Stubborn whelp. He lets her know the depth of his disappointment with a long huff, continuing to fuck along her folds, holding fast to his control. The noises he makes are intentional and not completely feigned. He reeks of displeasure and lets his gaze drift to the window, out to the dark of the night sky. Bored. Aggrieved. Let her mind wander where it will.

It takes minutes for her to break. She pleads with him quietly, daring to push back. “Please, I need it. Need you.”

Manipulative thing. It snaps the last thread, unmooring him from polite conversation and good manners. He grumbles, lines himself up, and slams forward without preamble. Buries himself in one go. He groans louder than the shocked gasp that erupts from her mouth, and grinds deeper into her warm clutch. He pulls back slowly to watch her cunt’s grip fight to keep him inside. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. ‘Least she knows what she wants” 

She whimpers in response, fingers clenching the sheets.

He wastes no more time, and lets his instincts take the reins. Maybe she’ll be more accommodating and honest around his knot. He lays into her with animalistic intensity, ignoring every cry and stutter beneath him as he takes and takes and takes.

He’ll give, the second she wises up.

John pistons into her mindlessly until moonlight touches the edge of the bed, and his body takes it like the chiming of a clock. Before he realizes it, he has her on her back, legs spread wide and hitched around his waist. Droplets of sweat drip from his temple onto her breasts where he leans over her, smearing when he crushes her, arms trapping her and giving her no quarter but his embrace. He doesn’t realize he’s fiddling with her bite guard until her voice turns shrill in his ear.

“Sir, you can’t!”

Sir. Placate and appease, textbook. 

“You cannot remove it, and, and, even if you could, you cannot bite me,” she continues, voice thin and desperate. “This is just a job, sir!”

He wonders if they use cattle prods. Clamps and car batteries. However they test their omegas to survive alphas like him, it cannot be too different from interrogation. But with how she fusses, he doubts she’s ever had to rely on her training in the real world. Unlike him. And he’s been on both sides.

John ignores her spiel.

“Oh, you’re just shy. You feel it, don’t you? Don’t fuckin’ deny it, I can tell you do, just need to hear you say it. Admit it. We’re a fucking pair. Mates. Meant to be.” 

A shocked noise cuts off the rest of her speech. Her lip’s gonna bleed if she keeps biting it like that.

“No? Still bent on denying it? Denying yourself? C’mon, darl.” His words are a growl, an animalistic sound vibrating through him. Reaching from the antediluvian into the present. His grip tightens on the collar, eyes drilling into the sliver of soft skin he sees beneath. The place for a mark. His mark.

She’s mine, the primal, angry part of him snarls. Snaps its teeth. Mine.

“‘M warnin’ you now. If I want to mark you, I will.” He punctuates with a hard thrust. “And if I want to mate you, I will. I’ll wait you out. I’ve crawled through shit and heat for things I don’t care about, imagine what I’ll endure for you.”

Without waiting for her response, his hand slips from her hip to between her legs. His pace drops to match the circles he rubs on her clit. A deep, controlled rhythm that has him bottoming out each thrust. His other hand grabs her jaw, tilting it to expose the clasp of the guard. Only she can undo it, but he wills it to break with just his stare.

“You’re going to be such a good mate to me. And I to you, sweetheart. I’ll protect you. Feed you. Keep you. Give you babies, little yous and mes…”

Her breath hitches at his words, he feels her shudder. It’s fear and curiosity and hunger. Mirrored. Twinned. 

Even as she protests, she arches into his touch, hips rising to meet him. The raw need in his voice, the harsh grip of his hand on her hip. He feels her resolve wavering, one foot off the edge over the steep drop off where he waits at the bottom to drag her under.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being taken care of, a big man at your beck and call…” John’s lips curl into a wicked grin. It’s adorable, really, all her writhing and squirming. "Shh, sweetheart," he coos, pressing himself to the root. "You're not foolin’ anyone. You want it just as much as I do." He licks her jaw, dips his tongue beneath the lined collar, and grazes the swell of her gland. "But if you're still not convinced," he murmurs against her skin, grinding his hips against hers to drive his point home, "I'll keep showing you how good it will be."

Without further warning, he renews his efforts. He thrusts in earnest and restarts the slow circles on her clit, determined to draw every last moan from her lips. At last, the tissue at the base of his cock stirs and begins to swell like it’s had enough of her dithering, too.

Another embarrassing sound tumbles from her lips—part gasp, part moan—as he finds and hits her sweet spot. Her eyes shut. The sheets beneath her twist as she claws at them. Intent on changing her mind and knocking some fucking sense into her, he hones in on it. By the time his knot bumps against her cunt, she’s babbling some nonsense. He catches words like ‘program’ and ‘rules’. It all disappears into vapor when her breath catches in fear despite the feverish squeeze of her cunt.

Understandable. She cried on it before. Biggest she’s taken, she said when she finally calmed down from her hysterics, facedown on the hardwood floor. Of course, that made pride billow from him like a dark, toxic cloud. Eclipsing the sunset through the lace curtains and choking out the afterglow.

He pauses, fingers tracing her clit, then the thickness of his knot pressed to her hole. She squirms.

“You want more, love?” John asks, sawing gently in and out. “Want to come on this fat knot?” He watches her wrestle with her emotions, the way her brow furrows and her lips press together in indecision. Searching him for the answer.

“If you want me to continue,” He lifts his hand to cradle her chin. “You’re gonna have to let me bite you. Admit you’re mine, made for me, and I’ll let you come.”

“But your knot—don’t you want to…?”

He swipes his thumb over her chin. “‘Course I do, but I want everything. The whole package. Why shove my knot and fill up an omega who’s only gonna waste what I give her? No, after this, after you refuse me, I’ll call whoever holds your leash and send for a replacement—”

“No.” 

Her face rapidly contorts from docility to something base. And familiar. In his peripheral vision, her hand twitches north, then back to her stomach, like it’s fighting back. The corner of her mouth lifts, lips flashing her dull canines.

“No replacement.”

He breathes in the stink of her requited greed. Finally.

“My rut’ll be long, won’t be satisfied until the deed’s done and takes. Not gonna let you come once unless my teeth find your neck first.”

Her look of fury breaks with a whimper, the sound filled with a heady mix of fear and desire. Conflict. After a moment, she tests him and tries to reach down to continue where he left off, but he snatches her wrist. He growls when that doesn’t discourage her, when she simply starts rocking her hips, trying to grind herself on the cock buried inside her. Her lips curve into a pout. It’s not enough. They both know it.

“Darl,” he warns, huffing. “You really are a needy thing, aren’t you?”

He indulges her with a few sluggish strokes in and out of her body, laughing softly. With a rough tug, he pulls her closer.

“I said if you want to come, you have to let me bite you.”

John doesn’t blame her for the war undoubtedly raging in her head. He licks the pads of his fingers, returns them to her bundle of nerves, and grinds his knot against her weeping hole to help things along.

She says something when her stomach contracts as her orgasm slowly returns within reach.

“What was that?”

“...Yes. Okay.”

He pinches her clit. Presses until his knot catches.

Instead of uttering a word, she fumbles with the clasp of her bite guard. It comes off in his hand, and he throws it like a discus into a wall, shattering it into pieces like her resolve. He relishes the full-body shudder that wracks her as he envelopes her again, bearing down on her with his maw stretched wide.

“Good fucking girl.”

[thinkinonsense]

COLORS₊˚⊹☆

old man!logan howlett x young fem!reader

cw: angst!! nsfw content but no smut

a/n: this has been in my drafts for sooo long

masterlist

you knew better than to be alone with logan. it's wasn't his fault that you couldn't control yourself around him but you couldn't resist his salt and pepper look.

"can i get a beer, honey?" his deep rugged voice asks over the bar counter.

"yeah, one second." you meekly reply.

the two of you met through his son, jack. for months, you knew jack had a crush on you but you always had eyes for his father, logan. when you first saw logan visiting his son on the college campus, you thought that maybe it wouldn't hurt to go on a date with the nice boy.

"here you go." you nod, sliding him the glass bottle. his fingers entrap yours around the bottle, stopping all of your movements.

"thanks, pretty girl." he tries to smile at you. your knees feel weak. logan can smell your arousal leaking in your underwear and down your thighs.

"no problem, mr. howlett."

blush coated your face as he releases your hand around the bottle. logan lets you get back to work, watching your every movement.

"ya' know, jack has been asking about you." logan says after a few sips.

the older man saw right through you. he knew why you suddenly became interested in his son. logan was a bad man who formed bad habits; one of those habits was entertaining your fantasies.

almost every night after work, logan came into the bar you worked at. a bar that was forty-five minutes from his cabin home. he loathed the city however, he liked how the lights twinkled in your eyes whenever you joined him for a smoke outside.

"i've been busy." you shrug. not really feeling bad for canceling plans with jack again.

"hm.." logan huffs, watching you pour liquor into a glass for another customer. "noticed you've taken up more night shifts."

"college is expensive."

"jack mentioned that your folks help pay your tuition." he had you right where he wanted you. "you aren't ditchin' him for some other college boy, are ya', honey?"

air trapped in your lungs at his question. you were torn on if you should look up at him or not. besides the beer in his hand, logan was also drinking in your appearance. always in these tight low-cut tops with tiny skirts and cute sneakers.

"too busy for boys." you reply, taking a sip of your diet coke to the right of logan.

it's been two months of dancing around your attraction to each other. logan loved his son but he knew the poor boy didn't have a chance with a girl like you. you needed someone to tame you, protect and provide for you. jack wasn't mature enough to see that.

"what time do you get off?" logan asks, finishing off his glass.

"thirty minutes."

you bite back the smile forming on your lips. he could hear your heart beat increase causing him to chuckle and shake his head.

"you know the routine, doll face." he puts down some cash and leaves you a nice tip. "meet me in the limo in thirty. no panties either."

"yes, mr. howlett."

was it wrong? maybe, but nothing felt better than logan's hands all over you.

[cozage]

Surprise Announcement

Request from @fengxinwifutobecalled: May i request law , sanji , and sabo react to their s/o when she says she's pregnant? Like they were trying for a long time and they didnt get pregnant and she thought she was infertile.

Characters: female reader x Law, Sanji, Sabo Cw: planned pregnancy Total word count: 584

Law

Surely you’re joking. You have to be. You had been trying so long, he was certain he was infertile. 

“That’s not funny,” his voice dangerous and low. He was afraid to hope. 

But he could see the test in front of his eyes. And the little + that was faintly outlined. 

He ran a full body scan just to be sure. And there it was, a little denotion around your abdomen that stated you were pregnant. 

He falls to his knees and presses his face against your belly. Tears are streaming down his face but he doesn’t care. He’s just so happy. 

During the day, he reads every baby book he can get his hands on. When he’s exhausted all of his collection, he finds new ones at port. He’s determined to become an expert in the field of fatherhood.

In the evening and at night, he whispers loving words to the child growing inside you. He’s determined that the baby will know his voice before it even leaves your womb. 

Sanji

“We’re going to have a baby?” he breathes out, a smile slowly growing across his face. “We’re going to have a baby!”

He runs to you, picks you up, and twirls you around, the two of you cheering and squealing in delight. 

“A baby!” he says kissing you firmly on the lips. 

“A baby,” you smile back. You can’t stop smiling, and neither can he. 

He tells everyone you cross paths with. It doesn’t matter if you’ve crossed paths with them already, he’ll tell them again. The poor crew is so exhausted from hearing the same news again and again.

He plans an entirely new diet for you, filled with all of the prenatal vitamins and minerals you need. At least you know you’ll have the best chef on the sea taking care of you and your baby.

Sabo

Sabo’s eyes dart from you to your stomach, not quite sure how to take the news. 

“You’re sure?” he whispers, skeptical. 

“As sure as I can be,” you say, and suddenly a huge grin appeared on his face at your confirmation. 

“We have so much to do!” he said, looking around the room. “God, where are we going to put the crib? Or the changing station? Or the-” he looked back over at you.

“You’re pregnant,” he said again, that goofy smile remerging on his face. He giggles to himself like a little schoolboy at the thought. 

You mirror his silly grin. “I am.”

He walks over to you and wraps you in his arms. “I never thought it would happen. I thought there was something wrong with me.”

“With you?!” you laugh. “I thought there was something wrong with me!”

“No,no. Nothing could ever be wrong with you, my dear.” He kisses the top of your head gently, still grinning to himself. “You know twins run in my family.”

You tried to pull away from him, eyes wide. “Shut up! You better be joking, Sabo!”

He laughs, his fib being detected, but he can’t bring himself to let you go from his grasp. He is so excited. Finally, he would get to have a family. A family with you.

[contentloadingandstuff]

Gym Headcanons - Lisa & Ningguang x Male!Reader

A/N: I hope you'll like this one! All the others WIPs are staring daggers at me though... CW: Nothing notable.

Going to a gym? Lisa will pass, thank you. 

All the sweat and all the effort could, if she had to exert herself at all, go towards other things than gaining muscles. What would she use them for anyway? Her strength doesn't come from raw, brutish power, but rather from her brilliance and knowledge. 

For Lisa, getting some gains would be a bad thing as far as her appearance is concerned. She feels great as she is - of healthy weight with some delectable fluff on her belly, thighs and butt. A girl's got to have some meat on her bones, doesn't she? It's perfect for touching and resting your weary head on those plushy thighs. She won't ruin that especially since you're far from complaining about her assets. 

Even if she won't train, Lisa will care for her diet, and will keep an eye on yours too if you ask her to. She'll buy more of her natural yogurts, fruits, granola and other healthy foodstuffs. You'll be in good hands - Lisa will buy you shakes and foods with lots of protein to help build that dazzling body of yours. 

If at any point you find yourself tempted to cheat, she’ll gently remind you of your goal and help you resist. 

She's a vegetarian herself, but will not, to any extent of the word, force her views upon you. She just dislikes the taste of meat, especially when it's fried. The heartburn she feels after is straight up awful. Still, she won't object to making you hearty meals with all the love she has. After all, she has all the time in the world. 

Although she wouldn't ever come to the gym herself, it's different with you there. Lisa will gladly tag along to keep you company whenever she can. She won't hesitate to do her research, helping you in maintaining the proper position and form as you train. Need a break? She'll pass you the water and take away the weights (according to her ability). Feeling tired or bored? Lisa will be there, keeping a conversation or reading out loud to you - this way you train both your mind and your body. She'll get you whatever help she can offer. 

Is she accompanying you to gawk at your bare chest, your tensing, sweaty muscles, hear your masculine groans of exertion as you lift inhuman weights and give it your all? See you doing what men do, pushing yourself to the limit to become bigger, better, faster and stronger? Perhaps. Is that an invalid reason? Not at all. 

After a certain amount of these trips, the mage will start eyeing the exercise mats with increasing curiosity. Of course she wouldn't do any actually tiring exercises, but it wouldn't hurt to stretch a little, would it? Being flexible has a few uses Lisa can't think of, most of which involve you~

The first few times would render her limbs and joints crying in pain as years of “rust” come off. It would surely leave her grumpy the next day, but it's alright - you'll do your duty and massage her pains away, won’t you? 

When going at them, Lisa likes to do stretches that let her poor back get some lovely relief. Every time she begins the cobra stretches of the day, she can't help but sigh in satisfaction. The first one's the best, no doubt about that. On the other hand, those exercises that require her to lean down are the cause of her pains rather than the relief. Toe touches aren't easy, and things like forward folds are the stuff of nightmares, the mere thought of which is enough to make her spine ache.

Ningguang isn't one to work out either. She’s on a strict diet, planned out for her by the best dietitian and cooked by the best chef Mora can buy. Each of her meals has its calories counted to the letter, and - should the situation demand it - Ningguang is capable of counting them herself. Even when there's no label, she's able to judge it with impressive accuracy. 

It's thanks to this attentive lifestyle that she can flaunt her wasp waist. Even if a person's worth is more in merit than appearance, impeccable beauty can go a long way too. Oftentimes just her looks alone can charm an interlocutor, leading to favorable outcomes. 

Eating this little has a downside, coming in the form of low energy levels. She can push pencils all day long, but even short jogs can find her out of breath after a while. Ningguang gets tired and sore fairly easily, making it no surprise that she avoids straining herself. 

She avoids training, but that doesn't mean she simply sits around looking pretty. Each of her mansions is equipped with a rich and well stocked gym for use at yours and hers leisure. Before you came they were mostly gathering dust, but your interest in training reminded her of that purchase. It was nice to see they finally had a use. 

Sometimes, on a slow day, Ningguang will bring out her sport gear and join you in the training room. Most of her time she'll do stretches or use the treadmill, since these don't increase muscle mass that much - the high class canon of beauty doesn't include muscle girls, nor does she see the appeal if truth is told. She's the Tianquan, not some… sea captain. 

Besides, that would be threading on your territory. Why be muscular if you're the muscle man here? If you're strong, then she'll be swift and agile. Perfectly complementary, wouldn't you say? 

When it comes to date ideas, a gym date is a unique one to be sure, but she doesn't mind. It gives both of you a chance to show off your hard earned physiques and spend some quality time together. Ningguang enjoys you spotting for her, even if she won't do the exercises by herself. The attention is always appreciated. 

She wouldn't admit that to anyone, but she enjoys goofing around with you. Using her as a dumbbell or doing push-ups with her casually sitting on your back is both amusing and quite flustering - getting a first hand experience of your strength never fails to get her a little red. But don't tell anyone, or else…!

Sometimes when she needs to think, Ningguang visits you and simply enjoys your presence in silence. There's something hypnotic about you going about your business and the repetitive motions of the equipment. Many times she watched you in silence, only to mutter a silent ‘got it’ before getting up and thanking you with a kiss. Each time after she left the room you were left fairly confused. Confused, but happy to be of help nonetheless.

Thanks for reading!

[maruzzewrites]

love like you've been hurt.

Astarion reflects upon his growing feelings for Tav/Reader. cw: blood drinking, wrist biting, intrusive thoughts.

“If you need it, you just have to ask.”

A splendid, convenient offer to Astarion. When he was first given the opportunity to drink from their neck, he remembers thinking quick and immediate that the poor fool would be easy to manipulate. If one offers something as precious as their blood to the man who pointed a knife to their throat, before, and tried to sneakily have a bite, after, there is little Astarion can do before taking advantage.

He still remembers the sensation of the skin breaking under the pressure of his sharp fangs, the blood flowing warm and viscous under his lips as he started so suck, lick, and enjoy the flood of life surging all over his body. The blood of an intelligent creature nourishes like nothing else, he learned that night.

In his enjoyment, though, he noticed how they stayed put despite the pain. There were shivers, there was motion, but they never said to stop. It would be so easy to bite off part of their throat and feast on that delicious blood, but Astarion knew that letting that river of good will dry before he could get more wasn’t the most smart of options.

So, that night, he stopped. He thanked. And he promised to feed on animals unless he was offered again.

And he has been, offered again he means.

 Once, he even asked to their so-generous traveling companion why they were so invested in feeding him and how they chose the days. It was mostly a provocation, maybe a way to make them admit to some hidden erotic fantasy that could be his in for his usual manipulation, but they looked at him. They thought for a second, then they simply answered, “When you look a bit weaker.”

That was it, if one had to believe their words. The entire reason for their generosity was something as banal as the person traveling with them, the vampire spawn that was about to bite them in their sleep, was looking a bit weaker and they needed food.

Not even asked. There was always the option to let him continue his animal diet, but they went out of their way, every few nights or so, to offer their neck once more. At first, it was convenient and simply a gesture of a fool that Astarion didn’t mind putting to good use. It betrayed a weak will, in his mind, because there was simply no other reason to let a dangerous predator to take a bite from a lamb and hope it won’t get addicted to the taste.

Eventually, Astarion found his in. They slept together, as he assumed someone like them would.

They detected something off, though. Astarion, perhaps naively, never thought that would be possible. Not with the mask he perfected in two centuries of life. He was sure it was nothing though, and he waved away the thought and the worry by answering their questions with his usual charm. He couldn’t allow himself to show how nude he felt when that mask would slip, because that would imply the kind of vulnerability he wasn’t afforded since he was still alive.

So the night passed.

So this specific night comes.

They offer again. And Astarion cannot wait for the moon to rise and the stars to shine, for the fire to crack besides them as his companion will go to sleep and he can again sink his teeth into tender, alive flesh.

“Darling, you will spoil me rotten like this.” He chuckles at his own words, makes sure to drag his vowels with the usual catty inclination he is used to take with people he needs to seduce. They shake their head, but the faint smile on their face sends a signal to his brain he cannot quite explain. It’s not quite that his heart flutters, but he wishes to see that same face again soon.

It’s an odd sentiment for someone like him, who cannot afford it. It’s a pesky little thing, that will pass, and it’s only because they have been so naively kind to someone like him. Someone who could tear their throat apart with a single swipe of fangs, or perhaps his claws could take hold of their delicate neck and open a passage from which blood could flow freely. But he doesn’t need it, he doesn’t want to think about it that way.

He cannot let the monster inside of him win. He will take what’s enough for his survival and cultivate this relationship for his own gain.

He awaits the night as they travel. The Coast is filled with the unknown and the wonders he has never seen since he has been secluded into a caged life, but he cares not to help those who are not useful to his quest. They, instead, are generous not only with him, but with anyone in need. It’s irritating at times, but he must bite his tongue and put a brave face on so that same kindness won’t be denied to him.

Finally, night falls. The camp is quickly set and everyone tends to their own personal wounds, or they converse among each other, some even argue about useless things. At times he feels like this camp life lacks the spunk it had, like when Shadowheart and Lae’zel almost fought, but he isn’t one to be involved so much that he wants to cause trouble.

He is lucky enough the others didn’t demand his head on a silver plate when his true nature was revealed.

Even they are busy with talking, sitting down by the campfire and entertaining Gale as he babbles about something related to the Weave or magic, as he usually does. There is a lazy, tired kind of smile of their face as they listen on, and Astarion finds himself wishing again to be able to see it more often. It’s not even the desire to be the one to cause it, but just the wish to see them content and unbothered by the chaotic mess their life has become.

It's a thought that lingers even after, for hours until everyone decides to lay down for the night and they are there, leg raised as they watch the sky. Everyone else is fast asleep, but they stay up more than usual. Astarion isn’t sure if they remember the promise, but he waits silently by his tent.

At some point, they close their eyes. He waits a few seconds, until their breath seems to even out, and he sneaks out, slowly. From that night, he has swore to be as silent as a church mouse when he is to drink their blood, and he is sure to keep that promise so that he could stay on their good side. He is cautious to make just the smallest amount of noise as he approaches, but their eyes shoot open anyway and they turn their head to look at him.

He is sure he will be scolded or told he is noisy. But they simply shrug, still laying down, and whisper a simple, “Can’t sleep tonight.”

It such a straightforward answer to a question never posed, but they raise an arm towards him in offering. The other hand come to uncover their wrist, and they speak again, “You can drink from my wrist.”

So they didn’t forget at all. Astarion accepts with a sarcastic, “Don’t mind if I do.”

He comes closer, kneels down near their body and they, at the same time, sit up so they will be at the same height. Less awkward, Astarion agrees, but he can’t help the joke, “You looked so pretty on your back, darling.”

They frown, but here again that small smile that guarantees him there is nothing wrong with what he is saying. They won’t push him away or punish him for a word too much, and maybe that was it all along. Maybe Astarion’s defenses are coming down because there is nothing to fear from someone who is showing their neck to you.

Quite literally too.

Satisfied with that explanation, he takes the arm he is offered in his hands, rests a barely-there kiss on the wrist and lets his fangs grow in size as they sink down. Blood rushes to his mouth, wetting his lips and pooling on his tongue, as he drinks up the rusty flavor with his usual abandonment.

Strangely enough, it’s not the feeling of being sated that joins the hunger tonight. He feels a strange rush of compassion, of tension and just a sprinkle of adrenaline as he continues to suck the blood out of the minute veins in their wrist.

He wonders if this is normal. If blood is supposed to give emotions like this when it comes from someone you have more connection with. What could it be, if they were even closer?

There is a small amount of panic inside his chest, but he cannot stop the thoughts of how sweet and tasty it could be to lure someone and drink up their blood after making them hope for something deeper, after developing feelings and betraying them. Even stepping on his own heart would be worth it.

He stops himself just in time, as he feels his jaw clenching down.

He does his best not to let them see how worked up he is in this exact moment. He knows they would freak out, they would see what he truly is and realize that this whole ordeal isn’t convenient for them. He simply can’t have that, both because he doesn’t mind having someone offering blood and because he doesn’t want to lose their support. The only person whose smile, besides his own, he wants to protect, and he is so close to hurt his chances to even be close to them.

But they don’t freak out. Not in the way Astarion thought. They look down at their wrist, at the blood still falling from the two even, small injuries that dig into their flesh, and then they look at him. With their other hand, they reach out and let the tip of their fingers rest on his cheek, without cupping it completely.

It’s a delicate, intimate gesture. The closest Astarion ever felt to someone, and they are barely touching. They blink and ask, “Are you okay? Do you need a bit more?”

Days ago, Astarion would have grinned and took them up to that offer. Tonight, Astarion truly feels his heart flutter and wants to see them smile up at him, and he doesn’t care that they’re kind to everyone, until they are to him too. Until he is included in that generosity.

“No, thank you. I think I will go rest.”

They blink again. Then, they shrug again and the smile arrives. Small, tired, and the last thing Astarion wants to remember of that night.

[judebelle]

Comforting gavi bc of his injury 🥹

it'll be okay - p.g. x reader

a/n : couldn't find a gif of him in the spain vs georgia match but gavi get well soon!

cw : fluff, angst, pablo in pain, injury, poor medical references, me using my limited knowledge of acl injuries lmao, reader not knowing how to comfort him, swearing, barely edited

wc : 1.6k

pairing : pablo gavi x fem!reader

---

the one game.

the one game you couldn't make it to was the one game that you needed to be at the most.

your boyfriend, pablo gavi, was playing for spain in a euro qualifier. you had an exam that day, so you couldn't be there to support him.

"no te preocupes, baby. good luck on your exam." (don't worry, baby. good luck on your exam.)

that was the last text your boyfriend sent you after you apologized again for not being there for him, even though you were already right outside your exam room.

with his reassurance, you stepped into the room and tried your best on the exam.

you weren't sure as to why pablo had to start for this match. spain had already qualified and he was already overworked as it was, but you didn't question his coach and managers and just brushed it under the rug.

unbeknownst to you, pablo had suffered an injury during the match. as you completed your exam, unaware of the events unfolding on the field, pablo battled through the game with determination. eventually, the fatigue took its toll, and he found himself nursing an injury that would later reveal itself as a full tear of his acl as well as an associated injury to his lateral meniscus.

your absence from the game meant that the news of his injury remained hidden from you, leaving you unsuspecting of the challenges he faced without your support.

you exited the exam hall, confident that your relentless studying had paid off. you opened your phone, intending to message pablo about your exam. you completely forgot about his match until you saw a ridiculous amount of notifications on your lock screen. as you scrolled, your heart sank upon discovering the news. shock and concern shook you as you read the details of your boyfriend's injury.

many reports outlined the severity of the situation, describing how pablo had most likely torn his acl during the match. a wave of guilt and empathy washed over you as you absorbed the gravity of the news. instantly, you dialed pablo's number, desperate to speak with him.

your heart sank at the monotone beeps that met your ear. stupid idea, he wasn't going to pick up the phone when his whole fucking knee was messed up. you realized that you were too far from the stadium to rush over there, so you sent him a few texts notifying him of your knowledge of the situation and made your way to your shared home.

---

you knew that there was not much you could do in terms of helping with the injury. all you knew was that pablo will be gutted when he gets back. you weren't an expert, but you saw the clip of the injury and the tears that spilled from his eyes. this was a serious injury and he would have to sacrifice a good chunk of the season recovering.

that's when a guilty feeling settled in your chest. you would've no doubt, skipped your exam to be there had you miraculously known what was in store for him. maybe if you were in the stands, you would've been able to see if he was okay and talk to him.

as you entered the house, you hurriedly kicked off your shoes and washed your hands, getting the house as comfortable for him as possible. you fixed up the bed, put a few ice packs in the freezer, and started making his comfort foods.

being an athlete means that pablo is always on a pretty strict diet, but you snuck in a few treats in his bed side drawer because you knew he'd need them.

after what seemed like an eternity of waiting and anxious preparing, you finally heard buzzing from your phone.

"hello? pablo?"

you heard a pained grunt and some shuffling before he strained out,

"y/n.."

"oh, thank god you're okay! what's happening? any updates yet? when are you coming home?"

pablo interrupted your rambling with a soft laugh, almost forced, before speaking. "despacio, mi amor," (slowly, my love.)

you pause your tangent, freezing in place and waiting for him to say something. you're about to start speaking again when you hear the front door start to open pablo's voice on the phone.

"i'm home."

---

two men walked beside him in case he needed assistance walking through the front door, but he was more than capable on his crutches. you dropped the phone from your hand as you saw pablo walking in from your place in the kitchen. you rushed over and he sent you a tight lipped smile. he told the two men that they're good to leave, and they did.

you finally walked closer to him, wanting to throw yourself onto him but stopping once you remembered his condition. you huffed in annoyance before ultimately pushing your lips against his fiercely, but not too hard.

he kissed back, but couldn't wrap his arms around you as he needed to hold his crutches to stand. you broke away and looked down at his knee. he was wearing a grey tracksuit, but you could see something under his pants on his left knee, most likely a brace of some sort.

"pablo, you have no idea how confused i am.. what happened? tell me everything!" you led him to the kitchen while walking beside him incase he needed help. he begins to fill you in on how he was challenged during the match and he didn't quite turn right, and his knee was already hurting from the beginning of the match, but they told him to play on.

"they ran some tests. i don't know what the results are yet, but they're quite sure that i completely tore my acl and injured my meniscus. if they're right.. i could be out for around nine months. my season is done.."

you had no idea what exact muscles and tissues and bones pablo was naming, but yo knew that acl injuries were no joke, and needed to be taken seriously. also knowing pablo, he plays passionately and has had a great season so far. the fact that it's being cut short is not fair to him.

nothing is.

"ai.." you hissed sympathetically "well, i don't know much about acl's, but i do know that you need to rest properly. and you being the stubborn man that you are, i will be here to make sure you do exactly that, okay?"

you didn't give him time to respond before placing some plates and bowls on a tray and taking them upstairs, telling pablo to stay put. you hurried back downstairs before helping up the stairs, letting him use the crutches as well.

after a few minutes, he was upstairs and into bed. you sat beside him on the bed, his head turning when he felt it dip.

"i smell food.." he smiles sheepishly as you giggled. he must've been hungry after the match. you lifted the tray from the table beside you and placed it beside him. you placed a pillow under his head, making sure he was sitting slightly upright.

you sat crisscrossed beside him and took a spoonful of a soup you made him, blowing lightly as you smiled at him. he was waiting patiently while looking up at you. you brought the spoon to his lips and tilted so he could sip. you did this until the bowl was empty.

pablo, once again being the stubborn man he is, tried to tell you that he didn't need all the fuss, and that you could relax. well, you were even more stubborn. you let him sip water through a straw before turning on his favorite show on low volume on the tv.

"baby, i don't need all this-"

"shh, just relax, cariño. let me take care of you.."

you layed beside him and moved his head to lay slightly on your chest, his eyes still fixed on the sreen.

you had propped up his right leg, under a spare pillow, making sure to keep an eye on it. the doctors would be doing frequent visits and you were determined to make his healing process as smooth as possible.

"you really are an angel, you know that, y/n?" he looked up at you, the glare from the tv shining in his brown eyes.

"you've only told me that a hundred times, guapo." you leaned down to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

he hummed softly at the contact, needing the relief.

"i just... i wish i didn't have to miss the whole season. i was doing really well.. it's not fair."

"i know it isn't, pablo. if you ask me, you shouldn't have been starting that match. you need your rest, you're still young."

he huffed in annoyance, letting out all his frustration.

the room fell silent, the faint sounds of the show you had turned on filling the air.

"y/n..?" he whispered gently. he sounded nervous.

you hummed in response.

"what if - when i return - i'm not in the same shape that i was.. what if i can't play well anymore?"

his words broke your heart. he shouldn't have to worry about this at his age. you sighed softly, your hand running through his soft locks. his eyes fluttered shut. he always liked when you did that.

"you won't have to worry, baby. as long as you rest properly, and take it easy, you will be fine. the more you worry, the worse it will get. just.. just let me take care of you. everything will be okay. it will fall into place."

his lips stretched into a soft smile, your words calming him. your hand was still running through his hair, making pablo's adam's apple bob up and down.

"i love you." he whispered, his eyes opening to look into your eyes as he said it.

you bit your lip and smiled softly.

he looked so cute.

"i love you too."

you pressed your lips to his again before leaning into each others warmth.

you both drifted off to sleep.

[skeltnwrites]

main fic | vampire!steve discovers his fangs 0.6k, cw suggestive themes

Steve gasps from the bathroom before calling, “Babe!” 

You’re intrigued but you’re also tired. The new sleep schedule to accommodate your newly nocturnal boyfriend hasn’t been an easy change.

“What!” you shout back. 

“Come here!” His inflection isn’t concerning but a part of you worries anyway. 

You groan rather dramatically and kick the blankets off the bed, slinking onto the floor and standing from there. 

The bathroom door is pushed open while you knead the sleep from your face. “Hmm?” 

Steve is buckled over the sink with a finger hooked in his mouth to hinge his jaw open. He studies his reflection carefully. You hope it’s not another cavity. He really has no reason for them now when his diet consists mostly of pigs' blood. 

“Look,” he slurs over his thumb, smearing the escaping line of drool with his free hand. 

He faces you when you approach, eager to show you the inside of his mouth like a little kid with a loose tooth. 

And you’re confused because it looks like a normal mouth until– “Holy shit!” 

He closes his mouth, equally bewildered. “I know!” 

You cup his chin softly, “Wait, open.” 

He obliges, revealing a much pointier set of pearls on either side of his canines. 

“What the fuck.” You crane in until you’re at eye level with his tongue, close enough to catch a strong whiff of spearmint. “Did they just grow in, or like, sharpen overnight?”  

“I guess? I dunno.”

A curious finger careens to poke, “Can I touch ‘em?” 

“They’re sharp. Careful.” 

You prod the point with the pad of your thumb. It hurts but you don’t press hard enough to draw blood. 

“Wow.” You lean back, fondly lingering on his lips for a beat after he seals them. “Do they hurt?” 

He shakes his head, tongue swiping across the top row of his teeth to check. Steve has a wild case of bedhead and toothpaste foam crusted at the corner of his lip but you’re pretty sure this is the most you’ve ever been attracted to him. 

You swallow a smile for just long enough to nimbly peck the end of his bottom lip, holding his wrist for stability. 

Kisses are like fuel to him; he blinks to life, a goofy grin stretching across his face. They’re also like crack– once he gets a taste, he can’t stop himself. He spoils your cheeks with love, several presses of affection from one side of your face to the other. A more proper good morning in his mind. 

Steve considers the mission successful when you’re in a fit of giggles and squirming away. He relaxes against the countertop and crosses his arms. “I think it was from a dream– like, I was dreaming about drinking blood, or something. I dunno, I don’t really remember.” 

“Oh?” you smirk, shifting to squish his leg in between each of yours. ��Were you like… sucking someone’s neck?” Your pointer finger curls under the hem of his shirt playfully, knuckle grazing the pudge of his tummy. 

Steve’s cheeks blossom into a bright shade of pink and his eyes race away from yours. It’s funny to think how forward he used to be with flirting. Here you’ve turned him to mush with one line. 

You try to reign in your laugh, lest your poor boyfriend be embarrassed for too long. “You don’t have to tell me, Stevie.” 

“It wasn’t like that! It was– I was sucking your blood, yeah, but it wasn’t sexual, okay?” 

“Are you sure cause you seem really hot and both–” 

“Oh my God!” He drags you aside gently so he can flee to the bedroom. 

[craigslisthorses]

Hyperkalemic Periodic Paralysis (HYPP)

Breeds with HYPP; Quarter Horses, American Paint Horses, Appaloosas, and Quarter Horse Crosses.

HYPP

"An inherited disease of the muscle, caused by a genetic defect. A mutation in the sodium channel gene. Sodium channels are pores in the muscle cell membrane which control contraction of the muscle fibers. When the defective sodium channel gene is present, the channel becomes “leaky” and makes the muscle overly excitable and contract involuntarily. The channel become “leaky” when potassium levels fluctuate in the blood. This may occur with fasting followed by consumption of a high potassium feed such as alfalfa. Hyperkalemia, which is an excessive amount of potassium in the blood, causes the muscles in the horse to contract more readily than normal. This makes the horse susceptible to sporadic episodes of muscle tremors or paralysis."

GENOTYPE

HYPP Positive= H/N and H/H

HYPP Negative= HYPP N/N

HYPP horses with H/N genotype means they are heterozygous carriers, carrying one copy of the HYPP gene. If you bred a mare who is H/N to a stallion who is N/N, you would have about a 50% chance the foal is H/N as well. However if you bred an H/N mare to an H/N stallion you will have about a 25% chance the foal being N/N, a 50% chance it will be H/N, and a 25% chance it will be H/H.

HYPP horses with the H/H genotype means it is homozygous, carrying both copies of the HYPP gene. 100% passing the HYPP gene to it's offspring.

I made a thing in case it helps the visual learners out there

IMPRESSIVE (but not really)

Let's talk about the QH stallion, Impressive. All horses that have a HYPP positive gene of any kind, all descend from this horse. Impressive sired 2,250 foals and they estimate he has around 50,000 living descendants. No dilution of lineage will remove HYPP, as it is a dominant trait and will show whether you are 5 generations back or 2.

HYPP SYMPTOMS

HYPP varies in severity, it's not always equal and every horse may have different reactions. HYPP can be confused for tying-up or even colic, they may have difficulty breathing, muscle tremors, sweating, weakness, tremors. In more severe cases the horse may collapse from paralysis of the muscles in the airway and can result in sudden death.

Not every horse who is HYPP positive may display symptoms, making this disease sometimes hard to detect.

IS IT CURABLE?

No. HYPP may be managed with diet and certain medicines for maintenance but it cannot be cured. H/H positive horses have poor prognosis and can be much more difficult to manage.

VIDEOS OF HYPP ATTACKS

CW: Horses in distress, videos may be hard to watch for some.

Video 1

Video 2

Video 3

Video 4

Video 5

Sources (and if you want to read more); AAEP , UCDavis, Tri-State

Is there anything I forgot? Anything to add? Just covering the basics of this disease and what it does to these horses.

[izvmimi]

cw: crack but also cute, i think. reader has a specified magic, and she and mash are friends (for now). reader's a bit preoccupied with his diet. a bit of medical talk.

Mash is three bites into a cream puff when you put away the last of your pantry essentials, and turn to look at him, a slight frown on your face.

He’s done the legwork of your grocery shopping run, bringing everything into your apartment in one trip, and now, baked good in hand, he’s looking idly in your direction. You can tell you’ve exhausted him all morning with your chatter, but he’d deny it if you asked him, claiming he’s content to hear whatever you have to say.

You are now tasked with the job of convincing yourself that that’s true, but Mash doesn’t lie, and it is particularly hard to lie to you anyway. You lean over your counter as you watch him sit atop your barstool, kicking his feet practically, and when he catches you watching him finally, his eyes soften as he inquires what you have to say. 

“Mm?”

You almost feel bad for spoiling his happiness when you say, “Mash, I think we should talk about your diet.”

He blinks, and takes four more bites, rapidly in succession. He knows exactly what you mean. 

“There’s nothing wrong with my diet.”

He’s eating faster now, and before you can open your mouth the cream puff is gone. There are at least three more stowed away from the supermarket bakery this morning, sitting in your fridge, that he absolutely plans to leave with. Not that you can stop him, or would.

But it’s your duty to say something. 

Moving in closer to talk to him, you pull up the other barstool and rest your elbow on the counter to prop up your chin. Now you’re eye to golden eye, and his expression is unchanged, neutral as always but he’s focused on you.

“I know you like them, but you can’t live off of flour and sugar, Mash.”

He blinks again. “Why not?”

You scrunch your nose. “Diabetes? Which leads to heart disease, stroke, poor arterial circulation, retinopathy, renal failure…” your fingers tap the desk with every disease, but your voice trails off as you can see his eyes glaze over and you let yourself sigh internally before stopping. “I’m wasting my time with this, aren’t I?” you say, not annoyed but somewhat defeated. You’ve looked away for a moment, but when you look back, you’re not sure when he moved, but there’s another cream puff in hand.

“Mash!”

“Mm?”

You grit your teeth. “At least consider what I have to say for a second.”

Through bites, he insists, “No, you totally have a point but my nutrition is fine.” He swallows, then pats his left chest. “Mike and Kevin have not brought anything to my attention.”

It’s your turn to give him a blank look, but Mash never ceases to surprise you, and if you don’t say something fast, he’ll tell you about the rest of his muscles’ thoughts and feelings. 

“Right but long term, Mash.”

“Mm.” He smiles, accepting your concern for him. “Show me where I’m unhealthy then.”

Mash stands and raises his arms in a T-pose, and unable to help it, you burst out laughing. Of course, you can’t find any flaw - every extent of his body remains as chiseled and developed as the day you first met him, and the fact that he even looks so seriously willing to participate is so laughable. 

“I-” you’ve run out of ways to defend your stance, but then you shake your head.

“You know that’s not what I mean-”

Somehow in the time that you closed your eyes and shook your head to recollect yourself, he’s started doing push-ups. You give him an appraising look, then go to the fridge and pull out a cabbage from the crisper.

Without bothering to ask, you settle down on his back once he’s slowed for a moment, and he continues, this time slow enough that you won't topple off of him. 

“Okay, how about if I turn this choux into choux cream?” 

He pauses in the up position, and cranes his neck up in your direction.

“I’m listening.”

“Good.” He descends again, and you make yourself more comfortable on his back, tucking your legs in. 

“I use my magic to make you feel like you’re eating a cream puff, but it’s actually a nutritious vegetable.”

“Mm.”

He stops, and you jump off of him, and then he takes the cabbage from you in his right hand as you stand before him. Looking from the cabbage to you, he asks:

“So you’ll replicate the entire experience of a cream puff in this cabbage?”

You nod. “Like this.”

You touch his hand gently, whisper your incantation, and in Mash’s eyes, the cabbage now has the appearance of a perfectly appetizing cream puff in his hand, far better appearing than the one he just had, and far too eager, he brings it to his mouth, spitting out immediately when it’s a raw cabbage and not his favorite food in his mouth. 

“Unpleasant.”

You grimace.

“Shit, I think I need stronger magic,” you murmur to yourself. Scratching your chin, you realize that taste might require a bit closer contact.

“Mash.”

Mash has set the half-bitten cabbage back down and is now in your fridge to cleanse his palate with another cream puff.

“Wait!”

He turns to the sound of your voice, mouth full, and you sigh. Walking towards him, you take the cream puff out of his mouth and set that on a plate too, right next to the cabbage. 

Moving to the sink to wash your hands, you ask, “Can you let me try again? I just need permission to touch your cheek or tongue in order to make sure your taste buds get involved in the illusion.”

You turn and look at him, once your hands are dry, and you shake them out, and he looks at you contemplatively. 

You raise an eyebrow.

“Can I or-”

Suddenly he steps forward, and gently takes your face in his hands, and before you know it, he’s kissed you. Tongue in your mouth, sweet and swirling quickly; it’s over almost as quickly as it began.

You hold your breath, but he’s reached for the cabbage now, and bites into it.

“It worked.”

The look on his face is pleasant and unfazed, unlike you. Your heart races for a moment, but soon you remember to breathe and air fills your lungs again.

All that’s left to say, your cheeks warmed, is, “I’m glad.”

[cindol]

— dick grayson x black fem reader drabble .

cw + — vampire!dick , reader gives consent for dick to drink her blood, black female reader wears gold ,

Vampire!dick grayson prefers to drink female blood. It isn’t because it taste sweet or that he’s on some diet, blood just taste so much better when it’s from a woman.

It was technique of drinking blood from some poor woman lady too. In this case you were a good example of that.

He just couldn’t help but take you. When he came to this human bar the initial reason was to just scope the scenery out, see who’s a regular here and he had already found his new favorite source of energy.

Seeing you, a cute girl with honey kissed brownskin wearing a backless dress that went down to your knees and a small golden snake necklace around your neck. You checked off every box for him as a little human treat

Despite your tantalizing appearance your personality was the complete opposite of that, sweet just how you smelled and how you tasted, and your blood tasted so sweet.

As he nipped at your neck he wanted so badly to turn you just seeing how the blood ran down from your neck to cleavage, some even dripping onto your golden necklace. But dick knew the consequences and what that would bring for him if he turned some random girl he knew for four hours into a vampire.

It was more addictive how you whimpered and wanted more of his sucking. He so badly wanted to continue but if he did his little toy would be out of energy and he didn’t want that, not so soon at least.

It was weird how he didn’t even have sex with you yet you were struck with a lustful feeling of wanting his mouth back on your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me but please… more?” Your begging was more of a wining request.

All you got in return was dick patting your head with a toothy smile showing his fangs.“id love to but I got business y’know?” He checked his watch, in any minute he could count on Bruce nagging him about something.“as good as you taste I don’t want to drain you and then you’ll look like a veggie.”

you whined more but he just shook his head chuckling, probably a note that probably had his number on it.

[propertyofkylar]

Normally I send Whitney asks (probably will send one later) but I need to give my baby Kylar some love. Poor thing needs a good home cooked meal, he needs fruits too bc he has scurvy from his awful diet.

every time you say kylar has scurvy it makes me CACKLE it's so fucking funny. because it's so true.

but you're right giving kylar a homecooked meal needs to be more than just the headcanons i wrote before it deserves a full fic so let's fucking GOOOO

m!kylar x gn!pc, no cws just wholesome, tooth-rotting fluff ^_^

"Sit down and be patient, Kylar."

Your boyfriend sulked, but sat down in the kitchen chair anyway. You paid no mind to the fact that he pulled the chair directly next to where you were standing.

"S-sorry," he mumbled. "It just smells so good!"

You rolled your eyes affectionately and placed a hand on his cheek. He immediately beamed and leaned into your touch.

Ever since you had started spending more time at Kylar's manor, the amount you worried about him had only increased. The boy was almost always alone, staring at his six computer screens and only ever seemed to be eating instant ramen or fried food he bought on the way home from school. It was a miracle he hadn't suffered some severe nutritional deficit yet - though while you were certainly no doctor, you were pretty sure he was anemic.

So you had promised him you would make him a homemade dinner, and he had reacted as you had anticipated: by crying and thanking you repeatedly.

Now, here you were, cooking in Kylar's kitchen. It was pretty fun, honestly. Not only did you get to spend more time with Kylar, you got to do something you rarely got to do in the orphanage. Here, there was no Bailey to yell at you.

You had opted to make Kylar a katsu curry. Something simple that you were sure he would like, and something you could pack with veggies to make sure he got plenty of vitamins. Of course, you were pretty sure Kylar would have eaten anything if you were the one making it. But you figured you couldn't go wrong by appealing to his love of Japanese things.

"Do you want a taste?" You asked, dipping a spoon into the pot. Kylar eagerly nodded and jumped up. You guided the spoon to his mouth and he happily took it, grinning widely at you.

"It's good!" He said. "I knew my love would be a fabulous cook!"

You smiled at his over-exaggeration. "Okay, go grab a plate. It's ready."

He did as he was told - grabbing an extra plate for you as well - and you served up the dinner.

The two of you took a seat at the table, but the way Kylar was practically bouncing in his chair made you stop before you could begin eating.

"What's going on?" You gestured over to him. His excitement was palpable.

"My love made me dinner! We're eating it together! It's like we're already married..." Kylar sighed dreamily, gazing down at the plate.

You shook your head, but you were smiling, too. "Come on. You gotta eat before it gets cold, or you won't get any dessert," you teased.

He nodded seriously and starting digging in, a little too enthusiastically. "It's so good!" He choked out between bites.

"Kylar!" He paused and looked up at you. "Slow down. I don't want you to choke."

Kylar nodded again, making sure to slow down. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "It really is that good..."

You took a bite of your own, pleasantly surprised at the taste. "Huh. I guess you're right."

"Thank you," Kylar said, staring at you lovingly. "My love is so good to me!"

"Then I'll keep cooking for you. God only knows what vitamin deficiencies you have. You probably have scurvy," you joked. But what Kylar had said before was ringing in your mind. Being married to Kylar...it might be pretty nice, actually. You had never been able to think about a real future, one where you weren't trapped under Bailey's thumb. Maybe one day you would be able to actually live here with Kylar and you could cook for him every night without worrying about where your next payment was going to come from.

Kylar noticed you zoning out. "What are you thinking about?" He asked curiously.

"How much I love you," you replied, and were pleased at how his face instantly flushed bright red. It made you laugh. "But really, I'm glad you like my food. I had a lot of fun making it and getting to spend time with you."

Kylar smiled, but seemed flustered still. "T-then...I'll be in charge of dessert..." his hand came to rest on your thigh and started to move up.

"Let's finish eating first," you said, and Kylar drew his hand back, looking disappointed.

"R-right..." he mumbled, going back to his plate.

You laughed again and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. "I'm looking forward to it."

[lazyjellyfish300]

Can I request "watching a horror movie with Peter B. Parker"? 😳

Reader loves horror movies but Pete invites her over without knowing that

HIII. Sure, love! 🫶🏽 Wasn't sure if you meant to submit this as a SMAU request, since this idea seems to be more suited for a fic. My fic requests technically aren't open rn but since there is scarce material for Peter B., I will make ur dreams come true 🎃

I will open my requests for the entire month of October too as like a Flufftober thing so stay tuned for more information about that. 🖤

a horror movie night with peter b. 🎥🍿🎃🕸️🔪

CW: X FEM!READER, TAD SUGGESTIVE , MINORS DNI, DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD AND GORE, NAUSEA, KINDA GROSS. FLUFF AND CRACK. MINIMAL PROOFREAD.

WORDS: 2.6K 🔪

@1-900-venusluvs @thatone-writer @spider-mon-de-parker @gltzpzy @pxtched

"Man, how are you about to have a Halloween movie marathon date night and no Halloween treats or decorations?!"

Margo Kess brings her fingertips together and leans forward, as though the absurdity of the situation was such that it required her full contemplation.

Peter B. quirked a brow, seemingly unable to grasp the seriousness of his offense.

"You're supposed to decorate?"

"Not supposed to, but you should." A new voice chimes in from around the corner.

Peter B. groans internally. He would be outnumbered this time. Enhanced spider hearing was both a blessing and a curse. And this time it leaned more towards a curse as it enabled the two spidergirls access to his private business.

2 versus 1.

Gwen saunters in, accompanied by a curious Pav.

Scratch that, make it three.

"It's kinda like returning your grocery cart in the parking lot. You won't get arrested if you don't do it. But it's a litmus test about whether or not you're a good citizen, or in this case a thoughtful boyfriend." Gwen hums.

Peter B. rakes his fingers through his hair, leaving the brown mop with flecks of silver disheveled.

"Oy vey, you ladies act like I'm not even going to feed the poor girl. I have snacks on the itinerary, you know this."

"Let me put it this way." Margo angles her clasped hands at Peter to lay down her point. "Your girlfriend is coming over to your apartment for the first time. Cool Ranch Doritos and Diet Coke isn't gonna cut it. And I say that as an individual who particularly appreciates those two things. Do you even have soap in your bathroom? Not counting the one you scrub your ass with in the shower? "

Peter groans, his mind suddenly plagued with an unchecked to do list of God knows how many items he was missing. And the movie date was to happen in t-minus 5 hours. He must have been out of the dating pool for longer than he thought.

But, they made a compelling point. Peter was crazy about you, and you deserved better than that. After a couple dates and a few intimate encounters that got a little bit, steamy, shall we say, your relationship was at a pivotal point. Teetering at the precipice between something serious and long lasting, or a fling that springs to a flame quickly but blows out with the winds of a couple fleeting months.

He sure hoped it was the former.

"We got you." Gwen assured, nudging his rib with her elbow. "Just give us your credit card and like... three hours?"

Pav strains his neck into the conversation. "I am correct in making the assumption that pumpkin spice flavored beverages and cake pops will be part of this excursion?"

Gwen sighs. "Yes, Pav."

Margo nods. "Yeah, you know, we could use your attention to detail, Pav."

Pav clenches his fist victoriously and Peter sweats a little bit for his financial stability by the end of this.

----

Peter can't recognize his living room as it's been transformed from head to toe into one of those rooms straight off some girl's Pinterest board entitled, "fall bucket list <3 🎃"

Festive orange candy corn and purple cauldron lights are strewn around his TV and from the ceiling to the floor, secured discreetly by spider webbing. His entertainment center is decked out in ghost shaped tea lights, casting decorative shadows on his empty walls. A large candle is burning on his coffee table that smells like a cinnamon pumpkin exploded in an apple orchard in the heart of October during a rain storm. Next to the candle is a large charcuterie board with assorted fruits, cheeses, crackers, and deli meats arranged to look like a spooky graveyard, next to a large tub of freshly popped popcorn with a mummy on it.

"The socks were all Pav's idea." Gwen hums in approval as she stands in front of her, Margo, and Pav's handiwork. Pav nods his head in acknowledgement, mouth full of a generous swig of his fall blended coffee drink in one hand with a half eaten cake pop in the other.

Peter notices the jack o'lantern print socks for him and the witches striped socks for you sitting next to some Frankenstein decorative throw pillows, along with an extra large plush throw blanket with black cats dressed up as trick or treaters, big enough for two people to snuggle underneath.

"Oh and do not forget to give her this!!" Margo holds out a spooky basket stuffed to the brim with all your favorite things straight out of a Target Halloween aisle.

"Hold on a sec, Burt's Bees, perfume, Ulta gift card...how much did you guys spend??"

"The pizza will be here in 10 minutes." Gwen checks her watch.

"Wait-hold on..." Peter B. is extremely particular about his pizza toppings.

"Oh, and we made some improvements to your bathroom. So it should be girlfriend-friendly." Margo shivers as she recollects the sad state of affairs they found it in before the trio waved their magic wands.

"Guys-"

Ding dong.

"Ope, that's her. Time to skaddadle. Anyways, good luck Pete!" Gwen webs to the outside window in the blink of an eye, Margo giving him the farewell salute close behind.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't dooo!" Pav calls in a sing-song voice before he's already gone as well.

Nothing like being thrown out a window without a parachute huh?

Peter straightens up and walks to the door.

Here goes freaking nothing.

He opens it and there you are, donning a comfortable crew neck Halloween sweater and eccentric earrings to match, a pan of brownies in hand.

Suddenly, the price tag of his Halloween apartment remodel is completely irrelevant.

You flash him a gorgeous smile. "Hi Pete."

"Hi, honey..." His lips spread into a charming grin. "Come on in."

You hand him the brownies and walk in, oxygen discarded in the entryway when you see the decked out, cozy movie setup for your date.

His apartment smells divine, first of all, and second of all, his living room looks like something straight out of your ideal version of a movie night if you could have planned it from scratch in your head.

It pulls you in like a freshly baked cinnamon roll with pumpkin cream cheese frosting with a blanket around your shoulders. You might just end up spending the night at this rate. You look over at Peter who's lost in your beauty like usual.

"All this for us? You shouldn't have, Pete! It's perfect."

"Y-yeah, hah. It was nothing, really. Just a little something. Wanted it to be festive, you know since it's Halloween and October and all."

He tried to play it off. You smile as he sets the pan of brownies down, almost catching his hoodie sleeve on fire on the giant candle in the process.

You weren't born yesterday. Peter must have some really sharp coworkers or something that did all this for him. He didn't seem like one with a knack or ability to be this elaborate. But, he was thoughtful, you'd give him that. He really was a man you hoped to be with for a long long time. And this Halloween date night, even if it was brought to you by the goodwill of the pumpkin fairy, you appreciated the gesture all the same.

"Make yourself at home." Peter gestures to the couch. The tense feeling in his muscles departs the moment you lean against his chest with a sigh.

"I missed you babe."

"I missed you, honey." He smiles, running a finger down the side of your face.

"What's this?" You take notice of the conspicuous Halloween gift basket and matching socks.

"Oh-those are for us." Peter leans forward, handing you your pair of socks. "And this is for you..." He hands you the spooky gift basket.

Your smile spreads wider and wider across your face as you unwrap each item. Who gives a damn if the pumpkin fairy was responsible? Nobody's ever done anything like this for you.

"Pete....you're so sweet. Thank you."

"No problem, beautiful."

Your gaze moves to one another's lips, both of your eyelids inadvertently becoming heavier when your eyes meet his.

"Um-" the apples of Peter's cheeks bloom a little red as he takes the remote hastily in his hand. "Let's get started, shall we?"

You nod, looking down with a smile as you shifted to get more comfortable on the couch, leaning snug against his chest, both feet tucked in your brand new socks and underneath the fuzzy edges of the Halloween blanket. There would be plenty of time for some action later.

"Why don't you choose the movie, honey?" Peter hands you the remote.

Honored with the power in your hand he was relinquishing over to you, you take it with a smile and begin to scroll through your options on his flat screen TV.

Peter kicks his feet up leisurely, already making a sizeable dent in the popcorn bucket. The doorbell rings again, signaling the arrival of the pizza.

—-

When Peter sets the plates of two generous slices for each of you on the coffee table with bottled root beers, he is a little surprised to discover the option you landed on while he was gone.

"Oh, what's this?"

"Psychological horror." You hum nonchalantly ,snuggling next to him and taking a large bite of the pizza, melted cheesy goodness warming your belly.

"I heard it's really good. It won an Oscar for the special effects, I heard."

"Ohh."

Peter gulps. He wasn't expecting you to make such a...bold choice for the first movie. You look up at him with those adorable big eyes of yours, a little bit of pizza sauce staining the corner of your mouth.

Well what was he going to do? Tell you no? Reveal that he's actually a huge pussy when it comes to scary movies? When he invited you over for movie night, he was expecting Tim Burton level horror. Not this hard core stuff.

Well, once again, here goes nothing.

---

Movie number one is done, and Peter already knows he's having fucking nightmares tonight. It's gonna take a prescription of an episode of Friends, maybe 2 episodes of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air to cleanse his system before he can comfortably fall asleep, just to be safe.

And there you are, happy as a clam.

"That was crazyyyy don't you think??" You turn to him with an enthusiastic smile.

"Uh, yeah it was...it was something alright, honey."

Peter's white as a ghost, but miraculously you seem to remain unaware of his struggling state, possibly thanks to the dim light, as the sun has set below the horizon for quite some time now.

"Can we watch one more?" You ask, sitting up to help yourself to a brownie.

"Um..."

And once again, what is Peter to do?

"Sure we can, honey."

"Yay!"

Peter feels like he might have a little bit of hope as you start looking at some older films. Those cheesy horror movies could probably be much more manageable.

"This one!"

But oh no, he's not getting off the hook so easily. His heart sinks to his stomach as he realizes he's in for another long ride.

You chose some 80s slasher film. And yes, while it has that corny nature of old horror movies, there is no shortage of gore. Blood spurts everywhere, guts flying across the screen. It's detailed and it's quite violent.

Oh here we go...

----

About an hour in and Peter feels himself turn a sickly shade of green.

This time, it's more obvious as you notice Peter seems to be fighting for his life next to you. He isn't digging the horror flick as much as you thought.

"Babe, you okay?" You look up at him, the expression on his face slightly unclear, as the glow of the TV's flicker shadows his face a bit.

He turns to look down at you tucked under his arm. "Y-yeah. I'm good, honey."

He gives your shoulder a squeeze but he's not winning an Oscar for his acting anytime soon. He chokes back a gag when the masked killer slices one of the character's throat and a blood squirt shoots up like a volcano of forbidden fruit punch.

"You don't like these?" You ask, raising a concerned brow.

"Well..." Peter winces as he watches the fake red sea of viscous blood fill up the screen as the killer held up the decapitated head.

"Not particularly, I mean..."

The guts on screen begin to look like his pizza toppings. Peter B.'s appetite flies out of the window quicker than the beginnings of his hairline at age 28.

"Yeah n-no, not really..." He chokes back a wretch.

"Oh Pete!"

You pause the movie, leaning over and turning on the lamp on the table next to the arm of the couch. Peter's discomfort is much more clear to you now as he leaned over, holding his stomach.

"Peter, why didn't you tell me you disliked horror films??"

"Why didn't you tell me you liked them?" He takes a deep breath, leaning over and laying his head on your chest.

You play with his hair, reclining back until you position your head on a pillow, his nausea slowly disappearing with each steady, calm thrum of your heart in your chest next to his ear.

"Silly man, I thought we were having a scary movie night." You tease softly, kissing his hair, subtle notes of his shampoo and Old Spice. The familiar scent of your boyfriend you've come to know and love.

"I was expecting Beetlejuice scary at most..." Peter scoffs, looking up at you, flashing you those most adoring, chocolate brown eyes. Sweeter than any Halloween candy on the shelves.

"Baby." You sniff air through your nose, shaking your head. "I love all that horror shit, but you should have told me." You smile, the feeling of his blunt stubble tickling the palm of your hand, his gaze liquifying as you caressed his face with your caring touch.

"We can watch something silly so you can fall asleep."

"Mm..." Peter's eyes close. If he was a cat, he would be purring. You smile, continuing to tangle your hands softly in his messy hair. He was so damn handsome, and you just wanted this Halloween movie night to end on a good note for you both. "Thanks, sweetheart." He sighs deeply.

He turns his chin, his hands finding purchase underneath your sweater, the heat from his bare palms cascading all up and down your body as he silently watched some 90s reruns with you, eyelids weighing heavier and heavier as the late hour dragged past midnight.

"Stay with me tonight?" He asks softly, some time later, sitting up and leaning over you so his body is pressing directly into yours, groaning, and your lips parting slightly as you took in the sight of him on top of you. A bit of that suppressed tension that was bottled up from earlier was fighting to be released at last.

"I don't wanna impose, Pete..."

The ending of your sentence fades into a muffled moan of surrender when he starts leaving slow, tantalizing kisses in a coaxing row on your jaw.

"You can sleep in my bed..." He whispers. "We don't need to do anything you're not comfortable with, baby..."

He kisses you gently, at long last. "Just stay with me, sweetheart. I don't want you going home alone this late..."

You gaze up at him, a sea of putty underneath him.

"Please?" He wiggles his brow in that adorably goofy manner that had you biting your lip.

"Okay, Peter."

You smile, your eyes screwing shut once again when his lips connected promptly with yours, sweeping you up into his awaiting arms, tucking you into one of his hoodies and pajama pants before he fell asleep with you cuddled in his arms.

Nightmares kept at bay thanks to your loving presence. Halloween couple's movie night a spookily romantic success.

[satomatto]

. //SOFT PACK | nutrition; NSFW!vers

ch: suguru geto; nanami kento; okkotsu yuta; sukuna ryomen.

cw: cannibalism mentions; daily routine, for the most part; something about Okkotsu's preferences been in the fanbook (I guess), but it's not considered here.

wc: 900

GETŌ SUGURU

Suguru is the kind of person who prefers a diet of healthy food. At least, it's definitely a big part of his menu, and even if you're not one of the health-conscious types, your own diet will surely be much more balanced than it was before.

Usually, he rarely cooks, but if a man sees you standing at the stove, he will approach you and definitely offer his help. He'll do his best to help you in any way he can, whether it's with household chores or the daily grind. Geto likes to see your gratitude, and at the same time, he doesn't like it when you overstretch yourself.

Sometimes they bring you breakfast in bed. With notes left on top - a kind of apology if for one reason or another he can't make it to spend the morning with you, if you've already had time to plan it; or just very cute reminders of today's chores that you shouldn't ignore.

Geto is excellent hand with knife. You can ask him to carve anything, and you can be sure he knows how to do it right. If you hear something along the lines of "sorry, I can't," you can be sure he can, but he doesn't want to. He rarely will refuse you, so he's probably just too tired for that, but on days like this, you just order take-out from a nice cafe nearby.

NANAMIN

As we already know, Nanami is actually a schedule man. You can say goodbye to quick bites and unhealthy snacks while you go. In the morning you will be waited for an appetizing breakfast, for lunch you will get both first and second, and from dinner you can't refuse in principle - it looks too delicious.

He likes his coffee strong and sugar-free. In particular, double espresso or cappuccino, but will not refuse and sweetened latte, if you suddenly want to prepare a drink for him. By the way, he's a great coffee maker. And you're in luck - because you can drink it every day.

He's a stickler for a relatively healthy lifestyle - due to his experience, capabilities and the cost of a whole bunch of health-related services. Treatment is expensive nowadays, and maintaining your condition is not only more profitable, it's easier. No, it doesn't mean he's not ready to spend money on going to clinics, Kento is just a practical man who doesn't like unnecessary movements - it's much easier to prevent a situation than to deal with the consequences.

Speaking of sweets: the man doesn't like them on principle, preferring to have a light salad once instead of munching on an extra bun, which you don't quite agree with him on. After all, he can't force you to give up junk food, but he's not going to just watch you do it. Most likely he will give a lecture about the proper diet of a healthy person and offer to share a salad with him.

You're not going to say no to him, are you?

OKKOTSU YUTA

Oh, this is so hard to deal with. The poor guy just doesn't have time to eat properly - he's really busy and barely knows how to plan his time, almost always rushing off to an emergency task at the first call. At times he hasn't even had time to sit down at a meal in the morning because of a sudden phone ring, just grabbing a random piece off his plate and munching it on his way out.

Throughout the day, he eats mostly snacks or fast food on his own, but you're a different matter. You rarely cross paths, but as soon as the opportunity presents itself, you go to a cafe or diner with a proper menu. He doesn't want you to kill your stomach with ramen, like him, and you want to feed him good food accordingly. And he'd rather have a nice bland dish from there than any fast food.

This guy isn't much of a cook, but he can whip up something good if you have a recipe and detailed instructions on how and what to add. You like the food he makes - he's usually pretty good at it, and when you get the chance, you even do it together.

Yuta loves fish dishes. Whether it's surimi, sashimi, or even odori, seafood is his passion. Not that you share it, but you taste a lot of it with him. Another fun fact is that you can feed him almost anything - he won't complain, even if it's a badly burned bean that's been in an old frying pan, fried in chicken broth. After all, you've worked hard for him - how can he reject your concern when he looks right into your glistening eyes?

RYŌMEN SUKUNA

Let's start with the fact that he's some kind of king, but he's a king and has his own servants. They do the cooking, but he'll also be pleased if you decide to make something for him. His food preferences fluctuate between oily and neutral foods, but mostly what we know is human meat.

That doesn't mean he'll decline a light side dish you've prepared. Just, expect that to please him you'll have to adjust to his demands. Yes, it's hard to cook human meat, but you can make a little effort for him, right?

Just because he has cooks in the kitchen instead of him doesn't mean Sukuna is a bad cook or can't cook at all. He's very good at it. In fact, you once tasted a dish made by him, and it was really damn good. High standards have been set for a reason and woe betide anyone who can't meet them.

The man has food-related kinks. Even the affectionate nicknames sometimes sound like he wants to eat you - from morsel to sweetie, from his lips sounds like an assault (that's what it is) on your body, soul and sweet, empty head.