#reduce kitchen waste | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blkkizzat · 10 months ago

Text

❛ IN YO PU$$Y TONGUE TWISTIN' LIKE ITS STIR FRY!❜

✰summary: don't ask toji to make you dinner if you aren't ready to be dinner ✰tw: nasty, filthy, insane pussy eating like its groceries. literal groceries cause there's lots of food/cooking sex references lmfao. ✰wc: <1k [no taglist under 1k]

Toji who you sass, telling him to be useful for once and "make you dinner." Unfortunately for you, Toji takes it quite literally as he makes you HIS dinner.

Without any warning you are manhandled down to the couch. Your brand new pink frilly panties utterly trashed, ripped off of you and discarded like a flimsy plastic wrap. Toji kneads open your doughy thighs, ordering you to hold your knees so that you are spread wide for him.

Succumbing to his more debased urges, your coochie would be his 'kitchen' for the next 2 hours. It was obvious from the perverse way his lips smacked together, sucking his teeth at the sight of your succulent cunt—he couldn't wait to serve you up on a platter.

Digging in, Toji wastes no time with prep work.

Unabashedly feasting in your savory folds as if he were a gourmet who had just been presented with a 10-course 3-star michelin meal. Toji's filthy mouth proves to be such a needy glutton for your pretty pussy—slurping, suckling and nibbling at your sensitive lil’ clit until you’re sobbing. You clench and twitch around his tongue which seems to be on a mission to completely sear your insides, reducing your to legs to gelatinous goo.

All the heat Toji boils in your core spreads to your entire body and your hands grow slippery with sweat. You shake as you struggle to maintain hold of your knees. Yet the scalding look Toji gives you makes you think twice before you let go of them—lest chef Toji say the dish is ruined and he needs to start all over again.

“Chef knows best” Toji tells you, along with his specialty cuisine style of "making it nasty", so of course he must braise your swollen throbbing clit in globs of his spit. His tongue bastes over your sopping folds as he scoops the marinated mixture—crafted of his saliva and the syrupy juices of your ripened cunt—back into your steamy quivering hole.

At the very least you were grateful that despite the embarrassment flaming on your tear-stained cheeks, the amount of carnal pleasure coursing through your body sent your mind into euphoric delirium. Your eyes spared you from the sight of Toji's shameless display of ravenous hunger by becoming lodged into the back of your skull.

Nevertheless, you didn’t need to see to tell that Toji is a messy cook. Some of your rich milky sauce is sure to dribble down to the crack of your ass as his lecherous ministrations cause you to overflow. Not to worry though—when it comes to relishing your perfect pussy, Toji ultimately keeps a tidy kitchen and he is certainly not wasteful.

Toji will dutifully clean up any mess, unlike your actual kitchen where he never washes a dish. Likewise, although when you try to get him to eat healthier and he refuses his greens—Toji will never hesitate to toss your salad. Stirring his tongue deep into your puckered hole he savors the taste while three of his thick fingers bully into your tight lil’ pussy, blending you up until you pureed all over his fingers.

The intensity of your lustful moans rival that of the vulgar sounds sloshing from your core and echoing throughout the living room. Both sounds Toji finds himself developing an insatiable hunger for and it spurs on his near relentless teasing of you.

Duplicitous in his positively feral pussy drunk state, he reasons with you that "a chef never reveals his secrets".

Therefore you are never certain upon reaching the peak of your next mind-mincing orgasm if he will serve you utterly delectable release—the sweet nectar of your squirt garnishing his lips resulting in Toji to nearly busting in his own pants from rutting against the sofa—

—or if he will cruelly snatch it away from you again as you teeter right on the edge of rapture. When he does this there is certainly a twinkle in his eyes as he mocks you, "but you weren't quite done simmering just yet, mamas."

Absolutely overdone and oversensitive, if the torture of him stewing your insides becomes too much—If you really whine and tell him you've had enough—to his credit Toji would stop. Stop and hover mere centimeters away from your leaky lil’ peach that is.

You would whimper, so sore from the abuse of his tongue as his own eyes would roll back at the sugary smell of your arousal wafting off your messed up lil cunny. Toji knows at this point you are too fucked out—too thoroughly made well-done on his tongue to escape from his gluttonous depravity.

Sloppy and glazed in your cum, the scar on Toji's lip glistens as it pulls into a devious smirk. Huffing out, Toji would softly breeze air over your puffy clit until your lil nub throbbed with enough need to beg for another course.

Toji would oblige you of course.

Nonetheless, as punishment for disturbing the chef while he’s cooking, you would have to wait a bit more before you felt his mouth on you again. Only blowing over your sex, your desperate pleas are only met with cruel chuckles chiding you that he needed to "let his food cool properly" before he could eat the next serving.

In the end, Toji's hard efforts in your kitchen are rewarded as he thoroughly consumes every last morsel you have to offer, cleaning up every lingering string of your arousal. With his wanton thirst for your creamy caramelized cunt finally quenched he brings himself up to admire your cute slutted out pout.

You gasp as Toji’s lips meet yours in a fiery kiss. His tongue is just chaotic, dominating your mouth as if he were still craving the taste of your core.

You're dizzy for air when Toji finally pulls away. Still coming down from your blissed out state you fail to notice Toji had switched your positions. You are now on the floor between his legs while he sits on the couch.

His beefy thighs manspread wide as his girthy length springs from his dark sweats. The angry red tip of his cockhead sways back to hit his abs thickly coated in what must be his own fluids from at some point cumming in his pants just from eating you out.

Reaching out to grab your chin his thumb rubs over your lips in a gentle caress before bullying them open. You were going to roast his cock in that warm n’ tight throaty lil oven of yours.

It was your turn to make him dinner.

✰ ©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✰a/n: y'all idk im hungry, on my period and i clearly got demons. that's all the defense i got so y'all can lock me away for this now. *runs away* p.s.plug!choso lovers this is not a fic, its a drabble i promise i literally wrote this in tumblr drafts don't kill me LOL

✰reblog & comments are my life's blood. ty!

4K notes · View notes

springtomorrowfoodtravel · 1 year ago

Photo

(via 15 Creative Recipes Using Vegetable Scraps)

Have you ever peered into your kitchen bin and wondered about the untapped potential of those vegetable scraps you toss in there? What if we told you that your kitchen scraps can be transformed into mouthwatering dishes that will have you craving for more? It’s time to turn those “waste” bits into stars of your culinary show! Let’s embark on a delicious adventure and explore 15 scrumptious recipes that will not only satisfy your taste buds but also make a dent in food waste.

#sustainable cooking #reduce food waste #kitchen scraps #zero waste

0 notes

reducereuserecycleaustralia · 1 year ago

Text

Reducing Food Waste in Australia: A Personal Journey Towards Sustainability

Australians love good food, and our nation boasts a rich culinary tradition. However, this enthusiasm for great meals sometimes leads to a significant issue – food waste. Did you know that Australia throws away a staggering 7.3 million tonnes of food each year? That’s a lot of delicious meals going to waste, and it’s not only harmful to our environment but also to our wallets. In this blog post,…

View On WordPress

0 notes

iclarye · 2 years ago

Text

Good Looking

pairing: opla!sanji x reader

summary: your plan was quick and simple. you would go to the kitchen, make some tea to ease your headache, and then return to your comfy bed. you weren't expecting to come across your crew's blonde cook barechested cutting carrots.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ content, smut, swearing, pet names, kitchen sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, cunnilingus, semi public sex, PIV

authors note: english is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes. read this fanfic on ao3: good looking. enjoy!

You are used to this. The utterly exhausted sensation after several hand-to-hand combats, so when the headache started when you finally lay down in bed, you just decided to ignore it; the sleep would catch up before it got.

Until the needed sleep never got you. So, after an hour or two of rubbing your temples and staring at the ceiling while feeling envy-induced annoyance for Nami’s peaceful breathing, you pushed yourself to stand up.

Even if the cool night air almost makes you wish you hadn't left your warm bed, you needed that green tea to stop the pounding headache in the back of your head. The kitchen lights shining through the window went undetected as your mind was busy figuring out how you could prepare the drink quickly so that the pain could cease as soon as possible.

“Oh, it’s you, darling. Is everything alright?” As you walked into the door and recognized Sanji's words, you snapped out of your thoughts and began to look over your surroundings. He was not wearing any type of shirt while he sliced carrots from behind the counter.

Barechested. Topless. Half naked.

“Y-yes, I mean, no. Just a headache.” You gaze the blonde in the eyes as you stumble through your sentences, you are merely vaguely aware that your face is beginning to turn red. “I just want that green tea, I know it's somewhere around here. I saw Nami storing it in the cabinets earlier.”

You felt foolish. You became used to seeing shirtless men given that you lived in the middle of the ocean and therefore often came across Luffy, Usopp, and even Zoro barechested. They would often walk around the deck that way on hot days. Sanji, however, always showed up in a suit or, at the very least, had a formal shirt rolled up to his elbows. Even so, there was no chance of seeing him dressed otherwise since he went to sleep after you and woke up before everyone.

“I can do it for you, it’s my job after all, taking care of my sweet girl.” He placed the knife down, threw the chopped carrots in a nearby pot, and proceeded to go through the cupboards. “Love, do you remember where she stored it? There are plenty of cabinets in this place.”

"What are you doing here?" You instantly regret your tone as you noted Sanji just froze in his search.

“I mean, sorry, the kitchen is your place, I know. I just never saw you here this hour, and me and Luffy go here to do midnight snacks sometimes”

“I could not sleep”

“Me too” Once again, an irrational remark. He was informed that you were having trouble falling asleep, that's why you were there. “Why the carrots?”

“The attack that happened today. I had hoped for more food, but I believe you are aware of how fucked our situation is.” He continued looking for the tea while chuckling flatly. “We don't know when we will receive more supplies; we right now have barely anything stocked. Even the carrot peels have been put to use in an effort to reduce waste, you know.”

You weren't sure how to respond. It was clear that everyone's mood was negatively affected by today's incident. The worry of what would happen in the next few days or weeks was filling your head since Usopp managed to escape the ship. His back was to you, so you were unable to see his facial expressions, but you couldn't help but notice his muscles.

You felt a little guilty since you couldn't take your focus away from it, despite him having just voiced some serious concern. Has he lately started working out, or has he always had muscles like that?

“Are you and Luffy close then?”

The sudden break in silence confused you as he turned toward you with the pot of tea in his hands and a pleased smile.

“I suppose so. After all, he was the one who invited me to join the crew, right?” You smirked at the thought. It wasn't much time—perhaps a few months—and you were losing track of time at sea. “I fearlessly agreed to become a pirate, although I had never spent more than two weeks on a boat.”

“I remember that. You were so naive”

Of course he remembers. When you joined the crew, it was very easy to have a conversation with Sanji, he was constantly complimenting you or flirting in a straightforward manner. You never took him seriously, hearing about the blonde's techniques from Nami from the first day, but it was often hard not to chuckle or blush when he was so…

“Not anymore.”

He grinned at you before returning his attention to the tea. It was impossible to look away from his bare chest. You were unable to rest your mind from imagining how his skin would feel on your hand now that he was in your line of sight. You are already aware that he's a good-looking man, but now seeing more of his body did things to you.

“All right, madam. Here is your tea.” He circles the counters until he's right next to you. Really close. His eyes twinkle with recklessness, and you know he caught you staring at his figure.

You ignore the tickle in your lower belly as you stand there, grab the mug in your hands, and sip while gazing at his face. He still has that typical smirk, and when you finally finish drinking your tea, he glances at your lips before returning to your eyes. Everything becomes fuzzy and hot then.

He's very close. His hand has been lying on the counter, his chest is nearly brushing your own, and you can't help but notice his modest, almost transparent blonde hair in there. Perhaps it's a sign for you to walk away, that this is going in a dangerous direction, but you can't.

“What dear? See something you lik-”

You interrupt him with a kiss. It's all very messy and quick, and he is unable to have time to handle everything. You come to an abrupt halt and stare at him with wide eyes, realizing what you have done.

“Sanji, fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant t-”

He didn't let you finish the apologies. His hand pulls your head back, bringing your lips together. The kiss looks right now. It begins carefully, with both sides cautious, but it quickly gets heated as he doesn't hesitate to push his tongue into your mouth.

You’re breathless when he finally pulls away, and his eyes are hungry. He didn't think twice before pressing his open mouth and tongue on your neck. A moan escapes from your lips.

His left hand shifts down to grab your hip, and you catch your breath. Your hands graze his nipples as you reach for his pecs, and he hisses at the fresh sensation in your throat.

“Gods Y/N, you’re going to kill me this way”

You chuckled, and he kissed you again, although this time you took charge, moving one of your hands to his blonde hair before tilting his head to grant you more access. You stop the action just to take a moment to recover and gaze into his dilated pupils. He looks so attractive like that that you can’t help but want to go down on him.

”Sanji,” You whisper breathlessly, enjoying the sensation of his name in your mouth, “let me taste you.”

He groans in response, which you take as encouragement as you lean down and proceed. You lick and kiss the trail that leads to his crotch, and he hisses softly, his abdomen tense beneath your hands and mouth. As you get down on your knees and look at his pants, you can see his erection, which seems big and marked.

You don't hesitate to pull down the waistband of his pants and boxers together, exposing his hard, leaking cock to your eyes. It's big. It's more than you expected. There's a buildup of cum at the head, and you reach forward and wrap your lips around it, licking gently just to tease.

You look up as you swirl your tongue over the tip and dip your tongue into the slit to see him biting his lower lips, his head thrown back. You wanted to see his face while sucking him. So you take him out of your mouth and cautiously wrap a hand around him, teasing him a little with your hand. Your movements are agonizingly slow as you lightly suck and lick the sensitive head until finally he looks down.

“Oh, darling, you’re so pretty like that.” Sanji whined above you, and then your mouth opened around the head of his cock, and he slid it into your mouth. “Fuck, fuck. So… so perfect.”

You can clearly see the blonde struggling to keep his composure, like how his knuckles are white while gripping the counter behind him. You relax your throat, take a long breath through your nose, and exhale slowly before swallowing him whole while gripping his inner thighs.

His penis is large, so the initial sensation isn't the most pleasant, but as he lets out a loud groan, you forget about everything. Something about hearing Sanji whine in the kitchen while you gagged on his cock made the aching between your legs unbearable.

"Oh yeah, You are so good to me. Your mouth feels so good in me.”

You moaned softly at his words of praise, making vibrations around his penis, causing another moan from him. His left hand reached from the counter to your hair, and you didn't reject the help while bobbing your head up and down.

“My love, you are so perfec-“

A few tears occasionally escaped as you sucked him and he fucked your throat, sometimes only taking him out to run your tongue along his length. You started to see signs that he was close to cum. One of your hands left the thighs to rub his balls.

“I… I'm going to cum, Y/N, dear... I" He gives you a chance to pull away from him, but you choose to continue and accept it all. You remove the entire length of his throat and leave just the head in your mouth.

He comes soon after, with a muffled groan, while you attempt to swallow as much as you can before it gets difficult, followed by a satisfied moan coming from you.

You felt his hand leave your hair, and for two or three minutes, you just remained there. He has his head back and is trying to catch his breath while you are on your knees, glancing at his chest and the beads of sweat gathering on his neck. It’s a perfect vision, honestly. You ponder whether he would notice if you began to masturbate right then.

“Come on, madam, let me help you up.” Sanji extends his hand to support you in getting up, and once you are upright, he grabs hold of your waist to keep you close to him.

He kisses you, tasting himself in your mouth. It's slow, and you realize he's still trying to emerge from his afterglow. When he breaks the kiss, that smile returns to his face, and you peck him once more just to get rid of it.

Sanji deepened the kiss again. And fuck, what else could you do but reply in the same aggressive way?

You're hoisted up by the hands on your hips and thrown onto the counter. The blonde is now between your legs, breaking the kiss, only to go straight to that specific spot on your neck that you're almost certain will leave a mark in the morning.

“Oh- Sanji,” You try to speak breathlessly as he licks your collarbone and his fingers brush the hem of your t-shirt, “You don’t h-have to do that.”

It wasn't that you didn't want Sanji. Since you entered that kitchen and spotted him without a shirt, you wanted this. Yet, you took the decision to give him an opportunity to back out, be thankful for the blowjob, and never bring up the matter again. Him taking you would be very personal.

“Please, my love,” You can hear the yearning in his voice as he whispers in your ear. “I just want to make you feel good too.”

You nod, and he attacks your mouth once again while his hands pull the hem of your t-shirt, exposing your chest, and you can't stop yourself from moaning at being so bare to him.

He doesn't think twice about placing his mouth on your breasts as he rolls the hard bud between his teeth and tongue and gives the other one a gentle stroke with his other hand. He bites your nipple as your head is flung back, and all you can do is pray that no one hears your loud scream.

He takes his mouth from your breasts and begins a trail down your stomach, and you can't stop whining due to the lack of warm sensation from his tongue in your niples, but you quickly figure out where he's headed as he lowers himself between your thighs.

He doesn't ask for permission as he aggressively rips off your shorts and, along with them, your underwear, revealing your pussy to him. He pulled your hips closer and dragged a finger down your folds, then placed it inside his mouth.

"Oh, you're so soaking wet, just for me, hm?" You are so stunned by the sight that you hardly pay attention to what the blonde is saying. “You taste so good, my darling.”

You stand on your elbows and glance at the man who is standing in between your legs. You can't help but gasp at the taunting as he starts giving you small small bites and kisses along your inner thighs. But you want him now.

“Oh Sanji, stop teasing for fuc-“

He didn't wait for you to finish the curse word before burying his face, pushing his tongue against your wet pussy, and licking a long, temptingly slow strip through your folds until he reached your sensitive bud.

In an attempt to create more friction, you thrust your hips into his mouth, and your left hand immediately settled on his blonde hair. Sanji found the ideal pattern to swirl his tongue over your clitoral region, leaving you panting for air.

He pushed two fingers deep within you, and you felt your walls clenching around them, sucking him in. His pace was fast, and he was still paying careful attention to your clit, leaving you close to the edge. You were a mess, and it wouldn't take long for you to cum. Yet you still needed him; you wanted more.

You sucked in a sharp breath and tried to block out the inappropriate sounds echoing through the kitchen.

“Sanji, p-please more”

"Use your words, my angel." You could see the glistening fluids from your pussy plastered on his chin when he pushed his head off of your thighs. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me, oh g-gods. I need you inside me." At your words, he groaned and took both of his fingers out to direct his cock at your entrance.

It wasn't difficult for him to enter since you were so soaked. At the feeling of it, you both simultaneously moaned. You felt completely filled; he just stood there for a while, waiting for you to get used to the size, until you signaled for him to start moving. It began off slow, but soon he started out moving his hips at a faster pace to satisfy both of you.

"You're perfect,” he moaned in two thrusts, and you had to put your hand over your mouth. “Look at you, taking my cock so well, oh darling.”

The hands on your hips let go and grabbed you under your right thigh, opening your legs and hitting you more deeply and faster. You thought you were seeing stars when he hit an exact spot inside your pussy that made you shout.

“Cum for me, my love. I know you want”

It didn't take long for your orgasm to hit you after that, your eyes rolled back and you let out a whine sound as you felt your walls squeeze his dick. He moaned along with you at the feeling and a few more thrusts and he came inside you.

Sanji's head fell directly to your shoulder, and you instinctively placed your palm in his blond locks. While the fluid was slowly dripping out of you, he continued to remain deep inside and breathe loudly.

He raised his head only to smile recklessly while glancing into your mouth. “So, do you still have a headache?”

Your hand reached out to push him, but you were helpless to suppress the giggles that came. He drew away from inside you but was still between your knees as he chuckled proudly.

“Do you think anyone heard?”

“I'm not sure, maybe when you let out that screa-" You slapped him on the shoulder to cut him off while embarrassed because of the probability. “Ok, ok my darling, next time we’ll find a more private place.”

“Next time, huh?

Sanji stood still with an anxious smile on his face; it was almost hilarious how someone so confident in themselves would respond in that manner. You wrapped his neck with both of your arms and gave him a quick kiss to reassure him that everything was fine.

"You should come to the kitchen more often, preferably alone.”

"And you should go shirtless more often too.”

"Only for you, my love.”

You gave him another kiss before leaving the counter, getting ready to go, and returning to the bedroom. Even though the night seemed to be becoming lighter, you were aware that there were still a few hours until sunrise. It was evident that there would be plenty of issues to address when you awoke, but for the time being, you were content, even though you were a little exhausted from the activities. As sleep came, all you could think of was Sanji and his smile.

7K notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 5 months ago

Text

Two Hands, One Home

Summary: After an abyss attack destroys your home, Kinich, who values independence and self-reliance, offers you a place to stay. Though he presents it as purely practical, his actions reveal a quiet, genuine care. Over time, you settle into a peaceful routine together, finding comfort in his reserved kindness and the small gestures of care he provides, learning that beneath his cold exterior, Kinich has his own way of showing affection.

Tags: @m1nella, Kinich x Reader, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Reserved Kinich, Found Family, Quiet Moments, Pragmatic Romance, Subtle Affection, Soft Kinich.

Warnings: Implied Loss Due To An Abyss Attack, Mild Angst.

The aftermath of the abyss attack was devastating. Your home, once a place of safety and comfort, had been reduced to rubble, its walls shattered and roof torn asunder. The shock of losing everything you had worked for in an instant left you feeling hollow, adrift in a world that had suddenly turned cold and uncertain.

But amid the chaos, there was an unexpected offer. Kinich, with his usual stoic expression, had come to you with a quiet proposal. “You can stay at my place while your house is being repaired.” he said, his tone as dry as ever, yet beneath it was something softer, something genuine.

You were hesitant at first—Kinich was a private person, and you knew his past hadn’t been easy. Still, the practicality of the offer, and the simple fact that you needed somewhere safe to stay, won out. You nodded, grateful but unsure of what to expect.

The day you moved into Kinich’s house, you couldn’t help but be surprised by how… normal it was. The inside was modest, a far cry from the grandeur of the mansions you’d seen in the past. But it had a warmth to it, an unspoken coziness. The walls were lined with handmade furniture, small knick-knacks that spoke of a life lived with care and attention, even if it wasn’t a life of luxury.

Kinich showed you around, his gestures efficient but not unkind. “This is the kitchen,” he said, pointing to a simple stove and a small table. “If you need anything, just ask. And, uh… don’t go near the shed out back. I keep some of my… tools there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tools?”

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile, though it was hard to say. “I’ve got a lot of things to fix. You’ll see.”

You followed him to the living room, where a modest fireplace crackled. The scent of wood and something faintly herbal hung in the air, and Kinich, ever the practical one, was already setting up a small cot by the wall for you.

“Don’t make a fuss about it,” he said as he smoothed out the blanket. “It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.”

You couldn’t help but feel touched. For someone who valued independence so much, Kinich was surprisingly attentive in his own way. You sat down on the cot, still a bit unsure of what to do next.

Kinich cleared his throat and turned toward the kitchen. “I’m making dinner. It’ll be ready in about an hour. You can relax until then.”

As he worked, you took a moment to look around the room. It wasn’t much, but it was his—his space, his home. The absence of his usual sharpness, the subtle kindness of his gestures, made you feel a little less alone. Even if he didn’t show it often, Kinich had a way of making you feel like you mattered.

Dinner was simple, a warm stew that smelled of fresh herbs and hearty vegetables. Kinich placed a bowl in front of you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something softer in his eyes, a flicker of something more than just duty.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, quietly breaking the silence. “Let me help with something.”

Kinich paused for a moment, his hand still on the pot as he glanced over at you. “It’s fine,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not doing it for you. Just… don’t let the food go to waste.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. Kinich’s words were as blunt as always, but the care in his actions was something you couldn’t overlook. As you sat together at the table, eating in comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but think that, despite everything, you had found a place here—a place where, for the time being, you could heal

Over the next few days, life at Kinich’s house settled into a quiet routine. You’d help with the small tasks around the house—cleaning up, organizing things—and in return, Kinich would share bits and pieces of his life with you, small snippets of knowledge or skills that he’d learned over the years.

One evening, as the sun began to set, you found Kinich in the garden, tending to some plants in the fading light. You hadn’t realized how peaceful the house could feel when it was just the two of you, sharing this simple life together.

“Need help?” you asked, walking over to him.

Kinich glanced up, his face softening slightly. “If you want. I could always use another pair of hands around here.”

You knelt beside him, taking a small gardening trowel and gently digging into the soil. There was a strange comfort in working alongside him, the silence between you both not awkward but companionable, as if you were partners in something greater than just survival.

“Why do you do it?” you asked, looking up at him. “Tending to all this, I mean. I would’ve thought you’d want to leave it all behind.”

Kinich paused, the question catching him off guard. His eyes flickered briefly, almost hesitant, before he answered. “Because it’s mine. It’s the one thing in this world I can rely on. People… they come and go. But this? It’s real. It stays.”

You smiled at his answer, understanding him a little more than you had before. Kinich didn’t offer grand gestures or flowery words, but in the little things—like the way he cared for his home, or the way he offered you a place to stay when you needed it most—you saw his quiet strength.

And, despite his belief in self-sufficiency, you couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, for just a moment, you could be the one thing he’d allow himself to rely on, too.

That night, as you both sat by the fire, Kinich spoke again, his voice quieter than usual.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.” he said, not looking directly at you but still offering the words with sincerity.

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Kinich. I… I really appreciate it.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “It’s not charity. It’s just… practical.”

But the warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

440 notes · View notes

honeyslibrary · 15 days ago

Text

Late Again | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, angst, cursing, not sure what else, edited once.

Summary; Inspired by this request: Hi hi!! I love your writing, especially for Quinn and I was just wondering if you could write some Quinn x reader angst? Like maybe he's been coming home late and she reaches her breaking point w him? Tysm!! 💕💗

Word Count; 3.4k

Author’s note; This was requested sooo long ago n I'm so sorry for the wait, but nonetheless I hope you like it. 😊 I listened to the song The Exit by Conan Gray when I wrote this, it doesn't fit the vibe, but it's a great song I newly discovered. Also I have no idea if he likes chicken fried steak, I just chose something random lol -Honey

You poked at the dinner you'd carefully prepared—chicken-fried steak, Quinn's favorite—half-heartedly pushing the mashed potatoes around your plate with your fork. The food was getting cold, untouched. You couldn't even bring yourself to take a bite. A home game tonight against the St. Louis Blues—he’d mentioned it this morning, and you’d nodded, knowing the routine all too well by now. Quick meal, pregame nap, then off to the rink. You understood how demanding his schedule was, but tonight was supposed to be different. He promised. The effort you put in, starting dinner earlier than usual so he’d have time to eat before his nap, now felt wasted. The smell of the crispy steak and buttery potatoes filled the air, but it only made you feel emptier.

You sat alone at the dinner table, your eyes flicking toward your phone every few minutes, hoping for the screen to light up with a message from him. But it never did. The minutes stretched into an hour, the silence from your phone growing heavier with every second. He’d promised to be home for dinner today—said it with that familiar smile like he really meant it this time. But here you were, waiting, yet again. The clock on the wall ticked louder in the empty room. The sound seemed to amplify the absence, reminding you of just how late he was. You glanced at your phone one more time, willing it to show some sign of life—an apology, an excuse, anything—but the screen stayed dark. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.

You took a deep breath, trying to quiet the disappointment clawing at your chest, but it didn’t help. The food, once so full of effort and care, now seemed like a mockery of your good intentions. You wondered if he even realized how much you’d gone out of your way tonight, or if he’d forgotten, caught up in his routine, his career, his world. You weren’t sure anymore.

An hour and a half late now. You stood up from the table, abandoning the cold meal as you walked over to the window, peeking outside as if expecting to see his car pulling into the driveway. Nothing. The quiet suburban street was empty, just as it always was. The sky had started to darken, and with it, the flicker of hope you’d been clinging to all evening. How many more times would you find yourself waiting, wondering if you were ever going to be a priority in his life again?

The more you thought about it, the more the dull ache of disappointment twisted itself into something sharper, hotter—anger. It started as a slow simmer in your chest, but with each passing second, the heat rose, spreading through your veins like wildfire. Was he serious? A bitter sigh escaped your lips as you walked back into the kitchen. You grabbed your plate first, then his—untouched, of course—and headed to the garbage can. With one swift motion, you scraped the food into the garbage, the chicken-fried steak falling in with a dull thud. It almost felt like a relief to throw it away, like you were getting rid of something that no longer had meaning. The mashed potatoes smeared against the sides of the plate as you tossed the rest, the food you’d spent time making reduced to nothing more than trash.

The pans on the stove caught your eye next, and before you even realized what you were doing, you were scooping the perfectly good leftovers into the trash as well. The scent of the meal you’d so carefully prepared—the aroma of rosemary, garlic—rose up as if to remind you of the effort you'd put in. It stung, but you didn’t care. Fuck that. He didn’t deserve your cooking. He didn’t deserve the time, the thoughtfulness. Not anymore.

His favorite meal, no less. What a joke. You felt ridiculous for even caring so much, for putting in the effort when he clearly couldn’t be bothered to be home like he'd promised, or even give you the courtesy of a text.

You slammed the pans down into the sink with more force than necessary, the clang reverberating in the quiet kitchen. You stood over the sink, glaring at the pile of dirty dishes, your hands tightening and un-tightening at your sides. The dishwasher was right there, but using it felt too easy, too detached. You needed something more physical, something to work out this simmering frustration before it consumed you.

So, instead, you grabbed the sponge and turned on the water, scrubbing the first plate with a force that made your knuckles whiten. The warm, soapy water splashed up against your arms, but you didn’t care. You scrubbed harder, as if each circular motion could somehow scrub away the resentment building inside you. The plate wasn’t even that dirty, but you attacked it like it was covered in grime.

Each scrape of the sponge against ceramic echoed in the quiet kitchen, filling the space where his excuses should have been. The more you scrubbed, the more it felt like you were scrubbing away the traces of him—his absence, his broken promises, his selfishness. If only it were that easy. If only a sink full of dishes could clean up all the messes he was leaving behind.

It was Quinn’s second year as captain of the Canucks, a role that had transformed him in ways you hadn’t fully anticipated. The weight of the 'C' on his chest seemed heavier this season, with expectations higher than ever after last year’s breakout performance. The team had exceeded everyone’s predictions, turning heads and silencing critics with a season no one saw coming. Now, all eyes were on them to prove it wasn’t just a fluke.

You knew Quinn was feeling that pressure—how could he not? He had something to prove, not just to the fans, the media, or his teammates, but to himself. The burden of leadership was always in the back of his mind, quietly pushing him to go harder, to be better, to set an example. And you understood that. You really did. You knew he was doing the best he could, managing the weight of it all in his own way. But even understanding had its limits. And so did you.

Quinn, on the other hand, seemed to have no boundaries when it came to pushing himself. It was almost like he didn’t know how to stop, how to pull back. Even now, he was still nursing that hand injury—an injury that should have sidelined him weeks ago—but he kept playing through it, insisting he could handle the pain. Thirty minutes a night, almost every game, skating until exhaustion blurred the edges of his vision. You’d seen the way he winced sometimes when he thought no one was looking, flexing his hand to work out the tightness, but refusing to sit out even for a single shift.

You admired his dedication. How could you not? His determination, his relentless drive to push through, to carry the weight of the team on his shoulders—it was part of what made him the player, the leader, that he was. But it was also the part of him that worried you the most.

You knew he felt like he had to do it, that as captain, anything less than perfection wasn’t enough. And while you respected that drive, it didn’t make it any easier watching him run himself into the ground night after night. Especially when you were the one sitting at home, picking up the pieces of what was left, wondering if he was going to come back from each game a little more broken than before.

You were patient. You’d learned to be. But your patience wasn’t endless.

The sound of the front door opening jolted you from your thoughts, the creak of the hinges cutting through the sound of the running water. You pause, your hands submerged in soapy water, your grip tightening on the sponge as Quinn stepped inside. He walks in, clad in his usual post-practice attire—Nike sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a black compression shirt clinging to the lines of his torso. He looked worn, as if the weight of the day hadn’t just been left on the ice but was still hanging on his shoulders, pulling him down.

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a quick once-over, but you didn’t say anything. The words felt stuck in your throat, trapped behind the frustration and sadness swirling in your chest. Instead, you turned back to the dishes, resuming your task with more force than necessary, the clinking of the plates louder than before. You didn’t offer a greeting, and neither did he. It was almost as if the two of you existed in different worlds now—yours, filled with waiting and disappointment, and his, consumed by the game, by the pressure that never seemed to leave him.

Quinn, oblivious or perhaps just avoiding the tension, didn’t seem to notice your silence. Without a word, he headed upstairs, his footsteps soft but steady, the sound growing fainter as he disappeared into the bedroom. A familiar ache settled in your chest as you stood there, staring down at the soapy water swirling in the sink. You could feel the sting of tears threatening to rise, but you blinked them away quickly, shaking your head at yourself.

Anger had been your companion all day, burning hot and steady in his absence. It had been so easy to hold onto, so easy to let the frustration build when you didn’t have to see him, when you didn’t have to look into those hazel eyes that always seemed to make your resolve crumble. The anger had felt justified when he wasn’t there—easy to fuel when it was just you, alone, staring at a cold, empty dinner table. But now that he was home, the anger began to unravel, slipping away and leaving only the sadness behind. It happened every time. That familiar pang of disappointment mixed with resignation, the sharp edges of your frustration softening into something more complicated, something you didn’t have the energy to untangle.

You bit your tongue, holding back the words you wanted to say—the questions, the accusations, the things that would start a fight you weren’t ready to have. You’d been here before, in this exact moment, torn between wanting to yell and wanting to break down. But you didn’t want to argue tonight. Not again.

The dishes were your only focus now, your hands scrubbing mechanically as your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t quiet. You wondered if he even knew how much you’d been waiting, not just tonight, but for weeks, months—for some sign that you still mattered in all of this, that you were still a part of his world. But it was getting harder to tell, harder to feel like you weren’t slowly fading into the background of his life, just like the sound of his footsteps fading upstairs.

By the time you finished the dishes and wiped down the counters, the kitchen was spotless, as if the day hadn’t happened at all. The room was clean, but the heavy silence remained, settling into the spaces between the freshly scrubbed surfaces. You paused for a moment, staring down at the empty sink, the exhaustion setting in—not just from the chores, but from everything that had been weighing on you lately.

When you finally made your way upstairs to the bedroom, Quinn had already begun his pregame nap. You stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame for a moment, just watching him. He was sprawled out on his stomach, the way he always slept, one arm curled beneath the pillow, his face turned slightly to the side. In sleep, the tension in his features was gone, the hard lines softened, and for a brief second, you felt a pang of something—nostalgia, maybe—for the way things used to be. Before all the pressure, before the distance between you had grown so wide.

You stood there, caught between wanting to crawl into bed next to him and knowing it wouldn’t make a difference tonight. He was already somewhere else, lost in the brief reprieve of sleep before the game. You let out a quiet breath and turned away, heading back downstairs, leaving him to his rest.

In the den, you curled up on the sofa, pulling a throw blanket over your legs as you flicked on the TV. The familiar theme song of One Tree Hill played in the background, but your mind wasn’t fully on the show. You watched the characters move across the screen, but their drama felt distant, unimportant compared to the real-life ache sitting in your chest. You’d seen these episodes a hundred times before, and yet tonight they felt like nothing more than white noise, a distraction to fill the space while Quinn slept upstairs.

Time passed in a blur of dialogue and background music, your eyes unfocused on the screen. You’d just started another episode when you heard footsteps approaching. You barely registered them until Quinn appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame just like you had earlier. He stood there for a moment, running a hand through his hair, before exhaling a deep sigh that seemed to carry the weight of everything unsaid between you.

"I missed dinner," he said, his voice quiet. It wasn’t a question, just a statement. The guilt was there, hanging in the air between you, but it didn’t quite land the way you wanted it to.

You turned your head toward him, feeling the familiar mix of emotions bubbling up—frustration, sadness, the lingering ache of disappointment. You nodded slowly, your voice calm but clipped. "You did."

That was all you said. Two simple words, but they carried so much more. The weight of your unspoken thoughts lingered in the air between you: You missed more than dinner. You missed me. You missed us. Again.

For a moment, Quinn didn’t say anything, just stood there, as if searching for something to say that would make it better. But nothing came. The silence stretched on, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the same exhaustion that you felt deep in your bones. Hockey had taken so much from him, and in its wake, it felt like there wasn’t much left for the two of you.

You shifted on the couch, turning back to the TV, not sure what else there was to say. If you opened your mouth now, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stop the flood of everything you’d been holding back. So you stayed quiet, letting the distance between you grow a little wider, hoping—just once—that he’d be the one to cross it.

Quinn lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, the silence between you heavy and uncomfortable. You could feel his eyes on you, like he wanted to say something, to bridge the growing gap, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, his shoulders slumped, the weariness from the day etched into every part of him.

You kept your eyes on the TV, pretending to be more interested in the show than in the ache inside you. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him right now—not when the quiet between you felt so suffocating, so loaded with everything neither of you were saying. If you looked at him, you were afraid the dam would break, and all the frustration, the loneliness, the resentment that had been simmering beneath the surface would come pouring out.

He took a deep breath, and you could hear the slight hesitation in the exhale, like he was on the verge of speaking but didn’t know where to start. "I’m sorry," he finally muttered, the words barely audible, but they hung in the air nonetheless. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t enough, but it was something.

You closed your eyes for a brief second, letting the apology settle in, but it didn’t ease the ache. You had heard it before—too many times now. It always came after the fact, always when it was too late, and it never felt like enough to patch up the cracks that were forming between you.

Opening your eyes, you kept your gaze fixed on the TV, though you weren’t really watching. "You always are," you said softly, your voice lacking the sharpness you intended. There was no anger left, just a quiet exhaustion that had taken its place. "But it doesn’t change anything, Quinn."

The words hung between you, heavy and final. You didn’t mean for them to sound so distant, so resigned, but that’s where you were now. It wasn’t just about tonight, or the missed dinners, or the broken promises—it was about the slow unraveling that had been happening for months, the quiet slipping away of the relationship you once had.

Quinn pushed off the doorframe, his expression unreadable as he took a few steps into the room. He stood at the edge of the sofa, as if unsure whether he was welcome to sit down. His eyes, those familiar hazel eyes that once made your heart skip, were full of something—regret, frustration, maybe even guilt. But none of it seemed to change the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most.

"I know," he said, almost under his breath. He rubbed a hand over his face, the fatigue obvious. "I’m trying, I really am. It’s just—this season… it’s a lot." His voice trailed off, and you could hear the helplessness in it. He didn’t know how to fix this, and maybe he didn’t have the energy to try anymore.

You nodded, finally turning to look at him, but the sadness in your gaze must have said more than your words ever could. You understood that the season was demanding. You understood the pressure, the expectations, the endless grind. But understanding didn’t make it any easier to deal with the growing distance, the nights spent waiting, the feeling that you were slowly becoming an afterthought in his life.

"I know it’s a lot," you replied quietly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d walked in. "But it’s not just about the game, Quinn. It’s about us. I’m still here, waiting for you to show up… and I don’t know how much longer I can keep waiting."

The vulnerability in your voice hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you saw the conflict flicker across his face—worry, a twinge of something else, maybe fear. He took another deep breath, his hands flexing at his sides as if he wanted to reach out to you but wasn’t sure how.

"I don’t want to lose you," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, as if admitting it out loud made it all too real.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening at his words. For a second, you almost believed him, almost let yourself hope that this was the moment he’d truly understand how close he was to losing you. But then reality sank in, and you realized that wanting wasn’t enough.

"You already are," you said softly, the weight of your admission settling over both of you like a heavy blanket. You saw his expression falter, the pain in his eyes unmistakable, but there was nothing more you could say. You were tired—tired of the waiting, tired of the excuses, tired of being second to hockey and everything else in his life.

Quinn stood there, rooted in place, his eyes searching yours for some sign that he could fix this, that there was still time. But you didn’t know how to make him understand that you needed more than apologies, more than empty promises. You needed him to be here, fully present, not just physically but emotionally.

Without another word, he let out another sigh and slowly walked back toward the doorway, retreating once again into the space between you that had become too wide to cross. And you stayed on the couch, watching the TV, your heart aching with the truth you couldn’t ignore any longer: the Quinn you once knew was slipping away, and you didn’t know if he would ever come back.

My Patreon, where you can find exclusive fics not posted anywhere else: HERE

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagines #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you

271 notes · View notes

pantrio-app · 5 months ago

Text

Pantrio - The App to Reduce Food Waste and Manage Your Pantry

Reduce food waste effortlessly with Pantrio, the smart pantry management app that helps you track expiration dates, manage grocery lists, and organize your kitchen. Stay on top of your food inventory, use ingredients before they spoil, and plan meals efficiently. Bookmark this app to start saving money and cutting down on food waste today!

#reduce food waste app #kitchen pantry app

1 note · View note

mellowsadistic · 9 months ago

Text

Birthday Party - Part 3

One Year Later

Sarah’s soaking wet diaper squelched between her thighs as she toddled into the kitchen where her aunt was making breakfast.

“Good morning, baby girl,” Helen cooed at her twenty-one-year-old niece, reaching out to cup a hand to the front of Sarah’s nappy through her baby duck patterned onesie. “What a soggy girl! But I don’t smell any poo-poos just yet. Go take a seat, little one. Auntie will have your num-nums ready in just a second.”

Sarah blushed furiously, but even though much of the hypnotist’s conditioning had been undone and control of her body had been returned, her resistance had long since disappeared. She clambered obediently into to her highchair, her breasts wobbling freely in her loose onesie, and sat down on her pissy diapered bottom, wrinkling her nose in disgust as her bum pressed heavily against the sodden padding.

A few moments later, the microwave tinged, and her aunt took out an enormous bottle of warm milk and plonked it down in front of her. Sarah looked at it with distaste. It was breastmilk, she knew. One of Helen’s friends was producing too much of it for her own baby to take, but she was more than happy to deliver a regular supply of bottles to Helen’s house to make sure it didn’t go to waste.

Fighting her revulsion, Sarah took the bottle with both hands and lifted the rubber nipple to her lips. Her mouth latched on instinctively and she began to suckle, feeling the warm, creamy breastmilk squirt across her tongue and flow down her throat. She sucked quickly, but the bottle seemed endless – even after fifteen minutes, she was barely halfway through the enormous thing, and she already felt full to bursting!

Sarah let out a feeble whimper as she thought about her once-tight, sexy tummy. Her mother and aunt were careful not to make her gain too much weight, but her formerly trim stomach was gone. Her belly had a cute layer of what Helen called her ‘baby fat’, perfect for tickles and tummy raspberries. Even her face had a slightly rounder, ‘cuter’ look to it. But Sarah knew better than to throw a fit over her baba. Her aunt was quick with a spanking, and looming over everything was the threat of being reduced back to being a helpless prisoner inside a baby-brained body.

After a few more minutes of mindless suckling, Penny joined Sarah at the table, flashing her babified older cousin a bright smile before tucking into a bowl of cereal with milk.

Sarah couldn’t help but notice how her little cousin’s table manners had improved. It wasn’t long ago that she’d ended every breakfast with soggy cornflakes and milk on her chin, but now she didn’t spill a drop. Straight away, Sarah felt something clunk into place inside her head. She let out a quiet little moan around her bottle, but there was nothing she could do – not all of the hypnosis had been removed, and when a compulsion hit her, she was powerless to stop it. Penny had done something mature, and that meant Sarah had to do something immature.

Immediately, she popped the bottle out of her mouth, blew a spit bubble, and dribbled breastmilk down her chin. She could feel it soaking into the collar of her onesie. Messy girl, a voice echoed in her head. Mucky tot. Dribbly, soggy, wet little baby. Penny giggled at her, and Sarah shoved her bottle back into her mouth to resume her sucking, her face as red as a tomato. No matter how much time passed, it never got less humiliating. She was a grown woman for goodness sake! She didn’t deserve this! Just because she’d been a little rude one time, it wasn’t fair to turn her into some kind of overgrown baby! She’d been taken out of university of course, and there was no chance of going back – her auntie said that if she was lucky, maybe one day she’d be allowed to grow up a little bit more and get a job pushing shopping trolleys at the local discount supermarket. But that was it. No more ambitions. No more dreams. Just minimum wage, and well-used nappies hanging off her hips.

Tears started welling up in Sarah’s eyes, but before a tantrum could really get started, she was distracted by another feeling. There was a sudden fullness in her bottom. Her bladder control was totally gone, and Sarah found herself helplessly dribbling pee-pee into her diapers on a near constant basis, but even after months as little more than an adult-sized toddler, she still had at least some control over her bowels.

With a hiss of air, she finished her bottle. Feeling almost nauseous at the amount of breastmilk now sloshing about in her tummy, Sarah gently lowered herself out of her highchair, clenching her bottom tightly.

“Um… Auntie…” she said, waddling up to Helen and putting on her best pleading look, “I really need to go poo-poo. Do you think maybe I could use the potty?”

“Sarah,” Helen said sternly, turning to look at her niece, “you know the rules. You get to have control over your body again, but you are not an adult anymore. Your mother convinced me not to make you act like a total baby all the time, but when it comes to your potty training, I’m putting my foot down. You will never use a toilet again, young lady. You wear nappies now, and nappies are for pooping in. Now squat down and make a messy in your pants right this instant, or I’ll call the hypnotist and have you cooing and gurgling in your crib by tomorrow!”

Her lower lib trembling pathetically, Sarah fell into a squat, all traces of the formerly proud, snarky young woman gone for good. With a loud fart, she started pooping her diaper. She could sense the smiles of her aunt and cousin above her as she grunted and strained to make yuck-yuck in her pants right in front of them. As the heavy, disgusting load dropped into the back of her nappy, Sarah burst into tears.

“That’s a good girl,” Helen cooed, her face alive with malicious delight, savouring the sight of her niece packing her adult Pampers like the ridiculous baby-woman she’d been turned into. “Get it all out. Right in your pants like a silly little baby.”

Sarah’s vision was blurred by her tears, but she felt her aunt take hold of her hand once she’d finished pooping. Helen led her into the living room and positioned her in front of the television, where some inane children’s program was showing.

“Be a good girl and watch your kiddie shows, Sarah,” said Helen, smirking. “I need to take your older cousin to kindergarten now, so I want you to stay right here. I’ll change your diaper when I get back.”

Sarah only sobbed.

“And your baby monitor will be recording,” Helen went on. Sarah felt her stomach plummet. “I’ll be reviewing the footage later,” her aunt continued warningly, “and if I don’t see a happy big baby girl dancing along to her silly programs, you’ll be getting a very nasty spanking when I get back. Is that clear, little miss?”

“Yes, auntie Helen,” Sarah whimpered, as the embarrassing, babyish music began to play. Helen and her daughter turned to leave, and Sarah started to dance. This was her life now, and she had no choice but to get used to it.

The End

***

If you want to read more evil stories about women being transformed into overgrown babies, I also post on SubscribeStar.

#mellowsadistic

486 notes · View notes