#noel will never eat

[savageandwise]

Which one looks best?

[kittieshauntedourfantasy]

My silly funny RTC text posts that I made: the squeakuel

Part 1

[oddlyfondoffantasy]

Also my biggest takeaway from bingeing Malevolent and Dungeon Meshi pretty close together is that Arthur really needs a Senshi around to convince him to actually eat and sleep occasionally. Something something the party beat their mad magician because they were well fed and rested while Arthur and John got tied to a table by their magic user. Didn't even think to make a giant curry to distract the hag.

[arthur-lesters-spinal-cord]

Rip Noel you were just too pretty and Kayne couldn’t deal with the competition

[cam-stopped-eating-candles]

They’re dudes. Bros. Homies, even

[fofi42]

Meet Greg, eat cake Charity raffle

[woso-dreamzzz]

Blood Sugar II

England Lionesses x Teen!Reader

Summary: You go on Bake Off

"This time, on the Great Stand Up To Cancer Bake Off, it's Lioness time. Four of the England Lionesses brave the tent in the name of charity to tackle three challenges in the hope of securing, not the Euros trophy, but the star baker apron. This week's celebrities are: Leah Williamson, England captain and defender, Alessia Russo, goal scorer for England, Keira Walsh, England's midfield maestro and y/n l/n, England's youngest star."

You stand in front of your countertop, drumming your fingers against the wood as you look at all of the ingredients in front of you.

"Now, for your signature challenge, Paul and Prue would like you each to make a baker's dozen of sugar cookies," Noel Fielding says and you contemplate slamming your head onto the counter.

You knew agreeing to be on this was a bad idea.

"Each cookie must be hand-shaped," Alison Hammond continues," And made with love. You've got one hour. On your marks."

"Get set."

"Bake!"

"So," Leah says suddenly," Is this a good time to mention I don't know what a baker's dozen is?"

You've never really been a bigger baker. It wasn't really your speciality like a lot of other things like cooking your own meals and doing your own laundry.

There was also the added thing of the fact that no one in your family baked because you couldn't eat it. Well, you could, but it would send your sugar levels through the roof and you hated injecting more insulin than normal because it always stressed you out.

"Less!" You yell out," How much sugar is too much sugar?"

"I'm not helping you!" She yells back and you stick your tongue out at her.

"This is discrimination!" You declare as you start pouring your sugar in, hoping for the best.

The judges leave it ten minutes or so before they start walking around.

They got to Leah first, congratulating her on captaining the team to victory which she graciously waves off before getting way too competitive over a baking show.

Keira is next and it's hard not to be endeared by Keira, clearly the only sane person in the tent.

Alessia ends up accidentally breaking the electric mixer and tries to get everyone to ignore it by throwing a dish towel over it.

Then, it's your turn.

"So, y/n," Paul says," Do you have much experience with baking?"

"No," You reply.

"Did you prepare at all for this?"

"No."

"Do you have much hope you'll win?"

"What I'm hoping for is someone else does extremely badly so I don't come last."

Prue laughs. "Well that's honest of you. So, you have done no preparation at all?"

"I'm planning on just winging it," You admit," I'm diabetic so I don't really eat sugary things so I'm just hoping that they're edible."

"So you're not going to be tasting as you go?"

You eyes go wide. "Am I meant to do that?" You hand goes to cover your mouth. "No, are you joking? Am I meant to be doing that?"

The judges have a little laugh as they back away.

"Wait! Don't go! Am I meant to taste as I go?!"

Even though you don't taste as you go, you don't end up losing the challenge (not with plain tastebuds Leah Williamson in the running) but you don't win either.

Clearly, Keira's just good at everything.

The technical round is a disaster for everyone involved, even Keira and somehow, after burning her first set of fondant fancies, Alessia manages to win.

Leah continues to be the worst, which is what everyone expects so even though you don't taste anything, you're not the worst and, honestly, that's what you're aiming for.

You're here to provide the jokes and not to humiliate yourself on national tv and, you know, also to show that diabetics can bake too - not that you really knew that was a big issue until you signed up for this but apparently it is.

The only one that you actually practiced for was your showstopper.

'Your Biggest Triumph' was the theme and you'd had to practice for this one.

"Leah!" Keira shrieks suddenly and you whip your head around to see Leah with her hand in Keira's bowl of batter.

"I'm sorry Kei," Leah says, sounding not very sorry at all," But you're going to win if I don't sabotage you. I'm sure you understand."

You hold your breath as Keira's eyes dart towards Leah's bowl of unsupervised batter, leaping over the countertop to do the same.

"Wait, Kei! Keira, stop!"

Keira doesn't stop and you notice from the corner of your eyes Alessia moving as well.

You snatch your bowl up before she can grab it, sprinting to the other side of the tent.

Alessia follows you until you're backed up against the fridges.

"Less, Less!" You shriek, voice panicky as Leah and Keira wrestle at Leah's counter," Don't do this! You don't have to do this!"

"I'm sorry." Like Leah, Alessia doesn't sound sorry at all. "But it's for the greater good."

"Greater good! This is pure selfishness!"

"This is baking!"

"This is sabotage. Stay away from my bowl!"

"Come on. Don't make this hard than it needs to be."

An almighty crash sounds as Keira and Leah accidentally knock a mixer off the table and in the confusion, you manage to shove Alessia away to pour your batter into the pan.

The carnage continues throughout the time limit, only dampening when a truce is called so you can all decorate your cakes. Apart from that, it's a free-for-all as you find yourself standing on Leah's countertop, throwing wooden spoons at Keira and Alessia whenever they try to approach the pair of you.

"Alright, y/n," Prue says at the end of the time limit," Tell us about your greatest triumph."

"Okay." You point at the various decorations on your cake. "So this cake is a representation of my Dexcom. I know everyone else is choosing football stuff and all that but when I was six, I started feeling really bad. I couldn't focus and I was sweating and I couldn't really move well and I felt tired. It went on for a few days."

You point at one of the little marshmallow figures you made.

"I was playing in Alessia's garden with her and I threw up everywhere and she insisted on having her parents take me to the hospital. I'd developed DKA and was about an hour or so from going into a coma. The doctors ran tests and stuff and found that my pancreas had shut down. So, my biggest triumph was being diagnosed with diabetes."

You give a little shrug, pointing out the way you'd shaped your cake to look like your Dexcom and how on top you'd decorated it with marshmallow versions of you and Alessia and the doctor that you still went to get check-ups from.

"That's a lovely story, y/n," Paul says," But let's see if the actual cake tastes good. What kind is it?"

"Victoria Sponge because it's my mum's favourite."

Each judge takes a slice and you hold your breath.

Paul holds his hand out to you.

Your eyes go wide. "Are you serious?"

"Shake my hand."

You do that gleefully. Getting a Paul Hollywood handshakes means a lot.

"I mean, there's not much I can say," He says," The sponge is perfect. The filling is perfect. The flavours work well. The story to go with it is fantastic."

"And you never tasted any of it?" Prue asks and you shrug with a grin.

"I'm on a strict diet."

"Well...I mean if football doesn't work it then baking certainly will."

The Star Baker Apron you win at the end hangs up on your wall with your Euro's medal.

[zil-street]

Human John headcanon time!

Gets tired very quickly after gaining a body.

Wears a wooden ring on his left pinky.

Very loud.

Will still narrate things when he’s walking next to Arthur, and occasionally does this with other people when Arthur isn’t around.

Can still see through Arthur’s eyes if he concentrates really hard, this gives him a headache though.

Look at him hard enough and sometimes things will feel off, like his shadow is moving while he is just sitting still.

Got drunk with Noel one time and then never again because the hangover was the worst pain he had felt in a while (he had one drink).

Very clingy not just with Arthur but also Noel and eventually Oscar. Will just kinda drape himself over them whether they’re standing or sitting.

Loves gossip about people he doesn’t know.

All the little old ladies in the neighborhood love him because he’s quite the strapping young man. At least five of them say he’s just like their grandson.

For his first meal he ate way too much and got stomach cramps, even though he didn’t really like half the stuff he was eating. Next morning Arthur gave him bread and butter and that was a much better start to the whole food thing.

Really quiet when walking and scares the shit out of other people because they hadn’t realized he was in the room. Arthur is the only person this doesn’t affect.

Ambidextrous because he kept forgetting which hand he was supposed to be writing with.

John keeps a daily diary because a part of him is scared to forget anything about his life and he doesn’t trust that some weird eldritch being *cough* Kayne *cough* won’t mess with his memory.

John is a bit mischievous and goofy around people he knows well but will snap into “normal person” mode when he’s around others. Noel finds this hilarious, Arthur does not.

Never sits in chairs properly, and somehow ends up half lying down (for exceptions see the above headcanon)

Faroe specific:

He will describe her puppy dog eyes to Arthur whenever she wants something.

Carries her around everywhere, and lets her hang off his arm.

90% of the time something she hasn’t experienced neither has he so they both gang up on Arthur trying to convince him to let them go do something.

She likes his voice so Arthur and John alternate reading her bedtime stories.

Has a list of hard ‘no’s from Arthur on what he can or cannot buy for Faroe. Otherwise she’d have two puppies and three kittens by now.

Both Faroe and Arthur will occasionally fall asleep while leaning against him. One time both of them at the same time. He was overly cheerful about this and sat way too still for multiple hours.

[pparadiselost]

your noa fanfic drove me crazy there is nothing i wouldn't do for you to write about ego 🧎

actaeon.

ego jinpachi x fem reader ego sets up the perfect trap to make you undeniably his. warning(s): nsfw, noncon, being filmed without consent, exhibitionism minors do not interact. author's note: hello there! thank you so much for sending in a request!! this one... got a little out of hand and gnarly, so if you'd prefer that i write a fic without the dark content, please shoot me another ask and i'll happily write up another fic for you!! (ノ*°▽°*)

ego jinpachi is distinctly aware of who he is as a person, and he’s distinctly aware of the privileges that come with his odd place as the coach of the blue lock project. he’s sworn under some legal masquerade to use his power only for the betterment of soccer’s future, as if anything other than his obsession with the sport flows inside his veins. 

he knows his place as a heretic. he’s an outcast always looking in: the director but never the star, the god but never the devotee, the abyss but never the light. he’s seen the way people distances themselves away from him, be it anri or even veterans like noel. ego is perfectly content playing the role he does. his crazed behavior brings the end, and in his worldview, the ends always justify the means.

but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the unforeseen pleasures that spring up along the thorny path. he’s a free man now, and he has the world at his disposal. fortune favors the bold, but happiness favors the hedons. 

“you’re so sloppy,” he drawls in that condescending voice of his. if it weren’t for the slight edge to it, you would think it sounded robotic. his long cock is buried deep into you as you squirm in his lap, and his long arms hold you flush and captive against his chest. 

you’re faced with the horrifying sight of every single one of ego’s giant monitors lit up, each one displaying you. they’re all relatively innocent moments from your life. you’re eating breakfast in one, scrolling through your phone on the other, paging through a book you picked up in another… things that, creepy as they may be, are candid snapshots of your average life. 

except for the singular monitor facing center stage, seeming to mock you. you watch, stricken with fear, as the video plays a recording of you stuffing your fingers in your cunt, your pussy stretched out unmistakably on display. ego grins devilishly, and he thrusts in rhythm with the video of you masturbating.

“n-no… don’t do this to me-,” you squeak out. you need to clear your mind, need to speak reason into him, need to persuade him to get rid of these clips and to quit using all the cameras in the building for ill, and yet with his cock sliding in and out of you, it’s impossible for you to get any of your priorities straight. “d-don’t thrust into me like that-!”

“but you like it. you like it when i fuck you to a video of you getting off,” he giggles. you don’t need to be looking at him to envision the crazed gleam he’s bound to have in his eyes. you hate how much your pussy flutters and stretches around his cock, your juices making you gush every time you sink back down onto his lap. 

his hands tweak at your nipples, and he pinches your hardened buds in rhythm with the video. every time your fingertips swirl at your sticky clit, he moves his hands accordingly. pleasure courses in hot flashes across your vision and your cunt, and your hips move lewdly on your own, against your better judgment. 

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he chuckles behind you. his voice sounds high-pitched and crazed, like he’s a schoolboy going crazy over a scrap of attention from his crush. you should be disgusted, you should be scared, and yet with each inch of his long cock that pushes in and out of your squeezing pussy, your mind threatens to go dangerously blank. 

you shake your head weakly. sparks of heat and pleasure light up inside your brain. the dull stretch inside of your walls has your stomach doing backflips, his cockhead prodding deliciously at all of your deepest parts. “no- not you- you can’t do anything to me-”

he clicks his tongue, and when your head slumps against your chest, trying to retain your sanity by looking away from all the lewd videos of you he’s hoarded, he hisses as if you’ve scorned him. he grabs your face harshly, long and calloused fingers digging into the flesh of your face and neck, and he wrenches your eyes upwards so that you can’t look away from the screen. 

you hate it. your vision blurs when tears glaze over your eyes, but that can’t save you from the video. your legs are spread shamelessly open, your drenched pussy fully out on view as you toy with yourself. your face is twisted into a clear moan, lips parted as you gasp and cry out in pleasure, fingers buried deep inside of your cunt. your juices drool generously out of your clenching hole, and your thighs quiver uncontrollably as you masturbate.

“see? i have all of this and more,” ego murmurs. the glee in his tone is unmistakable. “i know how you like to touch yourself, how you like to be fucked. it’s cute that you think you can hide anything from me. you’re more feisty than you let on, aren’t you?”

he thrusts harshly up into you, his heavy balls slapping up against your clit. you barely bite back a strangled cry, electric sparks springing up inside of your chest. something tight pulls at your core, heat swirling like a slow whirlpool. you grit your teeth, and your breathing grows shallows. the friction of his cock rubbing into your gummy walls feels sinfully good, and his almost inhuman length makes it ridiculously easy for his tip to ghost over all of your sensitive parts.

it’s a lethal combination. his dick is just as long and tall as the rest of him is, not too thick but so long and enough to fill you up perfectly. each pump of his cock into you has you seeing stars, your nerves twitching and collapsing under the mounting pressure inside of your pussy. maybe it’s that, but maybe it’s also all the time he’s spent in the shadows, learning every inch of your body through the illicit videos and streams he’s collected of you, memorizing every quirk, every kink you have, making sure he knows by heart the best way to get you to crumble under his touch.

he was a feral beast that had been lying in wait, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. all you needed to do was to let your guard down for a split second, and he took full advantage of it to expose every single one of your weaknesses.

“don’t your worry. i’ll prove to you that i mean everything i say. there’s nothing i hate more than someone that can’t live up to their bragging. results… results are the only things that matter in this world—,” his sick laughter snaps you back out of your grief, “—even if that means making you cum until you’re a fucked out mess.”

he grips at your thighs, spreading your legs open a bit further in his lap so he can fuck his cock even deeper into you. your head feels heavy, a loaded scream locked in your throat when his tip starts fucking into your deep spots. you swear he’s hitting at your cervix, his cockhead trying to pry the entrance to your womb open so he can defile you thoroughly. you wouldn’t put it past him; ego was never the kind of guy to be satisfied with only doing the job halfway. it was always all or nothing with him.

pleasure consumes you from the inside out, his length stretching you out obscenely. your tight walls were massaging him so expertly, and ego can almost delude himself into believing that your cunt was made just to fit around his dick. you were made for him, made to be his perfect mate, and all the times he spent pleasuring himself to the illicit videos he took of you couldn’t even come close to actually getting his paws all over you.

“right here, isn’t it?” he thrusts up harshly into you, and you jerk back against his chest when heat slams down onto your skin. he’s abusing your g-spot, relentlessly bullying your sweet spots. helpess cries escape from you unwillingly as he fucks into you at his pace, his thrusts too sharp and too quick for you to relax into it, but your brain eagerly soaks up the friction. your cunt is begging for cock, wanting the addictive feeling of being filled up disrespectfully like you were just some loose toy, keeping you at constant odds with your shattered rationale. 

ego giggles in your ear, and you know his words are right. he does genuinely have you struggling futilely in the palm of his hand. you’re overwhelmed by all of the sensations around you: the haunting image of your fingers stuffed in your pussy flickering behind your eyes like a mocking vision. your hole was unknowingly milking him over and over, the shame and embarrassment of having to watch yourself fingering yourself while getting fucked making your pussy fall victim to all of the confusing pleasures.

“i can feel you getting tighter and tighter. i’m making you feel good,” he mocks you. his hands keep squeezing at your boobs, mesmerized by the soft flesh of your chest. his balls slap up against your skin, just waiting to spill his seed into your pussy and make you his forever. he sounds so pleased with himself. “you love to act like you’re all high and mighty, but we’re the same, you and i. it’s why i think you’re perfect for me. you’re just as dirty, just as much of a freak, and it’s my job to make sure you know that.”

tightness flares in your gut as if it’s mocking you. you don’t want to cum, don’t want to break that final boundary, don’t want to admit to yourself that you’re fully getting off of being manhandled and disgraced like this. but your body was never yours this entire time, and whatever madness possesses you right now only cares about the long dick sliding in and out of you.

“are you gonna cum? you’re gonna cum, aren’t you? filthy girl.” he twists your nipples harshly as if to emphasize his last few words. you feel so heavy and so weak all at once, broken down bit by bit and torn apart like a sheet of paper. how could you even dream of fighting back? you grit your teeth, not wanting to think about the frothy ring of ivory forming at the base of his cock, where your entrance is enticingly stretched out. “cumming from having a guy like me defile you… cumming from getting fucked while i play a video of you playing with yourself… filthy, filthy girl.”

tears had dotted over your vision a long time ago, and this was already a battle for you to lose the moment you got roped into his trap. your pride grips at your mind one last time, and you flex your thighs, wishing yourself the strength to forgive yourself when the worst of this would be over. even if intuitively, you knew that this was nothing more than the beginning to a wretched, wicked fall from grace, you wanted to take what little your remaining sanity could afford you.

you muster up the firmest voice you can. “you’re the absolute worst- you’re the scummiest man i know!”the lanky man simply laughs again, unaffected by your hurled insults. “oh, please. you’re just too predictable? you think i don’t know that? you think i wouldn’t consider myself scummy and awful after i’ve filmed you for so long in secret? what a stupid whore you are. it’s a good thing you have that pretty body of yours. otherwise, you’d really be nothing more than an unsalvageable excuse for a human being. naïve, gullible, all too easy for me to take advantage of…”

he pauses for a moment, and he leans in. horror settles in your psyche again when you can feel his hot breath fanning over the curve of your ear, and he presses a sickeningly gentle kiss right behind your ear. 

“and if i’m the scummy one,” he murmurs contemplatively, “what does that make you? you’re the one getting off on it. you say you’re not, but your body doesn’t lie to me. i can feel every little fucking thing that slutty pussy of yours is doing whenever i fuck myself into you.”

your stomach twists, painfully and needily, and your legs shake as his cockhead keeps ramming into your sweet spot. his tip bullies you right where you like it most, and your vision glazes over, threatening to go hazy and leave you at the mercy of this terrible man. you’re gonna cum—you can feel it. you can feel the heat building up inside of your core, the depraved tension just about to break.

you clench your eyes shut and brace yourself. your walls are greedily sucking onto his length, the wet noises of your bodies coming together echoing across the room. your toes curl as the pleasure overtakes your mind, and it feels like a second pulse is forming in your cunt, your body no longer willing to listen to you.

you grit your teeth and throw your head back against ego’s shoulder, much to his delight. “...nngh-!”

your pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him with all it has. it feels like something deep inside your stomach is exploding, and heat grips you all over. your nerves all feel as if they’ve been lit on fire. pleasure floods your brain as your pussy quivers and throbs. you hate that it feels good, a pleasure so blinding that your vision spins and it feels like you’re losing your center of gravity. any lingering strength escapes from your body as you shamelessly orgasm all over the cock that’s stuffed deep inside you, your walls fluttering all around his length and drooling around it as if it's the most delicious thing your cunt has felt. 

even as your high consumes you entirely, ego continues to fuck his hips upwards into you, threatening to break your body in half over his dick. you let out an incoherent cry, thrashing weakly against his frame. “n-nooo… d-don’t…!”

he laughs, his voice raspy and evil. “you came, didn’t you? don’t fucking lie to me. i told you i can feel everything, can’t i? that pretty little pussy of yours came from getting fucked by my cock. and to think you were going on and on about how you hated me that much… you’re not above getting dicked down, are you now? that’s what i thought… you really do look the prettiest when you’ve been fucked out like this.”

you don’t even have it in yourself to fight back against him. his cock weighs heavy inside of you, still thrusting rapidly into you despite the overstimulation that starts to claw at your weary insides. it’s too much; he’s moving too much at his own peace without any consideration as to whether or not you can fully keep up. but you don’t have any remaining fight to do anything to defend yourself, and it’s all you can do to even keep your head upright as he pistons his hips into you as if you’re his personal sex toy.

he twitches dangerously inside you, savoring the newfound tightness of your walls from fucking you straight through your orgasm. you’re sobbing softly, unable to form full thoughts and just crying out, praying that this whole thing will stop soon so you can tend to whatever remnants of your shattered psyche you can salvage. he’s close too: you can feel the way his cock throbs and shudders inside of you as he drags his inches in and out, the way his balls tense up against the curve of your ass, his ragged breathing and his muttered threats of stuffing your cunt up so full with his cum that not even contraception can save you from being marked inside and out by him.

you brace yourself. it should be over once he’s done having his fun with you.

but instead, he pauses. you peel your eyelids open at the sudden stop, and you gasp when he leans forward in the seat he has you trapped in between. he’s still buried deep inside you, his cockhead pressed up dangerously against the entrance to your womb, but he reaches for the controls of his monitor.

you know better than to think he has anything good in mind by reaching for his technology. but ego is faster, smarter, in all ways better at thinking a step ahead of you, and after pressing a button, he quickly traps you in between his long limbs to keep you from moving. you whimper pathetically, your legs spread out to reveal your stretched out cunt being continuously speared on his dick.

“shhhh,” he chuckles, the maniacal gleam in his eyes twinkling with an unmatched madness. horror swirls again inside of your gut when you hear the mechanic whirring of a camera, and your fears are confirmed when the giant camera lens atop his many desktop monitors swings towards the two of you, seemingly focusing straight onto your fucked out, restrained form, getting fucked out helpessly like some scene straight out of a porno.

in another move of faux affection, he kisses the shell of your ear. “letting you get off with only getting creampied is too predictable, don’t you agree? just you wait, my filthy girl… in a few seconds, that camera is going to display everything we’re doing to the entire facility… those hungry, hungry boys are going to see you bouncing up and down on my cock, and they’re going to see every second of me filling up that little hole of yours with my cum.”

you don’t want to accept this ridiculous truth. this has to be a bad dream, a manifestation of your nightmares that you just can’t wake up from, and yet the painful aches at your thighs and inside your pussy tell you otherwise. this is the reality you’re trapped in, and you can’t run away from it.

“you’ll be all mine forever,” ego whispers as the cameras buzz to life, sealing your fate entirely. “i just have to make sure the entire world knows it.”

if you enjoyed my writing and would like to show appreciation, you can do so by donating to the humanitarian cause in gaza!

[slowcatsworld]

Noel Noa SFW Headcanons

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Takes his coffee black. This was the first way he had ever tried coffee when he was an older teenager; all of the add ins he tried later just never gave him the same feeling. The bitterness of the drink is enough to shock his body into a reactive state. If you ever offer him coffee, he requests some milk in it.

He prefers to dress more formally when the situation calls for it. By this, if he is going to a meeting with his club team it means he will be wearing a suit. The elegance of fashion and the social status of what you wear is most definitely not lost on him. It is a noisy static in his mind until he wears something more classy.

When he is in the solace of his own home, his guilt pleasure is to stay in his pajamas as long as he can. He just got home from practice at 8am? He’s putting back on his fuzzy pants. He got back from his morning workout he does during off days? The thick socks he wore to sleep are coming back on once he showers. He just arrived home during lunch hour? His sleeping sweater was on him by the time you stepped foot in the door. He does value his comfortableness in more private settings.

He is both a dog and a cat person. His stoic nature draws sweet, stray felines towards him weekly whether he’s out in the streets of Germany or France. The way cats will purr so loud he can hear them when he’s standing tugs at his heart, though he never mentions it. (He would so let a cat just climb up him like a tree). Dogs don’t really come up to him the way cats do, yet when he sees one out and about he is always tempted to ask the dog’s owner if he could pet the animal.

He doesn’t much like bread. It was one of the few things he was able to eat somewhat frequently during his early childhood in the ghettos of France. That bread will always taste different than the bread he has available to him now to eat, but the feeling of dirty grit will never leave his mind.

He takes pride in his title of the world’s best striker. It gratifies him to look at his teammates and his opponents and think to himself, ‘I’m the best forward there is here.’ About them both alike. He is somewhat humble, though. It’s only when his title is being threatened or ignored does he feel the need to be a total force of dominance on the field.

Can be seen as a slightly sore winner sometimes. The success and privilege that comes with winning a popularity vote, a league game, etc fulfills a dead space in him. To know he has worked hard enough to be the best and he got what he trained to earn is a feeling he will chase forever. It changed his life, gave him a life worth living for. So he when you come up to him saying it was unneeded for him to point out to another soccer player that he has the title of worlds best striker and he is the favorite to win the upcoming finals game for their league in a couple weeks; a ghost of a smile graces his face as he squeezes your hand.

He didn’t quite realize he was perfectly ambidextrous until he tried shooting a soccer ball with his supposed non dominant foot and it was just as easy and smooth as his other foot. This was where he began to plan, to get motivated to use soccer as a way to better his life.

Because of the ambidextrous quality in both his legs and arms, he is able to learn ball control movements and tactics at a faster rate. He’s also able to write very well with both hands, however his right hand has neater handwriting. He uses his phone in his left hand.

Enjoys intelligent conversations. The bounce back and forth between him and another person about whatever topic. Doesn’t actually need to be a topic that is only for those of a higher intellect to understand, it can be anything you are passionate and knowledgeable about. How they are able to articulate their thoughts and understandings and show Noel through speech or body language. It is engaging and he wants to know all of what you think and feel at this moment. It will forever outweigh the basic question-answer format he can get accustomed to in interviews.

Like Marc Snuffy, he does view football as a job. He has to in a sense. In the early days of his career, he had to be diligent and desperate to stand up above the sea of other players. He had to work harder than everyone else on the field, he had to work faster than everyone else on the field, he had to need football more than everyone else. He tries to carry this drive with him even in the peak of his football career, he won’t allow them to shelve him- not yet.

Unlike Marc Snuffy, Noel doesn’t try to rope in his whole team to create a ‘work force’ per se. He makes sure everyone on his team that plays either with him or with his name brand is a competent, driven, and rational person on the field. They do go over play strategies he’s, but he is sometimes dissatisfied at the level of tenacity in Snuffy to have such rigid plays.

Is a silent cheerer. He doesn’t yell and he doesn’t stand up and pump his fists in the air. He’s quiet, waiting and watching. He’ll occasionally mumble praise or encouragement, but you won’t hear it unless you’re right next to him.

He goes to bed really early most days if he can. When he is alone, he sleeps like a dead man. No movement and no noise. Even when he has a nightmare, he’ll just jolt awake in the same position. When he started sleeping next to you, the pair of y’all would just begin to wake up entangled with each other. His arm wrapped around your waist, his feet holding your ankle. Your hand in his short, frosty hair and your chin on the top of his head. He moved quite a bit with you, always seeming to try to burrow into you in his sleep.

Has received numerous compliments on his eyes. He didn’t really understand why people were so entranced with them, especially when he paired it with his eyeliner until you. You loved them. You loved staring into them during bed time, gazing at them across the room. They were precious to you, so they gradually started to become precious to him as well. They aren’t his favorite feature on himself, but it brings you enough pleasure to look at them so he confidently thinks they are one of his top physical characteristics.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This biscuit is just for you, mwah 😽

9.15.24

[engeorged]

Harry's Stag - Part One

As I stepped out of the taxi, the cool Amsterdam air washed over me, and I couldn’t help but smile. The canals, the narrow streets, the lively hum of the city—it was just what I needed. A lads’ weekend with my best mates, a chance to unwind before I marry the man of my dreams.

I glanced at the guys, a wave of affection washing over me. Jim and I had been mates since we were kids, practically growing up together. Tall, lean, with that rugged, outdoorsy vibe and piercing blue eyes that seemed to cut through any nonsense, Jim was the steady one—the rock who always kept us grounded.

Banning and Noel came into our lives during university when we all played rugby together. Banning, with his quiet confidence and sharp mind, was always thinking a few steps ahead. He had this knack for coming up with a plan, making sure we stayed out of trouble and found our way home in one piece. Then there’s Noel—scruffy, blonde, and a bit shorter than the rest of us, but with a cheeky grin that could charm his way out of any mess he managed to get himself into. He was the joker of the group, ensuring we were never bored.

And then there’s me, Harry, the soon-to-be groom, the guy who’s somehow managed to land the most amazing man in the world. Jason is everything I’ve ever wanted—6’5, blonde, and brilliant, working in finance but with a heart of gold. He’s got this mix of confidence and kindness that makes me fall for him all over again every time I see him. I’m the luckiest guy on the planet, and I know it.

But right now, all I want is to forget about the wedding planning and just enjoy this weekend with the guys. We’ve been through so much together—high school dramas, university antics, and everything life has thrown at us since. This weekend is our chance to let loose, to celebrate before everything changes.

The morning light filtered through the curtains as I woke up, feeling the familiar buzz of excitement. Today was going to be one for the books. After a quick shower, I headed downstairs with the guys to tackle the hotel’s breakfast buffet. I’d always seen buffets as a bit of a challenge—something I’d perfected during our rugby trips in uni when the lads and I would try to outdo each other with how much we could eat.

The spread was impressive: stacks of pancakes, sizzling sausages, crispy bacon, eggs done every way imaginable, and fresh pastries that looked like they’d come straight out of a bakery. My stomach growled in anticipation, and I grabbed a plate, ready to dive in.

Jim, always the early riser, was already at the buffet, piling food onto his plate. “Morning, mate,” he said with a grin. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“You know me,” I replied, grabbing a bit of everything and then some. “Never one to turn down a good breakfast.”

We settled at a table, and I started working through my plate, enjoying the food and the banter. Before I could even make a dent in my meal, Noel appeared with a plate stacked high with more food. “Mate, you’ve got to try these pancakes,” he said, dropping them onto my plate without waiting for a reply.

I laughed, not thinking much of it. “Alright, alright, keep them coming.”

Banning, ever the strategist, chimed in as he sat down. “You’re missing out on the scrambled eggs. Here, have some more,” he said, adding a generous portion to my plate.

As we ate, the conversation flowed, and I found myself reminiscing about our old rugby trips. “Remember that all-you-can-eat steakhouse in Leeds?” I asked, chuckling. “I think I put away enough to feed a small army that night.”

Jim nodded, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Yeah, and you still managed to play the next day. You’ve always had a hollow leg when it comes to food.”

They kept the food coming, and I kept eating, not really noticing how often one of them would toss something extra onto my plate. I was too caught up in the nostalgia, the friendly competition from our uni days, and the general excitement of the weekend.

But as I started on my third plate, I felt a familiar tightness in my stomach. The kind that crept in during those old eating challenges when I’d push myself just a bit too far. My belly was starting to feel heavy, the waistband of my jeans pressing uncomfortably against my skin. I shifted in my seat, trying to ease the growing discomfort.

Still, I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge—even a self-imposed one. I kept eating, even as my stomach began to bloat, pushing out slightly against my shirt. Each bite was a little slower, the food sitting heavily in my gut. I could feel my belly rounding out, the once-flat surface curving just a bit more with each mouthful.

“Feeling full yet?” Jim asked an innocent enough question, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

“A bit,” I admitted, patting my stomach, which was now firm and slightly swollen. “But you know me—never one to quit while I’m ahead.”

The guys exchanged quick glances, subtle but not lost on me. I shrugged it off, thinking they were just reminiscing about old times like I was. But deep down, I had a nagging feeling that they were up to something. Still, I was too focused on the food and the fun to really care.

As I polished off the last of my pancakes, the tightness in my belly became more pronounced. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my slightly rounded stomach, feeling the pressure building inside. Regret started to creep in—a familiar sensation from those rugby days when I’d pushed my limits a bit too far. My shirt stretched a little tighter across my middle, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I should’ve shown some restraint.

But then I caught myself. I’d eaten way more than this before, especially during those wild university days. This was nothing compared to some of the eating challenges I’d taken on—and won. A bit of bloat wasn’t going to slow me down. I could handle it, no problem.

With that in mind, I shrugged off the discomfort. It was just breakfast, after all, and we had a whole day ahead of us. “Right, lads,” I said, standing up and stretching, trying to shake off the heaviness in my gut. “What’s next on the agenda?”

Jim clapped me on the back, and I could feel the tension in my overstuffed stomach as he did. “Let’s head out and explore, mate. We’ve got a full day ahead of us.”

I nodded, determined to push through the fullness. I reminded myself that this was all part of the fun, and I could definitely handle more. With one last glance at the table, I followed the guys out the door, ready to see what the day had in store.

As we headed out into the bustling streets of Amsterdam, the food still sitting heavily in my stomach, I told myself I was just being paranoid. These guys were my best friends—they wouldn’t pull anything on me, especially not right before my wedding.

After finishing breakfast, we decided to take in some of the sights. Amsterdam was a beautiful city, and I was excited to explore it with my best mates. The weather was perfect—clear skies and a gentle breeze, making it an ideal day for wandering around.

We started by visiting some of the city's iconic spots, like the Anne Frank House and the Van Gogh Museum. But as we strolled along the canals and through the narrow streets, I could feel the heaviness in my belly from the massive breakfast easing a bit. By late morning, we found ourselves at one of the bustling local markets. The place was alive with vibrant colours, delicious smells, and the chatter of vendors selling everything from fresh produce to local delicacies. It was the kind of place where you could easily lose track of time, wandering from stall to stall, sampling the best that Amsterdam had to offer.

"Harry, check this out!" Banning called out, waving me over to a stall where a vendor was selling fresh stroopwafels, still warm from the griddle. He handed me one, and before I could even think about whether I was hungry, I found myself biting into the sweet, caramel-filled treat. It was delicious, the perfect balance of chewy and crunchy, and despite the fullness I still felt, I had to admit it was hard to resist.

"How about some cheese?" Noel chimed in, appearing beside me with a small platter of local Dutch cheeses. He popped a piece into my mouth before I could protest, grinning as I chewed. The rich, creamy flavours melted on my tongue, and I couldn’t help but smile at how good it tasted.

As we moved through the market, the guys made sure I didn’t miss a thing. Every few steps, they’d find something new for me to try—a slice of fresh apple pie here, a handful of chocolate-covered nuts there. They seemed to be in a competition to see who could find the most delicious treats, and I was the unwitting contestant.

“Harry, you’ve got to try these!” Jim called out, holding up a tray of poffertjes, tiny Dutch pancakes dusted with powdered sugar. He handed me the tray, and before I knew it, I was popping the fluffy little pancakes into my mouth, one after another.

With each bite, my belly grew heavier, the tightness from breakfast now back and mixed with the new wave of food. But the guys kept bringing me more, their excitement and enthusiasm contagious. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, watching as I dutifully sampled everything they put in front of me.

At one point, I realised I was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by it all. “Guys, I think I’m good for now,” I said, laughing nervously as I held up a hand to stop another treat from making its way into my mouth.

“Fuck that!” Banning said, laughing. “We’re just getting started. You’ve got to experience everything, mate!”

Despite my growing discomfort, I couldn’t help but go along with it. After all, this was supposed to be a weekend of indulgence, and I didn’t want to be the one to spoil the fun. So I kept eating, letting the guys guide me from stall to stall, each new bite adding to the growing pressure in my belly.

By the time we were ready to leave the market, I could barely keep track of everything I’d eaten. My stomach felt impossibly full, a heavy, warm weight pressing against my waistband. As we walked away, I noticed the guys exchanging amused glances, but they didn’t say anything, and I didn’t push it.

As we left the market, I was feeling stuffed from all the sampling, but the guys weren't done with me yet. Just as we were about to head back towards the city centre, Banning spotted a stall selling fresh pastries. The aroma of warm, buttery dough filled the air, making my mouth water despite the heaviness already sitting in my gut.

“Hold up, lads,” Banning said, veering off toward the stall. “We can’t leave without taking some of these with us!”

Before I could protest, he was at the counter, ordering a large bag of assorted pastries—croissants, danishes, and something that looked like a massive cinnamon roll, all warm and fresh from the oven.

“Here you go, Harry,” he said, shoving the bag into my hands with a grin. “Something to snack on as we walk.”

I chuckled, trying to hide my unease at the thought of eating anything more. “You sure you guys don’t want to share these?”

“Oh, we’ll help,” Jim said, but I noticed the sly smile on his face. “But you’ve got to lead the charge, mate. You’re the groom, after all.”

With no real way to refuse without seeming like a party pooper, I sighed and reached into the bag. The croissant I pulled out was soft and flaky, practically melting in my hands. I took a bite, the buttery richness spreading across my tongue, and I had to admit—it was damn good.

As we walked, I found myself nibbling on the pastries, more out of habit than hunger. The guys encouraged me with every bite, grabbing a pastry here and there, but always making sure the majority of them ended up in my hands.

By the time we reached our next destination, the bag was nearly empty, and I felt like I was carrying a lead weight in my belly. The waistband of my jeans was digging into my skin, and I subtly tried to adjust it to relieve some of the pressure. The guys, of course, were loving every minute of it, exchanging knowing looks as I dutifully finished off the last pastry. 

I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were up to something, but for now, all I could focus on was the heavy, bloated sensation in my gut. It was hard to believe I could still stand, let alone keep eating, but with the lads around, I knew there was no way I’d get out of it. 

After leaving the market with my belly full of pastries, we found ourselves wandering through the winding streets of Amsterdam again. The city was buzzing with life, tourists mingling with locals, and the smell of food and drink filled the air. My stomach was still groaning from all the food I'd packed into it, but when the guys suggested stopping for some beers, I figured it might help take the edge off.

“Let’s hit up a few local breweries,” Jim suggested, his eyes lighting up. “We can’t leave Amsterdam without trying some of the best beer in the world.”

I agreed, hoping that a few drinks might dull the ache in my overstuffed belly. The first brewery we hit was small and cosy, with wooden tables and an impressive selection of local brews. The guys ordered a round of pints, and I gladly accepted mine, taking a long, deep sip. The cold, bitter beer slid down my throat, and I could feel it spreading warmth through my chest.

The first pint went down easily, and for a moment, I almost forgot how full I was. The alcohol worked its magic, numbing the uncomfortable pressure in my stomach. The guys were in high spirits, laughing and joking as we finished our beers and moved on to the next brewery.

By the time we reached the third stop, I was starting to feel a bit more relaxed. The bloated sensation in my gut was still there, but the beer had taken the edge off. Each point seemed to settle on top of the food in my belly, adding to the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through my body.

The guys were keeping pace with me, ordering pints at each stop and making sure I always had one in my hand. I knew I should slow down, but the alcohol was doing its job, and I found myself caring less and less about how full I was. Instead, I focused on enjoying the moment, the camaraderie, and the laughter of my best friends.

At the fifth brewery, the drinks started to catch up with me. My head was buzzing, and the bloated feeling in my stomach was returning, more pronounced than before. I tried to keep up with the guys, but I could feel my belly straining against the waistband of my jeans, each sip of beer adding to the swelling pressure.

I glanced down at my gut, now noticeably rounder and heavier than it had been earlier in the day. The fullness was almost overwhelming, but the beers had numbed me enough that I could push through it, at least for a while longer.

Jim noticed me looking at my stomach and clapped me on the back. “You alright, mate? You’re keeping up like a champ!”

I managed a grin, even though I could feel the tightness in my belly with every breath. “Yeah, just feeling it a bit,” I admitted.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost done with the tour,” Noel said, raising his glass. “Just a couple more, and then we can grab some food to soak it all up.”

The mention of food made my stomach churn, but I pushed the thought aside and lifted my pint in a toast. As we moved on to the final stop, I could feel the beers sloshing around inside me, mingling with the pastries and everything else I’d consumed that day. 

But the guys were right—the beers had dulled the ache, at least for now, and I was too buzzed to care about what might come next.

By the time we reached the final brewery on our tour, my belly had become an undeniable presence—both to me and, I suspected, to anyone who glanced in my direction. It felt like a boulder, heavy and firm, pressing outwards against the fabric of my shirt. The once-flat surface was now a taut, rounded dome, the skin stretched tight and smooth. Every step I took made it sway slightly, a reminder of just how much I’d eaten.

I rubbed my swollen middle, trying to ease the growing pressure. Suddenly, a deep belch forced its way up, loud and unexpected. The guys turned, grinning, and immediately erupted into cheers.

“There he is!” Noel laughed, clapping me on the back, which only made my belly slosh uncomfortably. “That’s the spirit, mate!”

Another belch rumbled up, and this time I didn’t even try to hold it back. The guys whooped and cheered even louder, egging me on as I laughed along with them.

“Keep ‘em coming!” Banning shouted, raising his pint in a mock toast.

I shook my head, grinning as yet another burp escaped me. The relief was temporary, though, as the pressure inside me continued to build. Every step made my belly jiggle slightly, and I could feel just how bloated I was becoming. The gas from all that beer wasn’t helping, either, making me feel even more stuffed than I already was.

I couldn’t help but enjoy the moment. The lads were loving it, and there was something satisfying about knowing I could still outdo them, just like in the old days. Even if my stomach felt like it was about to burst, the cheers and laughter made it all worth it.

Despite the discomfort, there was a part of me that was fascinated by how much my body had changed in just a few short hours. My normally lean frame had been overtaken by this massive, swollen belly, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer volume I’d managed to pack away.

The guys noticed, too. I caught Banning’s eye as he glanced at my gut, and he grinned, clearly impressed. “That’s one hell of a belly, Harry,” he said, his voice full of admiration. “You’ve really outdone yourself today.”

Jim nodded in agreement, raising his pint in a toast. “To Harry’s belly,” he said with a laugh. “May it keep growing!”

The others joined in, their laughter filling the air as I gave a half-hearted chuckle. I could feel my stomach stretching even more as I took another sip of beer, the pressure building to a point that was almost unbearable.

As we finished our drinks, I leaned back in my chair, trying to find some relief from the tightness. My belly was now a prominent, round sphere, pressing outwards with a fullness that I couldn’t ignore. It was a strange mix of discomfort and pride—I’d never seen myself like this before, and despite the ache, there was something almost amusing about the sheer size of my belly.

By early afternoon, I was starting to feel the effects of our beer-filled morning. My head was buzzing pleasantly, and my steps were just a bit slower as we made our way through the bustling streets. I was thinking about suggesting a quick stop back at the hotel to freshen up, but before I could, Noel was already leading us toward our next destination.

“We’ve got a special lunch spot lined up, Harry,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Proper local place. None of that touristy crap.”

I was too relaxed to argue, letting him steer me down a side street and into a large, rustic-looking restaurant. The inside was all dark wood and heavy beams, with long communal tables and the rich smell of roasting meat filling the air. My stomach rumbled in spite of the heaviness I was already feeling, and I figured a good meal might help soak up some of the beer.

We found a spot at the end of one of the tables, and Noel didn’t even bother with menus. “We’ll take four of your specials,” he told the waitress with a wink, and she nodded, jotting it down before disappearing into the kitchen.

I leaned back in my chair, glancing around at the other diners. Most of them were locals, digging into plates piled high with food, glasses of cider clinking together in toasts. It was lively, warm, and exactly the kind of place that made you feel at home, even halfway across the world.

“So, what’s the special?” I asked, eyeing Noel suspiciously.

“Wait and see,” he grinned, taking a long pull from the glass of cider that had just been set in front of him. “You’re gonna love it.”

Moments later, the food arrived, and my eyes widened as the waitress set a huge platter in front of each of us. There, in the centre, was a whole roasted chicken, crispy and golden, surrounded by a mountain of fresh bread and a full litre of cider.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered, staring at the feast. It looked incredible, but there was no way I could finish all that. “You guys trying to kill me?”

Banning smirked, already tearing into his bread. “Consider it a challenge.”

“Come on, Harry,” Jim chimed in, pulling a hunk of chicken off the bone. “You said you were hungry this morning.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean all day,” I laughed, even as I reached for my fork. The smell of the roasted chicken was too tempting to resist, and I figured I could at least make a dent in it.

We dug in, the conversation flowing easily between bites of juicy chicken and sips of the strong, dry cider. The bread was warm and crusty, perfect for soaking up the rich drippings from the chicken, and despite my full stomach, I found myself going back for more, over and over.

The guys were relentless, though, nudging the bread my way whenever I slowed down, refilling my cider glass before I’d even finished it. Every time I thought I was done, Jim would carve off another piece of chicken and drop it onto my plate, or Noel would push the bread basket back toward me with a grin.

“You’ve got to try this with the cider,” Noel insisted, handing me a slice of bread slathered in the drippings. “Trust me, it’s worth it.”

I took the bread, biting into it with a mix of enjoyment and trepidation. It was delicious, of course, but I was starting to reach the point where every bite felt like a struggle. My stomach was stretched tight, the combination of beer, cider, and food weighing me down.

But there was something infectious about their enthusiasm, the way they kept the mood light and fun, and I couldn’t bring myself to say no. These were my best mates, and they were making sure I had the time of my life. What was a little discomfort in the grand scheme of things?

“Only the best for you,” Noel added with a wink, though there was a glint in his eye that made me wonder just how much more they had planned for me.

After finishing the meal, I leaned back in my chair, feeling utterly stuffed. My usually firm belly was now uncomfortably stretched, the tightness pressing against my shirt. The button on my jeans felt like it was about to pop, and I had to loosen my belt a notch to alleviate some of the pressure.

The full feeling wasn’t just in my stomach but seemed to radiate through my entire body. Every bite of the juicy chicken and every piece of bread had added to the bloated sensation, and the cider had only intensified it. My stomach was protruding noticeably, an unfamiliar softness replacing the tight abs I’d worked so hard to maintain. It felt heavy, like a weight pressing down from within.

I looked around at my friends, trying to ignore the discomfort, but the sight of their grins and the way they patted their own full bellies didn’t help. “I think I might have overdone it,” I admitted with a chuckle, rubbing my distended stomach.

“No way, mate,” Jim said, giving me a friendly thump on the back. “You’re just getting into the spirit of things.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to stay in top form,” Noel added, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You don’t want to be the one to miss out.”

Despite the lighthearted teasing, I could barely move, feeling the fullness with every breath. I glanced down at my bulging belly, the fabric of my shirt straining against the roundness. It was a far cry from the trim figure I was used to seeing.

As we finally left the restaurant, I had to walk slowly, my steps deliberate and careful. Each movement reminded me of just how much I’d eaten, and I knew that if I didn’t get some relief soon, the discomfort would only grow. But with the guys still in high spirits, I knew the day was far from over, and whatever they had planned next, I’d have to muster the energy to keep up.

As we left the restaurant, the afternoon started to blur together. The combination of food and cider had left me pleasantly tipsy, and the usual sharpness of my thoughts had softened. My bloated stomach felt heavy, but the excitement of the city kept me moving, albeit at a slower pace.

After the epic lunch, I was convinced I couldn't possibly eat another bite. My stomach was so full and bloated that it felt like a lead weight was strapped to me, each step making my distended gut jiggle slightly under my shirt.

We started walking again, heading toward the canals for a leisurely afternoon tour. The sun was shining, reflecting off the water as we strolled along the cobblestone streets. I tried to focus on the sights—the charming, narrow buildings, the boats gliding by—but the heavy, stuffed feeling in my gut was impossible to ignore. Every step made me acutely aware of just how much space my belly was taking up, stretching my shirt tight across the firm, rounded expanse.

We hadn’t gone far before we passed a street vendor selling fresh Bitterballen. The savoury aroma of deep-fried goodness filled the air, making my stomach rumble despite the fullness. Bitterballen are traditional Dutch snacks, deep-fried balls filled with a rich, creamy beef or veal ragout, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. They’re often enjoyed with a dollop of mustard.

Noel, ever the enthusiast, was already haggling with the vendor before I could even process what was happening. “Harry’s got to try these!” he said, handing over a few euros and grabbing a serving of the hot, golden balls.

“Mate, I’m so full I can barely move,” I protested weakly, but Noel just grinned and handed me a paper cone filled with Bitterballen.

“Come on, you’ve got room for one more,” he said, winking. “It’s part of the experience.”

I took the cone and popped one of the Bitterballen into my mouth. The crispy exterior gave way to a rich, creamy filling that was both indulgent and comforting. Despite the tightness in my belly, the flavour was irresistible. With each bite, I could feel the food settling heavily on top of everything else I’d eaten, adding to the relentless pressure in my gut.

We continued along the canal, and it wasn’t long before Jim spotted another vendor—this time selling churros dusted with cinnamon sugar. He practically sprinted over, eager to buy a bag for me before Banning could get there first.

“Here you go, Harry,” Jim said, thrusting the warm bag into my hands. “You’ve got to keep your energy up!”

I stared at the churros, my stomach groaning in protest at the mere thought of eating more. But the guys were watching me expectantly, their excitement palpable. I couldn’t let them down, so I forced myself to take a bite.

The churro was crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, and coated with just the right amount of cinnamon sugar. It was delicious, but as I swallowed, I felt my belly swell even more, the tightness becoming almost unbearable. Each bite seemed to expand my gut further, stretching the skin to its limits.

“Harry, you’re a machine!” Banning laughed, clapping me on the back as I forced down the last of the churros. “I don’t know how you’re doing it.”

Neither did I. My stomach was now so full that it was starting to feel rock-hard, a firm, rounded dome that pushed out from under my shirt with every breath. The waistband of my jeans was cutting painfully into my sides, and I could feel my skin pulling tight over the swollen mass of my belly. I wanted to stop, to sit down and let my overstuffed gut settle, but the guys weren’t having any of it.

We passed another vendor, this one selling warm, cheesy croquettes, and before I could even protest, Banning had bought a handful and was offering them to me.

“Last ones, I promise,” he said with a mischievous grin, though I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was far from finished.

I took one, biting into the crispy, gooey centre, and immediately felt another surge of fullness. My stomach was now a tight, distended ball, and each bite made it feel like I was stretching it to the breaking point. But the guys kept egging me on, practically shoving the croquettes into my hands as we walked.

By the time we finally finished the canal tour, my belly was truly enormous—a swollen, overfilled sphere that jutted out in front of me, heavy and round. The tightness was almost unbearable, and I could barely stand up straight, the weight of my gut pulling me forward with every step. 

And yet, despite it all, I couldn’t help but laugh along with the guys, the absurdity of the situation hitting me. My friends were practically fighting over who got to feed me next, and I was helpless to stop them. My once-lean frame had been transformed into something out of a cartoon, my shirt now riding up to expose the pale, stretched skin of my bloated belly.

As we headed back toward the city centre, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. The day was still young, and the guys seemed determined to see just how much more they could cram into me. And as much as I wanted to protest, I knew deep down that I wasn’t going to stop them.

By the time the afternoon sun started to dip, I was struggling. Every step felt like a monumental effort, the heavy, swollen mass of my belly swaying in front of me, throwing off my balance. It had gone from feeling full and stretched to being outright painful, a tight, solid ball that was almost too much to bear. The guys were still in high spirits, laughing and joking as we walked, but I was finding it hard to keep up. 

"Guys," I groaned, finally coming to a stop and placing a hand on my distended gut. "I need a break. Can we head back to the hotel for a bit? Just a quick snooze, let my stomach settle."

I was expecting some pushback, but surprisingly, they all nodded in agreement. Maybe they could see the strain on my face, or maybe they were just ready for a break too. Either way, we turned in the direction of the hotel, and I started to imagine the sweet relief of lying down and letting my poor, overworked belly rest.

But of course, it wasn’t going to be that simple.

As we rounded a corner, we passed a small, bustling shop with a line of people snaking out the door. The smell of fried potatoes and various toppings filled the air, and Jim’s eyes lit up when he spotted the sign.

“Wait a second,” he said, grabbing my arm and pointing toward the shop. “This is the place I’ve been telling you about! They make these famous fries with all sorts of toppings. We’ve got to try it.”

I felt a knot of dread tighten in my already cramped stomach. “Jim, I’m seriously about to burst here. I don’t think I can fit anything else in.”

But Jim wasn’t having it. “Come on, Harry, you can’t come all the way to Amsterdam and not try this. It’s part of the experience! We’ll just get one big platter to share, no big deal.”

Banning and Noel were already nodding along enthusiastically, and before I could argue any further, they were steering me toward the door. Inside, the place was a fry-lover’s paradise—massive trays of golden fries, each topped with a ridiculous amount of extras, from melted cheese to pulled pork, jalapeños, and creamy sauces.

We ordered the biggest platter they had, a monstrosity as wide as the table itself, piled high with fries and every topping imaginable. It was the sort of thing meant for a group of a dozen, not four guys who had already been eating all day. The sight of it alone made my stomach lurch in protest.

I tried to push back. “Guys, seriously, this is insane. I can’t eat all this.”

But Banning grinned at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’ll help, don’t worry. But you’ve got to at least give it a shot, Harry. Think of it as a challenge.”

I knew there was no way out, not with all three of them looking at me like that. So, with a resigned sigh, I picked up a fork and dug in.

The first few bites were delicious, the crispy fries and rich toppings a perfect combination. But with every mouthful, I could feel my stomach stretching further, pushing against my waistband and straining the limits of my shirt. The tightness that had been a constant presence all day was now bordering on unbearable, a pressure that made it hard to focus on anything other than the sheer fullness of my gut.

Still, the guys kept urging me on, and somehow, I kept going. They were making a show of eating their share, but it was clear that most of the food was ending up in front of me. Every time I slowed down, they’d shove another forkful of loaded fries in my direction, laughing and cheering me on like it was some sort of competition.

“Harry’s taking the lead!” Noel shouted at one point, and the others whooped in agreement. 

I felt like I was in a daze, barely able to comprehend what I was doing as I continued to eat. My belly was now so bloated that it was pressing against the edge of the table, a round, firm dome that seemed to be growing larger with each bite. My shirt was stretched tight across the distended curve of my gut, and I could feel the seams straining with every breath.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I dropped my fork, unable to eat another bite. The platter was mostly empty, but my stomach felt like it was about to burst. I leaned back in my chair, groaning as the pressure in my belly intensified. It was a strange mix of pain and satisfaction, the kind of fullness that made it impossible to do anything but sit there and let my body digest.

The guys, of course, were loving it. They were all grins and high-fives, clearly proud of themselves for pushing me to this point.

“You’re a legend, Harry,” Banning said, clapping me on the back with a laugh. “I don’t know how you did it.”

I didn’t either. All I knew was that my belly was now so swollen and distended that I could barely move. It jutted out in front of me like a solid, round ball, the skin stretched tight and smooth over the massive bulge. I could feel every inch of it, the fullness pressing down on my lungs and making it hard to breathe, let alone think.

As we finally left the fry shop and started heading back to the hotel, I could barely keep up, my gait slow and awkward as I tried to accommodate the heavy mass of my gut. It felt like I was carrying a bowling ball strapped to my stomach, the weight of it pulling me forward with every step.

And yet, as uncomfortable as I was, there was a part of me that couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer size of my belly. I’d never been this full in my life, never even imagined it was possible to eat this much. It was almost impressive in a way, and despite everything, I found myself laughing along with the guys as we made our way back to the hotel.

By the time we finally made it back to the hotel, I was exhausted. My belly was so full and heavy that each step felt like a challenge, and the thought of just lying down was the only thing keeping me going. As we entered the room, the guys were still buzzing with energy, laughing and recounting the day’s events, but I could hardly focus on their words. All I could think about was getting out of my too-tight clothes and giving my aching stomach some relief.

I headed straight for the bathroom, barely pausing to acknowledge the banter going on behind me. Closing the door, I leaned against the sink for a moment, taking a deep breath as I let the tension drain from my shoulders. Then, with a grunt of discomfort, I began the laborious task of peeling off my clothes.

First, I unbuttoned my jeans, which had been digging into my sides for hours. The moment the button popped open, my belly surged forward, free from its confines at last. I couldn’t help but gasp slightly at the sensation—the relief was immediate, but the sheer weight of my gut was startling. I tugged the waistband down over my hips, letting the jeans fall to the floor, before yanking off my shirt, which had been stretched to its limits.

Once I was finally free of my clothes, I turned to face the mirror, and what I saw stopped me in my tracks. My belly—normally flat and firm—was now a completely different shape, swollen and rounded out in front of me like a tightly inflated balloon. The curve of it was almost shocking, jutting out so far that it seemed impossible it was my own body. My skin was stretched taut over the massive dome, with the light fur that usually covered my stomach now spread thin and sparse across the smooth, distended surface. 

I reached out tentatively, running a hand over the swell of my gut. It felt solid and unyielding, the kind of fullness that left no room for anything else. My fingers brushed against the fine hair that coated my belly, usually soft but now pulled taut over the curve, emphasising the tightness of my skin. The fur seemed almost out of place on such a massively bloated belly, a reminder of how much my body had changed in just a few short hours.

I took a step back, turning slightly to see my profile, and my eyes widened at the sight. The curve of my belly was even more pronounced from the side, a heavy, rounded bulge that hung low and full. It almost didn’t look real—like something out of a cartoon, exaggerated and impossible. And yet, there it was, a testament to just how much I had consumed.

I stood there for a moment, just staring at myself in the mirror. I knew I’d eaten a lot, but seeing the evidence in front of me like this was almost surreal. I couldn’t believe how much I’d managed to pack away—how much my belly had expanded to accommodate it all. I looked like I’d swallowed a beach ball whole, my normally lean frame now dominated by this massive, swollen gut.

A mix of shock and disbelief washed over me. I’d seen my belly bloated before—college eating challenges had often left me stuffed, but never like this. This was on another level entirely. I could feel the weight of it, the sheer fullness pressing down on me, making it hard to stand upright. Every movement made my gut jiggle slightly, a constant reminder of how tightly packed it was with food.

Despite the discomfort, there was something almost fascinating about it. The sight of my body so utterly transformed, my belly swollen beyond anything I’d ever thought possible, was strangely compelling. It was as if I’d crossed some invisible line, entered a new territory where my body was no longer my own but something else entirely—something massive and insatiable.

I ran my hand over the curve of my gut one more time, feeling the tightness beneath my palm, the way my skin stretched over the fullness. Then, with a deep breath, I turned away from the mirror and headed back into the room, where the guys were waiting. 

I stumbled out of the bathroom, still in a daze from the sight of my bloated belly, and made my way to the bed. My legs were heavy, my body protesting with every step as the weight of my overstuffed gut dragged me down. As soon as I reached the edge of the bed, I let myself fall backward, the mattress groaning beneath me as I sprawled out on top of the covers. The sensation of finally lying down was a relief beyond words. My belly, round and tight, stretched upward, and I could feel the strain in my skin as it tried to accommodate the ridiculous amount of food I’d packed away.

I let out a long, contented sigh, resting a hand on the taut dome of my stomach. It was firm to the touch, barely giving under the pressure of my fingers. My eyes drifted shut, and for a moment, I was lost in the sensation of being so full, so heavy, so utterly stuffed.

The sound of laughter pulled me from my reverie. The guys were still buzzing with energy, moving around the room as they started to get ready for whatever was coming next. Jim was the first to strip off his shirt, revealing a flat but slightly rounded belly—nothing compared to mine, but still showing signs of the indulgence we’d all participated in today. He patted it with a grin, turning to show it off to Banning and Noel.

"Look at this," Jim said, chuckling. "I’m usually flat as a board, but today... man, I’m starting to show a little gut. Must have been all those pastries at the market."

Banning, who was already down to his boxers, laughed and flexed his own stomach, which was a bit bloated  than usual but nowhere near as distended as mine. "Yeah, I’m feeling it too. I think I’m still carrying around half that platter of fries we demolished earlier."

Noel joined in, lifting his shirt to reveal his own slightly swollen belly. "Same here. It’s like we’ve all turned into little food balloons, but I gotta say, Harry definitely wins the prize for the biggest gut." 

They all turned to look at me, sprawled out on the bed with my massive, bloated belly on full display. The contrast between their smaller, slightly rounded stomachs and my own overstuffed gut was almost comical. I looked like I’d swallowed a whole watermelon, while they’d only nibbled on a few snacks.

Jim grinned and gave his own belly another pat. “How are you even still conscious after all that? You’ve gotta be on the verge of passing out, mate.”

I could only groan in response, too full and too tired to form a coherent reply. My belly felt like it was about to burst, every breath a reminder of how far I’d pushed myself today. But despite the discomfort, there was a strange sense of camaraderie in the room, a bond forged through our shared gluttony.

The guys continued to joke and laugh, comparing their own bellies and teasing me about mine, but I barely heard them. All I could focus on was the heavy, aching fullness that filled every inch of my midsection. I rubbed my hand over the curve of my stomach, trying to soothe the tightness, but it was no use. I was beyond stuffed, my gut stretched to its absolute limit.

Even so, as I lay there, I couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. I had no idea how I’d let myself get talked into eating so much, but in some weird way, it had been worth it. The guys were having the time of their lives, and despite my current state, I couldn’t deny that a part of me was enjoying it too.

For part two

For more of my stories click here

[auspicioustidings]

Oh by the way Price is delulu about his team being an extension of him, so he does not understand what you are whining about when he has called Gaz in to handle you while he is doing paperwork.

NSFW

Like you are gobsmacked while Gaz is eating you out and Price is asking why you are bitching, he's giving you what you want, he's right between your thighs isn't he? You cum on another man's tongue but with Price dirty talking you like it's him doing it.

It escalates from there, people you have never met show up for dates with you as Price. They are using Price's pet name for you. Keegan let's himself into your apartment with Price's spare key to enjoy the romantic dinner you've made and then bends you over the counter to fuck you. You are getting fucked by people you do not know and you don't even know their name so it's Price's name you are crying out.

Full credit to Noel for adding that they probably have an earpiece on so Price can not only hear everything but can give instruction :)

[alyssavstran]

Mischa bachinsky headcanons:

•he will sometimes turn G's into H's in English, especially while talking fast and it truly baffles the rest of the choir. They absolutely lose it each time he says Enhlish or instahram. Noel finds it hot tho.

• he is always starving and will eat anything anyone will offer him. It's kind of sad how hungry he is all the time so constance had taken into giving him leftovers from her parents café .

• he is very physically affectionate. He will hold hands and put arms on shoulders whenever he can. It had gotten to a point where he would flop into OCEAN O'CONNELL ROSENBERG'S lap and she just will absent mindly pat his hair.

• he does not do well with sudden loud noises and is frequently startled by ambulance sirenes.

• puts loud hip hop music on to study. Claims it makes him concentrate better. No it does not.

• his favorite thing are t shirts with profanities. Penny and him are on a never-ending competition to find the worst one.

• can not sit still. Like physically can't.

• is truly horrible at drawing but loves doing it. It is also unclear whether he is color blind or just has no taste. The cat drawings he keeps gifting ricky are truly grotesque. They sometimes have dicks drawn in random unanatomical places too.

• gets insane fevers out of nowhere. Is too manly to admit that he is sick and will end up fainting.

• uses bro as a pronoun.

[casin0table]

Happy cyclone day! - Today marks the anniversary of the St Cassians Choir’s tragic death, known best as “Our Six Saints” when spoken of in the newspaper; Having died September 14th, 6:19pm.

Now for just a moment with me, imagine.

Imagine being doomed to never know of tomorrow. Imagine all the things they could’ve been looking forward to that week that they never got to see again, forgotten as they found their final resting place.

Maybe there was a test Noel was looking forward to on Wednesday because for once in English class they were covering a book he was really getting into, for once there would be something he’d enjoy in this town…

Maybe there was a makeshift lab Misha was looking forward to on Friday because they got to go outside and collect pond water, life kind of sucks for him right now but being able to go outside and conduct his own science experiment,, have control over something in his life would be sick. If he didn’t love basically anything he knew he loved science.

Maybe there was a surprise party Ocean and Constance had been planning for Tuesday when they had choir, they were looking forward to baking cupcakes together that night. It was never perfect with them when they did things together but it was their time and they have made all the decorations that weekend. If they won they’d celebrate all class period, smiling and playing music and eating food, for once Ocean had loosened up—just a bit—and decided since it was senior year they deserved a break. Just this once.

Imagine being all of them, actually. So many years of school, so much hard work, Highschool is the worst especially out in bumfuck nowhere. They were so close to freedom, so close to graduating and hopefully being able to run away from here, finally having rights to move or go or do what they wanted for most of them. This was their senior year. Their last year. Their last concert—it was probably true a few of them had decided this was *their* year and they would do great, they’d try their hardest and burn out in the summer knowing they’d made it and it was only downhill from here

Though, they were never destined to be more than this town after all, live and die here like the meager houseflies that lined their window sills, trapped in the homes and stuck until their demise. maybe, in a sense, the fact they died at all was to highlight those things that could have been, to give value and meaning to life where they wouldn’t have otherwise seen it.

And maybe, for that, it was better this way; At the height of their pursuits, standing just at the edge not knowing how they’d live or die, whether it all would have been worth it in the end. They wouldn’t be burdened if it was to fail, you know? Maybe it was better they never knew, because why live again if not happily, why live again when you stand amongst faces that know you, love you, why live again when your death was, inevitable.

They died in a freak accident, they died in a catastrophe far outside of this town, a bang and a crash sending shockwaves to anyone outside it… maybe thats just what they needed, maybe thats just what they wanted, to be something more than this smoggy town air, or maybe thats what they needed, to appreciate the stars that gleamed through it.

Idk lol anyways happy cyclone day

[byuljoonie]

moonlight // knj

I’m sorry baby I’m just really hot…

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: one shot, slight angst, fluff, growing tension, boyfriend material, extreme smut, desperation, succubus intentions…

word count: 5k+ (sorry)

warnings: mentions of mature topics, spit, namjoon driving lmao, thigh humping bcs desperate, throat goat, dom!sub, dom rm!sub reader, alcohol consumption, probably a good amount of swearing, post-gym namjoon, grocery store activities, slight car play, teasing, oral, summer night, riding, overstimulation, a little masochism

summary: namjoon promised to go to the grocery store with you after the gym (extended ending on ao3)

note: just had what cody ko and noel would call a “power thought.” I literally just had a spark of inspiration bcs it’s really hot in the south right now and Namjoon’s vogue cover is to die for. enjoy and feel free to check out any of my playlists while reading. Sorry for any little mistakes. gonna make a tag list after I post 10 works! -ash (wrote this draft a few months ago so it might be slightly more extreme than expected.)

My reflection stared back at me, tracing the movement of the cloth against my skin. The long slit of the black fabric starts by the left knee and leaves an opening at the bottom of the dress. My manicured feet sat firmly against the hardwood bedroom floor, grounding me away from my persistent thoughts. I grabbed my sunglasses from the stand mounted on the cream walls and turned swiftly on my heels. Abandoning the mirror with a grimace on my face.

I loved this dress very much, the long sleeves light and airy protecting me from the harsh summer rays. The way it hugs my figure is like someone familiar. The same someone that bought this dress for me. He crossed my mind once more sending another surge of anger through me.

Namjoon promised to come along to the grocery store with me today but he’s been at the gym for almost 2 hours now. He said he’d only be gone an hour but an hour quickly turned to two, now I’m dressed and past ready to go. I hated going to crowded stores, at this rate we’ll never beat the after-work rush.

I sat on the bed putting on my anklet he gifted me for our 3 year anniversary. Yet another gift that I’m wearing today, being spoiled ruining my plans of holding a grudge tonight on our date. I slipped on some black socks and made my way towards the door. Listening as the front door swings open with a beep of the automatic keypad.

I excitedly descend the stairs, my black dress sweeping the floor behind me beautifully like a wedding gown flowing in the summer breeze. The second step I’ve already failed at trying to be mad at him.

“Baby! Where you at?” He says deep voice roaring through our apartment. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs almost running into his chest. He smiled at me taking in all of my body, returning to my eyes after his brief but thorough inspection.

“Right here NAMjoon,” I stated putting extra emphasis on his surname. I watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath, his skin glistened with sweat. Tan skin accentuating his muscular frame, my mouth parted slightly at the sight. He looked heavenly I almost lost my composure.

“I’m sorry I took so long Y/N my trainer wouldn’t let me leave until the workout was complete,” he said walking towards me. Smirking at the way my eyes followed his every movement.

“You look so gorgeous Princess, this dress is perfect for you,” he said pulling me into a tight embrace. Grabbing a handful of my ass as he reached over to rest his chin on my shoulder. I yelp in surprise at the sudden groping, melting into his body and giving up on being angry. I wanted to take him right now but first, we need food or we’ll be eating out for another week before we have time to shop again.

“Whatever Joon go shower we have to leave as soon as possible and you’re stinky,” I said pulling away from him and then standing on my tippy toes to kiss him quickly. He kissed me back beginning to deepen it before I push him away again. I give him a knowing look and bid him goodbye as I walk to the kitchen to make him a snack to eat in the car. The store was about a 25 minute drive from us but it was worth it for the produce.

I grab a few ingredients from the fridge to make him a nice sandwich with an everything bagel. I prepared everything quickly and put it in a small ziplock bag next to my purse. I heard Namjoon exiting our bedroom 15 minutes later, humming a sweet tune in his beautiful vibrato.

“Come on babe I already have the car warming up,” he said grabbing my hand and lightly pulling me next to him. He’s wearing a light brown shirt with a pair of distressed blue jeans. Looking as handsome as always I drink in his appearance for eternity. We walked to the elevator quietly, Namjoon tapping away on his phone until the elevator doors opened to be let us out.

As we walk towards our car I begin to sweat a little, the setting Sun still scorching my skin like its’ noonday twin. I started to speed up a little pulling Namjoon along so I could feel the relief of the A/C sooner than later. He swung the door open for me making sure my dress wasn’t in the way before shutting the door.

Namjoon jumps in quickly closing the door before the heat could penetrate the closed air. It still wasn’t cool enough in here, with the sun beaming directly on our vehicle the A/C felt like lukewarm hell. I let down the window hastily fanning myself as we pulled out of the parking lot.

After I few minutes of fanning and desperation, I looked over and behold a sight that would make any woman yearn in an instant. A head of sweat moved swiftly down the expanse of Namjoons golden jaw. Resting at the base before dropping down onto his slightly exposed shoulder. His lips rose colored from his unconscious biting. I wanted to reach over and swallow him whole, I crave him so bad I can’t help but squeeze my legs together at the thought.

I was so caught up in my sinful thoughts I didn’t notice him glance over at me. A twinkle in his eye set off the indication of a torturous idea. Namjoon placed his large hand on my thigh, causing me to tense up instantly. Before I could utter a word he reached over my leg and grabbed his sandwich from my lap.

His smile turning into a stifled laugh as he continued to stare straight ahead. I must have let out the small noise I was holding in because he seemed to know exactly what would tick me off right now. I turned my attention towards the windshield trying to focus on the passing cars and people watching. Then an idea popped into my head.

I pull out my phone and open the group chat I have with our 6 best friends. I stop and think of what to type before another brilliant idea is brought to me. I pose provocatively making sure my cleavage was “present,” in my photo. I took a couple of pictures, some with sunglasses and some staring at Namjoon. He patiently drove, oblivious to my sly intentions. He hummed along to one of his favorite songs looking over at me to shoot me a wink.

I giggled and looked away almost feeling bad for what I’m going to do. Yet not bad enough because I went ahead and sent the photos with a message. “Should I post these on my close friends? I don’t know if I look good enough today…” I said ending with a sad face. It didn’t take long for our phones to simultaneously vibrate. Secretly glancing over at Namjoon, I unlock my phone knowing he can’t check his until we’re in the lot.

Hobi ddaeng: You look great !! Of course, you should post it, Namjoon talk some sense into her.

Me: He’s driving right now. I didn’t ask for his opinion yet I want to hear you guys first :)

Park Chanel: ooooh…I see…

Park Chanel: If you don’t post the pictures I will! Wow wow you look beautiful. Nice..dress and necklace.

I looked down at my neck realizing I didn’t wear a necklace today. Oh Jimin you’re evil Namjoon is going to kill me and you. I laughed a little at his crude behavior and read the next incoming message.

Yoongi: You’re gonna get hit Jimin *laughing emojis*

Me: mmm just because you guys said so I will post it hehe

Before I could read the next response I felt the car shake as we pulled into the grocery store parking lot. I quickly went on my sns and posted two of the pictures on my close friends. Picking the two the boys liked the most. I was starting to get nervous, I know how possessive he is with me and I’m the same but I want revenge for making me frustrated.

Namjoon pulls into an open parking spot almost near the front of the bustling building. I take off my seatbelt with a click grabbing my purse from my lap and swinging the door open. I wanted to beat Namjoon inside before he could read the texts and catch me. As I hurriedly closed the door I saw him reading the messages, jaw tensing with rage.

I hear him call my name from the car and a slam of a car door followed behind the sound of his sexy voice. His long legs easily closing the space between us as he grabbed my hand, squeezing it while looking at me. I put my shades on ignoring his questions. Stroking the back of his hand as I never break eye contact with the automatic sliding doors.

“Can you get us a cart pet?” I froze at the nickname. He knows what he’s doing, and I don’t plan on breaking that fast. I let go of his hand briefly going to grab the first cart I saw. Cleaning the handle before strutting back over to my boyfriend as he eyed me intensely.

I let him grab the cart from me but not before pulling him down to whisper in his ear. “Anything for you Daddy..” I say in a hushed tone. Making sure to leave a kiss on his sensitive earlobe as I pull away.

I walk forward trying not to laugh at the silly nickname I used to get him riled up. He trailed behind me, failing to hide his blatant staring at my ass. We make our way down the aisles trying to speed up the process as people begin piling into the store.

“Joonie baby I can’t reach this,” I said struggling to reach the box of goldfish on the top shelf. He moved over to me in a flash, pressing his front flush against my back. I heard his breathing stop as I purposely pushed my ass against him.

“This one, this one, this one, or this one…” He trailed off purposely picking the wrong boxes to tease me. He finally grabbed the correct item and tossed it in the cart. Walking away as if he didn’t leave me speechless and flustered on the cracker aisle.

I follow him to the snack aisle after grabbing a few bottles of wine and champagne for our date tonight. The empty aisle presents another opportunity for me to assert my dominance. I walk over to the chips looking at them inquisitively as if I’m mocking a character.

“Honey do you want this kind or this kind?” I said while bending over. Making sure to sway slowly as I wait for an answer. “Babe? Which-“ I was cut short as a hand firmly grabbed my ass causing me to yelp in surprise and sit up straight.

“I want this one right here,” he growled in my ear. I turned around and looked at him, watching his eyes darken with hunger. “Let’s get outta here yeah?” He questioned looking into my eyes. I nodded furiously ready to exit this hell and get home to what’s waiting.

We race to the self-checkout line, scanning and bagging groceries like a 5000-dollar prize is awaiting the winner. Namjoon grabbed my hand after he paid and pulled me along with him as he pushed the basket with his other hand. He was so warm, skin clear and kissable. I wanted to pull him aside and cover him in kisses, not caring about the people around us.

Namjoon unlocks the car as we stop beside it. I move to walk around the cart but he stops me in my tracks. “Let me help you get the groceries in the car love,” I say looking confused at his sudden maneuver.

Unexpectedly, he opened the car door and motioned for me to get inside. I insisted again that I help but he gave me a look that I know better than to disobey. I got inside praying I didn’t anger him too much. I set myself up for this one, didn’t I? It’ll be worth it in the end right? Maybe I went a little too far with the texts but I can’t help but shiver with anticipation. I pull out my phone to text Jimin about my bad decisions.

Me: I think I fucked up lol

Park Chanel: you’re welcome ;)

Namjoon slams the trunk shut causing me to jump in surprise. I close my phone sitting it in the cup holder beside me. He gets in the car, jaw still tense as he turns the key in the ignition. I thought about breaking the silence but the tension was so thick a knife would recoil at the slight pressure of penetration. Namjoon puts on his seatbelt then proceeds to look at me.

“ I don’t want to hear another peep from you Y/N..” he starts lowly not breaking eye contact for a second. “You’ve done enough for tonight, if you do anything stupid I swear I will pull the car over and take you on the side of the road. I promise you wouldn’t want that.” He deadpans and looks away from me, pulling out of the parking spot. I utter a soft okay and prepare to behave the rest of the way home.

I slide my palm over to his free hand resting on his thigh. I stare firmly at him, giving my best puppy eyes in return. He doesn’t look away from the road but I watch as his lip twitches into a small smile. He grabs my hand, rubbing his large thumb over the back of my hand. In love can’t begin to describe how I truly feel about this man.

I laugh as he tries to sing along to Smoke Sprite, raspy voice blending well with Soyoon. I rap along to his part of the song, stealing the spotlight and making him bop his head in excitement. The song finishes and we’re about 10 minutes from our place. I check my phone and see a text from our group chat, making the recent grocery store escapades flash through my mind. I want him to touch me again, I like it when he’s desperate and needy for me.

Another terrible idea floods my brain accompanied by a mound of outcomes. I suddenly let go of Namjoons hand causing him to spare me a confused expression. A smile graced my face as I turned my body forward, grabbing the slit of my dress and opening it over my legs. I let my left hand run down the front of my dress, stopping at my panties hesitating even.

I slide my hand under the fabric immediately coming in contact with the soft skin. I dip my fingers and get to work. I began letting out dramatized moans and grunts. I moan Namjoon's name and furiously let my hand lose control. I looked over and saw Namjoon gripping the steering wheel in frustration. Sweat adorned his angelic face, veins prominent in his hands. I let this go on until we reached the last stop light near our apartment building. I sat up and closed my legs acting like I didn’t just masturbate next to my boyfriend in a moving car.

We pull into the lot entering our designated spot. Namjoon quietly turned off the engine and released a sigh that he seemed to have been holding in. He looks absolutely pissed and it’s so sexy. His erratic breathing only made me wetter by the second.

“You’re going to follow my instructions carefully. I don’t want to hear a word from you or tonight will be your worst fucking nightmare got it?” He questioned angrily letting his eyes trail over my body once more. I nodded too scared to move an inch more.

“Go upstairs, get undressed, wait in the middle of the bed. If you’re not in that spot when I come up there in 15 minutes, you better pray you can stop time.” He seethes hotly. “Yes sir,” I say scared and ready for more. He gets out of the car walks around and opens my door. He grabs my purse from my lap holding eye contact, his brown almond eyes dark and predatory.

“Go.” He states motioning for me to exit the vehicle. I get out swiftly, grabbing my purse from his hand and sprinting towards the entrance of the building. The elevator took an eternity to bring me to our floor. I ran to the door and shakily put in the passcode, messing up a few times before it finally let me in.

My shoes are off in a flash, I leave my purse by the door as well abandoning my shades on the counter as I run past to the stairs. I burst into our room, slipping my dress off. Almost fell as I grabbed my silk lavender robe hanging on the wall. I threw it on and climbed onto the bed. My anklet glowed in the natural light seeping through the parted curtains. The front door swung open slamming against the wall.

I heard shuffling, cabinets opening and closing for 10 more minutes before his heavy footsteps echoed through our hallway. He walked into the room eyeing me before raising an eyebrow. I started to sweat nervously hoping I did what I was told.

“Who told you to put on your robe Y/N?” He questioned in amusement. He slowly walked over to me, grabbing each side of the robe and ripping it open. He discarded it onto the floor and stalked around the bed, he stood at the front motionless. “On your knees in front of me, now.” He said and I immediately left the bed. I swung my legs over the side and dropped to my knees.

Namjoon watched me through lidded eyes as I crawled over to him on my knees, stopping directly in front of his growing bulge. I was quick to unlatch the hook of his buckle, the metal of the belt clinging as it hit the hardwood floors.

“I’ll excuse the robe mishap since you’re so eager to taste me doll face,” he said reaching down to grab my chin. A loud moan echoed through the room as he grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. He looked down at me, motioning his head back as if telling me to open up. I did as I was told and watched as he spit in my mouth and closed it back. He pulled his pants down and kicked them to the side.

“Good girl, now eat.” He said intensely. He hummed in satisfaction, eyes never leaving the way I wrapped my fingers around his cock and finally engulfed his length into the warmth of my mouth. I took him in slowly inch by inch, his girth heavy against my tongue as I extended my jaw wider and wider. I choked a little as he hit the back of my throat.

“You look so fucking gorgeous with your lips wrapped around me, pet,” his fingers tightened into my hair, his gaze stoic and heavy on me. Pet. The pet name earned a moan from me as I began a steady rhythm of sucking. My fingers were coated in a thick layer of saliva, Namjoon’s cock easily sliding against my pressured grip as my cheeks hollowed, jaw growing sore from my strenuous movements.

He groaned loudly, fucking my throat faster until I could no longer take it. I let my jaw go slack so he could use me as his personal toy. He grabbed my face and fucked it harder until I was seeing stars. A beautiful repetition of my name strung from his tongue, stilling as he came into my mouth. I happily swallowed every drop, coughing around his cock one last time, sending a shiver through his body.

“Good job, get on the bed I want to taste you. I can see you dripping on the floor,” he smirks as he picks me up and helps me onto the bed. He walks around and gets in the middle of the bed, watching me as I sit patiently waiting for instructions.

“Come here baby, sit on my face,” he motioned for me to come to him. I slowly crawled towards him, bracing myself on his lap. He kissed me roughly, tasting himself on my tongue, running his hand down to play with my chest. Nipples sensitive to the touch, he pulls away from me, taking my right breast in his mouth. Sucking and nibbling on me, teasing me. He pulled off with a pop, scooting further down the bed and then lifting me so I could move towards his face.

I place my hands on the headboard hovering over his face in anticipation. He suddenly grabs my thighs and pulls me down onto him. I scream out in pleasure as he dives into my center. Feverishly lapping his tongue at my pussy like it’s the last time he’ll have me. His moans send intense vibrations through my body, making me scream his name. We’ll have a noise complaint tomorrow.

I felt my orgasm coming on, riding his tongue until my legs were sore. He let go of my left thigh to slap my ass hard, signaling me to cum on his tongue. I came with a loud groan of his name. Shaking and twitching as I came down from my high.

Namjoon grabbed my hips, gently guiding me down to his lap. His face was covered in my essence, from nose to chin, he glistened like an Angel. He smiled and rubbed circles on my tummy as he watched me shake.

“Don’t think we’re done darling, I’m not finished until I see my cum dripping down your pretty legs.” He gave me one last smile before his eyes darkened once more. He grabbed my hips and lifted me slightly, sticking his girth fully inside me. I sank slowly, letting him fill me to the brim. Tears streamed down my cheeks loving the painful stretch in my core.

“Ride me until I say stop.” He deadpanned motioning for me to move or else. I started to ride him painfully slow, not being able to take much more. This was my opportunity to finally seize control. I picked up the pace, rhythmic grunts and sounds of skin slapping filled the room. I put my hands on his chest and let my hips do the talking.

I ground down harder, spelling his name with every swift motion of my hips. I felt his cock twitch inside of me, indicating he was close already. Now that I have control I’m going to make him feel everything he did to me. I moved faster, causing the bed to shake and tremble with every shout of his name.

He grabbed my hips trying to make me slow down but I only grind down harder. Clenching and tightening around him to send me him over the edge. I watched as his orgasm roared through him, eyes rolling to the back of his head. I kept moving, milking everything from him. Getting closer to my orgasm, I let myself go with one last yell of his name.

Squeezing my eyes shut as I finally stilled. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room, the bed creaking as I rolled off of him. Shivering as the empty feeling overtakes me when he’s not inside of me. “I hope I didn’t get too carried away,” I started while looking over at my completely wrecked boyfriend.

“That was perfect.” He said smiling over at me. He slowly stood up, going to our bathroom to retrieve a towel. He returned momentarily, cleaning me off and then cleaning himself. Throwing the towel in the hamper against the wall. I was so exhausted I could barely move. I got under our giant duvet, getting comfortable fairly quickly.

Namjoon glanced at me, nestled under the warm blankets, my eyes getting heavy with exhaustion. He promised me a special date night and he was determined to make it happen, even if he just put me to sleep. With a gentle smile, his aftercare continued.

“Hey, babe,” he whispered softly, brushing a strand of loose hair from my face. “I know you’re tired but I don’t want our date night to go to waste.”

I yawned in response and mumbled sleepily, “Joonie I’m so comfy right here.” Earning a chuckle from him, my reluctance seeped through the atmosphere. “I know, but trust me, you won’t regret it. I’ve got something in the living room set up for us.”

That caused me to sit up, curiosity overcoming my fatigue. “Oh? What is it?” I said carefully. “It’s a surprise, but I promise it’ll be worth it.” He said leaning in to plant a kiss on my forehead.

With his gentle encouragement, I reluctantly pushed the covers aside and allowed Namjoon to help me out of bed. He passed me the discarded robe and my slippers, and together we made our way to the living room.

Where soft candlelight flickered with a movie on the screen waiting to be played. As I settled onto the couch I couldn’t help but smile at the effort Namjoon had put into creating this romantic haven. A charcuterie board with our favorite snacks and 2 bottles of the wine we purchased earlier were on the coffee table.

Namjoon plopped down beside me, taking my hand in his. “See princess? Our date night in the living room isn’t so bad, is it?” He said grinning like he won the lottery. My fatigue began to dissipate as I basked in the warmth of Namjoon's love and effort. “Not bad at all,” I said, feeling grateful for his consistency and thoughtfulness.

“Let’s start the movie I’m so excited!” I exclaimed pumping my fist in the air embarrassingly hard. Namjoon laughed and mimicked me, making me laugh even harder than before. The first half of the movie went by as we stuffed our faces with food and downed wine like it was our last supper. I was starting to feel tipsy and before I knew it my thoughts started wandering again.

“Mmm, these snacks are-“ Namjoon started as he reached for the charcuterie board. I interrupted his thought by grabbing his hand. Namjoon looked at me puzzled, “huh?” He says in surprise. I move closer and settle onto his lap. “I want to be closer to you,” I said, hands resting on his toned chest.

Namjoon blinked at me, a tipsy smile forming on his lips, “Well I can’t argue with that pet.” I look into his eyes exploring the galaxies I can reach within them. “You know, I love nights like these, just you and me, a movie, some wine…” I rambled to him.

“Yeah, me too. It’s moments like this when I realize how lucky I am to have you in my life baby.” He said while lost in my eyes. Searching for something, something that he knows I have. I leaned in slowly, our lips almost touching, “I love you Namjoon.” I kissed him before he could respond. Feeling his emotions spill into our kiss. He pulled us apart gently, rubbing his hand on my cheek. “I love you too Y/N.”

He grabbed my face and captured my lips again. A thief that could do no wrong in my eyes, I deepened the kiss craving more of him. Needing to feel something more. I slowly began moving my hips on his thigh, grinding down onto the exposed skin, earning a guttural groan from his throat.

His hands moved down the side of my body, exploring every curve, touching every mark he left on me this evening. He landed on my hips, guiding me to my last orgasm with his strong hands. The air was hot once more, soft moans and sweet nothings penetrated the quiet.

The movie is long forgotten, the candlelight coating the walls in a beautiful golden glow. I felt my orgasm building quickly, still sensitive from the earlier assault on my clit. Namjoon began bouncing his leg, adding more pressure on my center, and sending me over the edge.

I kiss him one last time before I fall fast asleep on him.

The end.

[noel-fielding-web-page]

‘The fact that I’m still here is amazing’: Noel Fielding on Bake Off, booze and the Boosh

He has gone from cult niche to smash hit and he still can’t believe it. As Bake Off returns, the comic talks about his ‘feral’ upbringing, his party years – and the day Hammond fell out of a hammock

Noel Fielding’s highlight of the new series of The Great British Bake Off wasn’t a show-stopping cake. In fact, it wasn’t any type of baked goods. It wasn’t even a shot of a squirrel with outsized testicles. It was his co-host Alison Hammond falling out of a hammock.

“I’ll never be able to unsee it,” he says. “What I love about Alison – and I mean this with the greatest of respect – is that she’s an absolute klutz. If anyone’s going to fall out of a hammock, it’ll be her. She also fell backwards off one of the workbenches while showing off. Don’t worry, she was OK. No Hammonds were harmed in the making of this series.”

As the autumnal fixture returns to our screens, Fielding promises a 15th series on peak form. “It’s a belter,” he says. “There are some very special bakers in the tent this year. Somehow the standard keeps getting higher. These unbelievable young bakers are way better than they should be for their age. It’s a vintage year. One of the best yet.”

By stealth, the surrealist goth has become a Bake Off veteran. This is Fielding’s eighth series at the helm, meaning he’s now served a longer stint than original hosts Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins. “Who knew that was going to happen?” he marvels. “Maybe Paul Hollywood’s hypnotised me. I can’t escape the tractor beam of those blue eyes. I loved that original lineup, with Mary [Berry], Mel and Sue, as much as anyone. When me and Sandi [Toksvig] took over, we were terrified. We knew it was a massive risk. We said: ‘Let’s see if we can last one series.’ The fact that I’m still here is amazing.”

A family affair? … (from left) Fielding, Alison Hammond, Paul Hollywood and Prue Leith. Photograph: Mark Bourdillon/Channel 4

Toksvig later admitted “I felt my brain atrophying” after three series of glazes and ganaches. How does Fielding keep it fresh? “Sandi, as we know, is a massive brain. She went to Cambridge, she’s super-smart, she writes, she does politics, she needs to be stimulated. She never stays anywhere too long, except QI which is the perfect show for her. The difference between us is that I’ve always really enjoyed hanging out with the bakers. I befriend them and get them to open up. Nobody expected that to be my strength. I assumed it’d be the sketches and banter. In fact, I’m fascinated by the people. I feel protective of them. If Paul and Prue [Leith] are hard on them, I’m absolutely livid. It’s devastating when they leave. This year I was particularly fond of one baker. When I had to send them home, I cried.”

Hammond is his third co-host. “It feels like I’ve done three different shows,” he says. “First with Sandi, under enormous pressure but we pulled it off. Then with Matt [Lucas], which was a privilege because he’s a comedy genius. Now I’m enjoying it more than ever. Alison’s not a comedian, so she’s not as neurotic about jokes as I am, but she’s a brilliant improviser and instinctively funny. She slotted right in. Paul and Prue are very fond of her. Even my kids adore her. We’re having a blast.”

Judges and presenters refer to “the Bake Off stone” – a tendency to gain weight during each 10-week run. In her sophomore series, Hammond valiantly attempted to resist. “She tried to eat less this year but Alison’s quite childlike. She said: ‘Noel, stop me eating cake, I want to be good.’ The next time I saw her, she was literally like [he mimes shovelling in cake]. Alison has a good time all the time. You don’t want her to not be eating the cakes.”

Fielding, now 51, had a “feral” upbringing in Croydon. Hammond was raised in a Birmingham council house. He relishes these “two working-class kids galloping around Welford Park”, the Grade I-listed Berkshire estate where the marquee is pitched each summer. “If you’ve grown up in a working-class environment and go to a stately home, you’re like: ‘Woah! This is like Willy Wonka’s factory.’ We’re like urchins in front of Dame Prue. I permanently feel like I’ve come to sweep Prue’s chimney.” He describes Bake Off’s star quartet as “a funny old family”. Who’s who? “Prue and Paul are Mum and Dad, obviously. Alison’s the wild daughter. I reckon I’m the cat. Or am I the dog? Paul would say I’m the teenage son who’s secretly a vampire.”

‘We knew it was a massive risk’ … Fielding with Sandi Toksvig on the 12th series of The Great British Bake Off. Photograph: Channel 4/Love Productions/Mark Bourdillon/PA

The last time we spoke, Fielding reflected on his 00s era as a hedonistic scenester. “I took partying to its logical conclusion,” he said. “When you’ve been partying with Kate Moss and Courtney Love, you’ve gone as far as you can go. A few friends ended up in rehab. I was sick of partying anyway and lucky enough to have my family at the right time [he has two daughters with wife Lliana Bird]. It was like: ‘This is what I was looking for!’”

He returns to the theme today, pondering how Bake Off arrived at the right time. “When I got this job, I’d just had my first child, I was painting a lot and had a different lifestyle. This show fitted that phase. You want to match your career to where you are in life. It’s mainstream, family-friendly and my kids love it, so it suits me. I love not partying – and I never thought I’d say that.”

A fellow comic turned artist provides career inspiration. “I’d love to concentrate on art more as I get older. I love what Vic Reeves [Jim Moir] is doing, making art documentaries and his Painting Birds series. Vic and Bob [Mortimer] were a big influence on me. Now he looks genuinely happy. I’d love to do something similar.”

Claudia Winkleman jokes that she gets mistaken for Fielding. Does it happen the other way round? “I did see a trailer for The Traitors out of the corner of my eye and go: ‘I swear I didn’t film that.’ But no, Claudia looks like a beautiful 60s model. I look like a melted candle. A wax model of Roy Orbison that’s been left too near the radiator. It’s flattering for me but harsh on her.”

Earlier this year, Fielding scored a streaming hit with The Completely Made-Up Adventures of Dick Turpin. After wrapping filming on Bake Off, he’s off to shoot the highwayman sitcom’s second series. Has he learned to ride a horse? “I can get on and off, that’s all I need. Luckily it’s a comedy, so I don’t need to look impressive. One thing I enjoyed was that it’s made by Apple, so there’s a bit of a budget. With The [Mighty] Boosh, it was always a financial struggle to bring your vision to life. If you do fantastical stuff, you’re forever going: ‘We want an underwater race with people riding porpoises but that’d be all the budget gone.’ We’d end up using bits of animation to work around it. With Apple, they go: ‘Yeah, we can do that. Fine, let’s blow up a carriage.’ I’m like: ‘What, really? It won’t be a model?’”

He has formed an unlikely double act with Hugh Bonneville, who plays Dick’s thief-catching nemesis. “You can never predict who you’ll have chemistry with. I’ve learned a lot from Hugh. He’s a really skilful comic actor. And Mark Heap, who plays my dad, has the best timing of anyone ever.” As well as starring, Fielding has a writing credit. In the pilot episode, Heap tells him: “You always were a bit weird. Drawing, coming up with funny ideas, wearing strange outfits.” Was that line autobiographical? “I did write that scene, yeah,” admits Fielding.

Slice of history … Fielding (left) with his Mighty Boosh co-star Julian Barratt Photograph: Martin Argles/The Guardian

He also drew the amusingly rubbish “Wanted” posters that appear in the show. “I’d send them to the director and he’d go: ‘No, not bad enough, do another, make it more ridiculous!’ I’d end up doing them left-handed in about 10 seconds.” There’s even a role for his brother Michael, who played Naboo in The Mighty Boosh: “I put my brother in everything I can. He’s not only very funny but it means I get to hang out with him all day.”

While we’re on the Boosh, was he aware that this year marks the 20th anniversary of the comedy troupe’s TV incarnation? “Does it? Oh wow. Me and Julian [Barratt, his comedy partner] were proud of everything the Boosh did – the live shows, radio series, TV show. We probably should have made a film. People wanted more and that would’ve been a nice way to finish. Julian’s the funniest person I’ve ever worked with, hands down.” Of today’s comedy crop, he rates James Acaster highly.

Would the duo ever reform? “What we had together was so special. Comedy double acts are such rare beasts, like unicorns. I’ll probably never meet anyone like that again but I loved it while it lasted. We stopped at the right time, before the quality dipped. The Boosh was all-consuming, like being in a band. It’s difficult to recreate that when you’re older. You don’t have the same drive and energy. As much as I’d love to get back together, I wouldn’t want to do something that wasn’t as good.”

Going from Boosh to Bake Off has been an unexpected journey. “When the Boosh ended, because it had been a cult hit, I wanted to make something more avant garde and experimental to satisfy my art school side. So I did [Channel 4 sketch series] Luxury Comedy. After that, I didn’t know what to do with myself, then Bake Off came along. It was a huge curveball for me. I love that it’s old-fashioned TV. Millions watch it weekly. People come up and talk to me about the latest episode. It feels like being part of British culture. There’s so much choice now, thousands of shows on streaming, but shows like Strictly, Gogglebox and Bake Off somehow still cut through.”

After dismal weather all series, the sun even came out for this year’s final. “It had been raining and storming but as soon as we went to announce the winner, sunshine started beaming down.” Fielding grins. “Bake Off’s like that. There’s something magical about it.”

Guardian, 14.09.2024