#they serve eat and left no crumbs

[space-glasgow]

[fauvester]

cardassias slutty grandpa…

[sonny-boiiii]

Im literally obsessed with Majestic Rep's Noel's Lament. I want to hear it every second of every day. I want it injected into my blood stream.

[yutamayo]

Was checking out Megan's insta BC yesterday was Megan Freestyle Monday & I just noticed the mutual followers thing BC I saw Crunchyroll follows Megan Thee Stallion (obvi) but honestly idk why I find it so crazy and funny seeing all these people I know of who follow her 😂

Seth Rogen 😂🙏🏽💚 and Hunter Schafer (super cool & also makes sense bc they both vibe with/do work involving anime). Trevor Noah xD also Planned Parenthood honored her at an event n these r just the more known ones tho there's so many lowkey musicians/anime/content creators/drag queens & organizations that I love that follow her so idk just cool to see the confirmation that at least those 100 people I follow have taste 💖

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife #10 : Snack Time

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Momma bird hungry for all the snacks in the world. Takes some time and frustration before Joel figures out the exact kind of snack you really want.

Warnings: Pregnant reader, Angry!Joel, oral M!receiving, face fucking, throat bulge, throat-pie, dumbification, junk food binge, eating meat, bossy reader as always

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel didn’t know he married the Hungry Hungry Hippo, Galactus the planet devourer, Garfield the tabby cat.

You’re on your phone texting while cuddling Joel. He’s more interested in the movie than you are, but that doesn’t stop him from tracing his finger along your arm, occasionally kissing the top of your head and nuzzling his nose. He loves the scent of your shampoo after a wash, damp and cold against his warm chest. Sometimes you protest how closely he wants to cuddle you, all smushed up on the couch. Your body temp skyrocketed with the baby changing everything. But since he’s keep the AC on full blast, your warm heavy body keeps him from being a popsicle.

The landlines chimes in from the kitchen.

He rolls his eyes. Of course, something to interrupt the comfort that took 40 minutes for you to settle into. "I'll get it,” He grumbles quickly and hoists himself up off the couch. He wants to make whoever the fuck is calling at such a late hour a quick convo. If it’s fucking Tommy needing bailed out again, he thinks begrudgingly, I’ll just hang up on him. 

He clears his throat and answers: “Hello, Miller Residents.”

"Can you get me a bowl of Cap'n crunch while you're up?"

He glances back over at you sitting up on the couch, your cell to your ear as you wave at him. you point to your belly mouthing I T S  F O R  T H E  B A B Y.

It’s for the baby, my ass. You’ve been a hungry hungry hippo who’s been snacking like crazy and ignoring the doctor’s warnings. 

But cranky Momma is way worse than a scolding doctor. 

He grits his teeth and slams the receiver a little too hard down on the desk.

You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, a clash of a bowl on the counter  and the jingle of overly processed cereal filling it up. 

He walks back into the living room. You’ve taken up the whole couch now, with no inclination to move over to let him back on.

You shove a fist into the bowl and pop a bunch of the crunchy orange squares into your mouth “f’anks” you mumble, eyes not once making contact with him as you stare ahead and much away. Crumbs fall onto your chest and down to the floor and sofa, as if Joel hadn’t just cleaned all of it this morning.

.

The next night, Joel's cooking some steaks. You weren’t really a meat-crazed person, having maybe one or two helpings of poultry or occasionally red beef a week, but normally ,you could go without it for a few meals without thinking about it. 

Pregnant momma? She was a fucking carnivore. He had barely set the sizzling steak down before you snatch one onto your plate. He turns around to slice into one, checking its temp before serving, only to see it was a bit too red and bloodied on the inside.

"Oh babe I gotta cook these a little longer; they're too rare--"

You were hacking away and tearing a large chunks of the red, near pulsing meat, juices pouring out your lips, a vampire gorged on a fat blood sucking meal. Despite its tenderness, you chew endlessly and stare off into the table like a Llama enjoying its food on the field. 

"Maybe...we should—slow down a bit,” he suggests with uncertainty. His fork and knife frozen in midair, still in each hand. He hasn’t shifted view or blinked, but clear worry (and maybe a tad bit of fear) stretch across his face.

"Uighgrrfmggmmdeeofxsw,” you reply with gargled cow remains sloshing in your wide open trap. 

 “Right. That."

You swallow what’s left. Joel’s does a double take: your steak is somehow gone, juice licked clean off the plate in front of you.

“Can I have yours???"

He had only sliced 4 cuts  for himself so far. But the hungry look in your pupils, licking your lips while watching his dinner, it’s clear you’ve answered for him. He sadly sets his cutlery down and slides his plate to you. 

Its even more interesting when you douse it in salt and throw a slab of butter on top of it, watching it melt before slicing a big chunk off.

"You gotta watch the salt intake—“

“—Can you make chicken? I want chicken now.”

“N-no,” he shakes his head, whiplash from the conversation. Maybe you’ve gone def AND blind AND lost your taste buds. “I made steak. You've had 2 steaks now. Why do you need chicken?”

“That second one was for the baby. The chicken is for me.”

“What about the fist one?”

“….We split that.”

“Awfully hungry baby,” he says with a dead tone, straight faced as he eats the one roll left in the basket that hasn’t been devoured by you. 

“Well she’s yours, isn’t she?” 

-

You wipe your face with a napkin, a fried chicken leg and wing now securely packed tight in your tum tum along with the famished baby.

"What's for dessert?" You chime eagerly.

Joel turns to wash the dishes, hiding his smirk. He’s got you now, no surprise cravings will catch him short on this one: He boasts proudly, “I bought you apple pie--"

"I want cupcakes. Whip cream icing. Chocolate.”

His grin quickly deflates into a frown. “No.” He says sternly, a little aggravated. “I bought you pie—“

"Did I say I want pie? L I S T E N,” you snap, slapping your palms together with each syllable. 

He puts his foot down with tense sudsy hands going to his hips. “No. I'm not going out again.”

You raise your eyebrows threateningly. One look.

30 minutes later Joel is shuffling into the house with a pack of 12 cupcakes he bought at the bakery.

-

You’ve managed to prop yourself up on the couch after some heaving. “Ha! The baby is making me workout get strong! Obviously that’s why I’m so hungry.” You shrug it off. “Oh! I want raw cookie dough.”

Joel was on his phone the entire time, but the second you said I want, his brain queued in and he quickly retorts, “No.”

He goes back to replaying the voicemail he missed, settled and focused on the opposite couch.

Of course he Doesn't realize you’ve somehow lumbered up past him and now waddling back with 4 chunks of raw cookies in your hand, popping them in your mouth one at a time.

His eyes dark up to watch you, transfixed on the screen as you bend your knees, hardly paying attention to the way you’re about to fall on the couch. He has half the mind to help, but what’s one lesson you need to learn the hard way?

Regretfully, you bounce down successfully and pull your legs up.

And then, as you dust your hands off from the chocolate stains melted on your palms, Joel’s lips part in a o as you reach behind you and pulling an entire gallon container of animal crackers. 

"Babe"

"Wha?” You don’t turn around to look at him, still shoveling them into your mouth. “Yuu wan wan?"

"You need to stop eating every damn thing in the house.”

You gasp incredulously, your hand over your heart in painful offense. “The baby is very hungry! She's related to you and that belly.”

He only remembers to stop himself from reminding you that your belly is much bigger than his now. 

"The baby—“ (that was the new thing now: the baby  this baby that. The baby is why I need this shirt in blue and green. The baby is why I need the ice cream layered horizontally not stacked vertically. The baby —)

"No. Not the baby,” he snaps. “You."

You start to cry. "I thought I AM your baby!!!" 

He gives you a “seriously” look and you stop the fake tears.

“So how about it?”

“I don’t want you getting salmonella.”

“ugh fine. You can bake them I guess.”

He’s about to protest the idea of any dough going into your body, cooked or raw, but knows its going to be a lost cause.

Joel makes you a platter of Assorted cookies: chocolate chip, fudge, triple chocolate, sugar, and oatmeal raisin.

You clap your hands as he carefully places the little plate atop your bump. Humored by the custom “mini” table you’ve got going on now. Maybe his baby doesn’t like her head being used as a countertop, but with the way you close your eyes and moan after biting into the chocolate chip, babygirl must be pleased too.

He goes to the bathroom quickly and then comes back only to glare down at you. You've taken exactly one bite out of every single cookie, leaving crescent shapes for him to scathe.

Every cookie, except oatmeal raisin. You clearly did take a bite ,but spit it out and put the lump back near the undesirable #1 cookie.

“These mine?” Joel asks bemused.

You nod happily. You felt very proud to have enough control and leave him some this time! 

-

It’s about 9:30 pm. You're acting drunk and woozy even tho you're just a new level of tired and achy

"Woopppoooooo!!! Paaartttaaayyy!" You shout with fists in the air, drinking down a shot glass of sugar water. 

“Alright party Momma. It’s bedtime.” 

"Ppfffttt! No old man! Dont steal my fun.”

Joel stands over the couch, blocking your view from the TV, his hands on his hips. “You're being difficult "

“YoU’rE bEiNg DifFicUlT,” you mock and wave him off. "Oop I need to pee. Help me up.”

Joel” grabs both your grabby hands and hoists you up to your feet. “Now up the stairs, you.”

You waddle towards the stairwell, one hand cupping your lower back. Joel is right at your heel. you up at the treaturous journey ahead, all 8 steps to the top floor. Cracking your neck side to side, you wave your arms over to the handrail and begin: “Left foot. Right foot. Left. Fuck. Fuck stairs. Who invented stairs. Left foot…”

Joel’s so sleepy that he nearly falls forward. And he knows you would not take too kindly to him ramming his face into your ass as you battle your worst enemy.

Finally to the top, you scurry over like a penguin to the bathroom. He fears the long night ahead, with all the sugar swirling in your system undoubtedly going to keep him up.

He rubs his wears eyes. Startled when a moment later you’re right next to him by your side of the bed, patiently waiting for him to help you up.

"Get in the covers,” he hums with exhaustion.

But you don’t move. “No"

"Now.”

"I want an orange.”

"No. You—you just had your snack."

"That was the baby's snack. I want MY snack”.

Dear Christ almighty, bless me with a boy next time so that I have a fighting chance against her and mini her. “If I get you an orange, will you go to bed?" He asks irritably, his voice enunciating each word to ensure the contract that he’s making with you right now is solidified on both ends of the bargain.

You think it over before nodding with a little innocent beam. 

You crawl into the covers just as Joel descends the stairs once again. It takes the entire time for him to grab some oranges, a peeler, and paper towel just for you to rotate your middle and sit your ass in bed.

You sit up against the headboard and clap your hands, so excited when he reappears with the goods. He puts the towel on your mini-table bump and plops one orange atop.

Joel sighs and begins to walk towards his side of the bed, but is haunted when you clear your throat for his attention.

“Yes?”

"Peel it.”

He tries not to visibly roll his eyes before he's opening the round orange with his large fingers and clubbed nails. Everything smells like nectarine now.

Picky as can be, you peel off the extra dried white veiny bits and suck on each pod of the orange.

You expect a sweet simpleness to squirt on your tongue, but instead, a sour, bitter, unripe taste floods your mouth. “Ugh these are gross, now I want—“

Joel closes his wardrobe drawer, his shirt off and only halfway down to his boxers. “NO. NO means fucking NO. I’M TIRED. YOU’RE TIRED. WE'RE GOING TO BED. NOW,” he barks sternly into the mirror. His shoulders huffing from such aggression without being able to look at you.

You throw the covers off, orange skin and slices flying everywhere.

“Fuck you! I want ice cream! I want bananas and steak and potatoes and tacos and—!" 

-

He bares his teeth in a snarl, deep angered eyes casting downward with each poignant rut. “You're so annoying, so goddamn spoiled,” he grunts. His huge hands are wrapped around the top of your head and  cupping your jaw and bulging cheek, keeping you in place as he pushes his length into your mouth over and over again. “You’re gonna do shit when I tell you, the first time I say—shit—fuck there we go—gonna listen—unnggghhfff—listen ta me from now on. Just be my good little silent. Slutty. Pregnant. Wife.”

Your teary eyes are fixed upward at his imposing figure. Feeling each time his tip nudges the back of your throat has you gagging but you can’t pull away to breathe—not that you want to.

“You get—what I give ya—and you be grateful bout it.”

You gargle a moan in agreement. His balls slap against your chin with brutal punches. by this time tomorrow, there will be Joel-finger prints bruising your face and neck.

You love it. You love it when Joel forces you out of the hormonal phase of bossing him around, the endless need to want more and more, no end in sight to your greedy gluttonous desires, until he’s blowing up and blowing off steam using you instead. And it becomes very clear to you how much you just really wanted him this whole time. 

“That’s it—that’s it—you were hungry for my cock weren’t ya? Yeahhhh. Just begging me all night for it. Wanted all that meat for dinner, huh? Couldn’t just come out n’ say it? Your little brain didn’t know what ya truly needed. S’okay, Momma. I’m takin’ care of ya, aren’t I?”

The gluglugglug sounds mixed with strained pitchy whines echo in the master bedroom.

You grip his thighs with your hands to steady yourself, allowing him to abuse your throat. Maybe your knees hurt. Maybe the baby is settling uncomfortably against your lower back, and maybe it’s going to be really difficult to get up from this position in a few minutes. But each thick throb of his length filling your mouth over and over again, the spit slick strings dropping from your lips to your swollen tits, and the dent in your throat from his cock stretching to accomodate his size has your swollen pussy dripping into the carpet for more, more, more. 

It’s been at least a week since Joel drained himself. No wonder he’s been so on edge with each demand. Usually marveling how cute you are, but tonight he was at him limit. You were about to get a hefty, Joel Miller sized load filling your belly, and it’s going to be better than any cookie, steak, or orange in the entire world.

He feels the way your lips suction tighter. Your eyes are leaking tears, and he smirks as he brushes his thumb over to collect it. Briefly bringing it to his tongue and sucking on the salty taste before holding your head in place. 

“Shhh-shhhhhhhh. You gonna take it? Shit—shit—fuck yeah you are. Gonna fuckin take what I give ya, that’s right. My sweet wife. Bossing me around. Shit. Love when ya get like this. Known I’m gonna wreck that ass or that pussy or that mouth—all belongs to me. Fuck—fuck—fuuckk—“

His mouth drops into an o, brows drawn tightly together as slams his pulsing member balls deep into your mouth one final time. You choke, eyes wide as the tip of his cock breaches the deepest part of your throat, your nose suffocated by his pubic hairs and the fat of his lower belly surrounding your cheeks. His balls twitch against your lower lip, and you feel it coming. The travel of his seed from his sack, up his shaft along your tongue—a generous spurt of cum finally shooting from his tip and down your throat. You gag with each fat load that he pumps down your esophagus, too much to swallow at once yet having no other choice but to gulp it down quickly. Your face feels hot. He’s cumming endlessly, your mind blanking and eyes feeling blurry.

“Take it, take it, take it, that’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

You nod just a little, hugging your arms around his thick thighs tighter. He grins, humming “That’s my good fucking wife, and throws his head as the last of his pleasure makes its way safely from his sated balls to your full womb.

Joel pulls you off his length gently. You sputter out cum and saliva onto his feet, sucking in air through your lungs like a newborn. 

Joel gets to one knee, his thumb pressed gently under your chin so you look directly at him. He’s got such softness in his eyes again, the ones that just switch on a dime the second he’s satisfied his aggress out on you. 

You’re completely wrecked: snot spit connecting to your nostrils and swollen lips, cheeks warm and eyes puffy and hazy with exhaustion and tears.

“That—mmffffgg!—was—definitely—my—snack,” you rasp with a hoarse voice. A lazy grin spread across your face only briefly as you continue to suck air.

Joel shakes his head before planting a long kiss atop your forehead. his hands glide along your body, and just in time as your knees give way and you’re falling into him. 

If you had half the mind right now, you’d curse him out for scooping you up and carrying you to bed like his once youthful bride, too concerned with the size and weight of your new body putting unnecessary stress on his aging knees and back. But Joel doesn’t protest once. Just watches you with loving eyes as he settles you into the soft bed. His tongue dips to your chest and breasts, kissing and sucking away any remnants of his rough face fucking. His cum, your spit, and fuvk it, even the little snot specks—all of it he cleans up before coming up to your lips. He kisses you softly with gentle pecks, enough to ensure you can still catch your breath. He sucks your lower lip into your mouth before wiping his own with his thumb. You’re calmer now, sated and drifting so close to sleep.

Joel clambers into bed next to you, wrapping his arm under your head and swaddling you close. You instinctively roll into his embrace. Kissing his peck and rubbing your face against him dreamily with soft breaths. “Tha hit ther spert juss rite. Ur da bess, Jol.”

“I know. So are you.” He waits for a reply, but nothing comes from you. “Are you goin’ into a food coma, baby?”

Your gentle snores answer him, along with the drool now pooling on his peck.

He chuckles and pulls your head into his face, inhaling your scent. Strong, secure, graceful hands caress your big belly. Your very very full belly, the one that he’s not going to envy when it gives you a the tummy ache tomorrow from stuffing it with so much junk food tonight. 

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

[mtchee]

[IMAGINE] Living with Cat! Gojo | GN

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, cat! jjk au, non sorcerer au, cat! gojo, kitty satoru, fluff, he's a little shit, love my cat series aww

[1.6k]

| masterlist | jujutsu kaisen collection |

Imagine living with cat! Gojo Satoru. You have no idea where he's from, or who his owner is--but apparently it's you now.

You first saw him loitering obnoxiously outside your region's specialty sweets shop, and he was pawing at the window display longingly. Then suddenly, his head turned to you and he hasn't left you alone since.

When he sauntered over, you cooed and gave him some attention before heading on your way. The strange cat followed you for a bit, and you gently shooed him off a few times before he relented. It was only when you finally got home that you realised he actually hadn't.

He popped up in front of your door bright and early the next morning, sitting all poised and beaming at you before letting himself in.

His fur was too clean to have been out in the streets for long, and he was much too well groomed to be a stray.

But he was yours now, it seemed. Or maybe you were his.

Either or.

Imagine living with cat! Gojo Satoru, one of the prettiest cats you have ever seen.

He's fat.

Or at least, it looks like he is at first.

He's incredibly fluffy, with pristine white fur and the most darling baby pink paws. His eyes are an entrancing cerulean blue, though hidden behind a pecular pair of rounded blackout specs that fit perfectly proportionate to his kitty face. He didn't have a collar--still doesn't with you.

Instead, you had found his name engraved in tiny elegant lettering on the temple of his accessory.

Cat! Gojo Satoru is long. You had been fooled into his thickness from the look of all his fluff, but then when you held him and let him dangle, he just extended.

You had been kneeling when you had first done so, holding him out at arms length from under his shoulders and his hind legs were comfortably touching the ground. You were shocked, all the whilst he went slack and let you manoeuvre him however you wanted.

Imagine living with cat! Gojo Satoru, who fucking yaps nonstop.

He's a chatty little thing, and awfully entitled too.

Just like when he first appeared and walked into your house like he'd always lived there, he abides by his own whims no matter what.

While you buy the prettiest decorative pillows, he kneads them and pokes holes in them like it's nobody's business while shaking off his fur all over. Now, along with his furballs, you see tuffs of the pillows stuffing sticking out from his claw marks.

When you buy him the best kitty bed that you can afford (accompanied by the softest blanket), he turns up his nose and rolls himself around on your clean bedsheets.

He ignores his scratching post in favour of the leg of your dining table.

He would rather starve than eat any of his dry food.

He will not just be drinking tap water--it must be served nice and cold from the fridge. He will also not drink any sort of cat-safe milk. He wants it fresh and full cream. If you have any sort of milk substitutes (whether it be skim, almond, whatever), that won't fly. No, you have a full-cream carton just for him.

Also, whipped cream. He loves it.

God forbid you run out.

He will find a way into your kitchen cabinets and pantry, and he will be eating any and all of the sweets you have stored. Sour gummies? Devoured. Hard boiled candy? Those sugar rocks are done for. Complimentary chocolate? Not a single crumb left behind.

You have no idea how he isn't dead yet.

Imagine cat! Gojo Satoru constantly starving for your attention. He'll yowl, mewl, trill, scream--anything for just a lick of your time.

Imagine cat! Gojo Satoru frightening away your creep of a neighbour who was trying to force his way into your home.

With your eyes slightly glossy from fear of what could happen to you, features perpetually frozen in an expression of discomfort and fright--your cat weaves between your legs with a sweetened "mreow?" before taking seat by your feet.

He tilts his head at the sight of the unwelcome disgrace of a human being leering in towards you, leaning threateningly against your door frame. Despite cat! Gojo's light hearted trill, his fluffy tail swishes agressively from side to side behind him.

A quiet panic latches onto your heart--you don't know if you could bear it if anything happened to him too. "Satoru, inside please," your voice trembles as you whisper at him.

Your neighbour glances down, puffing a condescending laugh at the fluffy cat before taking a step forward and reaching for your arm.

You don't really remember what happened after that. You don't recall blacking out, or maybe it all happened in a blink? Either way, by the time you regained your senses, the offender was scattering off with a series of wounds littering his form, and a scorch mark was left where he once stood in his wake. You swallow wearily, processing everything.

Cat! Gojo plants his fluffy butt back down by your feet, licking at his front paw indifferently before looking up at you with his big, sunglass clad eyes.

When you let out a soft breath of relief and incredulity, he sticks out his little pink tongue with a dopey cat-grin.

Imagine cat! Gojo Satoru, escaping and wandering off for hours at a time, only to come back with some sort of (rather expensive) gift in his clutches.

He's the adventerous sort. Although he loves to laze around the house, he gets the urge to be up and off, and he'll annoying weasel between your legs and make you trip up before heading on his way.

He might leave for the day, but by the evening he always returns. Sometimes you'll find him waiting patiently at your door like you did when you first found him, this time with something akin to an offering sitting at his paws.

Other times he'll already be back in the house, awaiting you leisurely with his present sat nearby.

He's popped up with a paper bag of pricey chocolates (perhaps in replacement of the ones he ate in your pantry?), a pouch of authentic ginger and tea leaves (you'd been complaining about getting migraines recently...), a cashmere scarf (winter is getting closer, where the HELL did he nick a CASHMERE SCARF from!?), and a thin, 22-carat gold chain from GOD KNOWS WHERE.

Whenever you scold him for stealing, he never looks abashed. If anything, he goes out the next day and returns with something even more expensive for you to panic about.

Imagine having a bad day and indulging in your most bed-rotting desires with cat! Gojo Satoru.

Normally you wouldn't eat in bed. You don't like the feeling of grain or bits and pieces poking you in your sleep. Aside from the occassional, mostly able to eat clean meal, you wouldn't eat in bed.

But today--today is an exception. What started as a decent morning turned into an annoying afternoon and a shitty evening. A flurry of emotions battle within you: frustration, irritation, sadness, confusion, annoyance--it ate up at you.

So after getting home and foregoing a shower to change into some old, tatty pyjamas to make you feel even more miserable, you'd picked out your most unhealthy snacks to take out your upset on.

When you get home, normally you'd greet cat! Gojo happily, or at least with a cuss after he trips you up in his excitement, but after a simple sigh and sad, passing smile, he knew something was up.

And so the graceful feline joins you on your bed, padding softly over the covers to stare at you uncomfortably. And when you notice and wave him away with a scrunched nose, finally he scoots closer and rolls onto his back, wriggling up to you with a gentle playfulness that you can't help but indulge.

You poke at his paws when he stretches them out at you, and for once, you decide to share your pile of treats with him. Together, you crunch down on some chips, chew on some candy, eat all your chocolate, and gradually spoon away all your ice cream.

And even when it's all gone, cat! Gojo lays with you some more before gently coaxing you up and guiding you towards your bathroom, urging you to wash the crappy day away.

And when you're done, he's waiting for you on the bed with the messy doona dragged off and replaced with a clean one, pillows fluffed and his favourite plush toy placed as an offering.

Imagine cat! Gojo Satoru taking up a majority of your bed at night because he refuses to sleep elsewhere. Not only does he take over your bed, but also your space.

Where you go, he goes.

When you decide to nap on the couch, he'll flop himself onto your tummy and crawl up to your chest, splaying himself over your body like a weighted blanket.

If you decide to take a nap outside on the grass, he'll lay tummy-up with his head pressed against yours, the both of you soaking in the warmth of the sun. Or, shoulder the weather be a little chilly, he'll cosy up to your side, flopping across your arm and nuzzling into your neck.

On your bed, if you shift so much as an inch, he follows. Where this might lead you to balance precariously on the edge of your side of the bed, eventually he'll just flop on top of you since you keep moving away.

He's a clingy little shit.

But to be honest, you wouldn't have him any other way.

[jesterafterdark]

All it takes is the right encouragement, you know. A gentle guiding hand pushing you in the right direction. My direction. I serve you a substantial portion of one of your favorite dishes, something I know you can't say no to. You polish off every last bite, not leaving so much as a crumb. I pat you on the head as I clear the plates and cutlery from the table, and I tell you how much I appreciate that you left so little for me to clean up. You did a good job, not leaving anything behind.

I make it a habit, reinforcing every meal that I would hate to see any of this food go to waste, and how thankful I am that I have a good girl like you that practically licks her plate clean 💕

Of course, the portions keep seeming to get a little bigger, week after week, and your waistline has been expanding to match. But you always come back to me with a clean plate. You don't want to disappoint me. You want to make me proud. You unbutton your jeans and brace yourself for the rest of the plate. You need to finish it, every last bite. You force down the last mouthful, a struggle but it's done. Your belly is stretched tight, t-shirt riding up to reveal more taut skin.

The feeling of my hands on your sensitive, swollen tummy catches you off guard. I massage in gentle circles and you immediately feel the pressure begin to ease.

"Is that better, darling?" You nod in response, too stuffed to think. "Good. I love that you always eat whatever I put in front of you. I've always found an appetite very attractive." There's something under the words, a deeper meaning you're too food-drunk to sus out. I kiss you on the neck, but you barely notice because the feeling of my hands on your belly is setting all your nerves on fire. You never knew you could feel so sensitive. One hand drifts downwards, between your legs. The sensations all mingle together, an orchestra of touch, climbing to a crescendo. You pant. You can barely control your breathing. You moan. Your body convulses in ecstasy.

You start to catch your breath, then look at me with a tangle of relief and craving in your eyes.

"Can we do that again?" You sputter out, half thinking.

I look down at you, cupping your face in my hand, gently sinking a thumb into your soft, chubby cheek. "That depends," I say, eyeing the fridge, "do you have room for dessert?"

[seoulmatez]

— 𝒸𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒽 ౨ৎ

suna rintaro x reader. 1.3k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ college au

note: this is a repost! just wanted to share it again for his birthday

you like the enigma that is suna rintaro.

you aren’t sure exactly what you like about him, but you know that you like him. it’s something that your friends will never let you live down.

you don’t blame them for it—their teasing and the never-ending questions that are thrown at you every time they happen to catch you stealing a glance at him. your infatuation confuses you, too, because suna rintaro is a weird guy—certainly not someone most people would have a crush on.

he comes to class in his pajamas, pokémon pants and a plain hoodie—the hood pulled over his head, scrunched around the edges, the strings tied into a messy bow. you rarely ever see his hair but on the infrequent occasion that you do, it’s never brushed and the dark strands are either tangled or sticking up, out of place. every so often a pair of black-framed lenses are perched on the bridge of his nose, sliding down the slope with the downward tilt of his head. suna has little regard for his appearance and a clear lack of professionalism, but still, you like him.

he sits in the third of four rows in the classroom, the one in front of you. the screen of his laptop is always dimmed but not so much that you can’t see what’s on it. the device never displays the course material, rather, it often plays an episode of whatever anime suna’s currently watching. you’ve never gotten the chance to see if his eyes flit up to glance at the projector or to follow along with the professor’s written examples, but the absence of anything to write with or on gives you the impression that he doesn’t. suna’s priorities aren’t straight, but still, you like him.

he eats alone, at least whenever you see him in the dining hall. you’ve noticed that he leans toward the build-your-own-sandwich place, though you have seen him swap out the subs for a salad or whatever homestyle meal was being served. one thing holds true for whatever he chooses to eat—he stuffs as much food into his mouth as he can. it can be cute, the way his cheeks puff up and his lips pout out, but his technique leads to an inevitable mess. any sauce or crumbs left behind on his face are wiped away with the back of his hand instead of a napkin. suna doesn’t know the first thing about table manners, but still, you like him.

you like suna and you’ve yet to figure out why.

you plan to change that today—the liking him part or uncovering the reason behind your feelings, you’re not sure, but your professor has given you the perfect excuse to figure out what the hell is going on.

“what are you doing?” your friend asks, the rustling of your papers catching her attention. you don’t answer but your eyes do dart down and slightly to the right where suna’s sitting. words aren’t needed for her to know what’s running through your head. “seriously?”

the girl easily pieces together that you’re on your way to recruit suna as your partner for the upcoming assignment. so does your companion sitting beside her. he speaks up this time. “you’re going to risk your grade over a crush?”

“it might not be that bad,” you shrug, the weight of your bag making the action more difficult than it should have been. “i’ll talk to you two later.”

they share a knowing glance before waving you off. you can feel their eyes burning a hole into the back of your head as you make your way down the step and past your classmates to steal the seat next to suna. as usual, his eyes are glued to the screen ahead of him, intently following the events of the animated show playing on it.

you’ve never sat this close to him before. your proximity warrants you a closer look at him. he looks more delicate than you ever thought he was—skin that seems as though it was carved from marble and incredibly unique greyish yellow eyes. he’s pretty and you could stare at him forever but you decide that would be creepy. instead, you lightly tap his shoulder to gain his attention.

suna’s finger reaches out to click the space bar on his keyboard to pause his anime. he turns to you, countenance blank.

“suna, right?” you ask despite knowing his name. “do you want to work on the paper together?”

a short moment passes before his reply. “sure.”

“great!��� you’re not so sure his agreeance is a good thing or if it’ll end with you doing the entirety of the essay, but he doesn’t need to know that you and just about everyone else doubt his work ethic. “so, we can pick any topic that falls under the umbrella of-”

“the edo period,” he finishes your sentence.

you blink and nod, surprised at suna’s correct interruption. you wouldn’t admit it to your friends, but it’s become a habit for your eyes to wander to suna during class. you were sure he spent the entire time up until now preoccupied with his anime. you look to the board—it isn’t written there. your gaze whizzes over to his laptop—he hasn’t changed tabs on the device. he must have actually been listening to the lecture.

so you do pay attention in here, you think with a breathy laugh.

“it was a filler episode so i took one of my earbuds out.” his unexpected statement makes you stiffen. did you say that out loud? right beside him? you turn to apologize for the jab but suna doesn’t look offended; he’s grinning. “i’m usually not that attentive.”

you huff out a laugh. despite the comment, suna’s unforeseen diligence—albeit short-lived—is enough to give you a little hope about the paper. it’s possible that he isn’t as unproductive as he appears—maybe his priorities aren’t askew.

the scale that is your like of suna seems to be weighing heavily on the ‘you totally like him!!’ side. you clear your throat and shake your head to rid your mind of thoughts of him. “anything specific you want to write about?”

you and suna spend the last few minutes of class discussing your project. he brings up multiple interesting topics that the two of you could explore. it’s impressive and he exceeds any expectations you had of him. you can feel your pulse quickening with every word he speaks until it jumps at your professor’s dismissal of class.

for the first time ever, you’re not rushing to get out of the building.

as you pack up your belongings, your traitorous eyes drift to suna’s figure. you didn’t notice it earlier, perhaps because you arrived later than him this once, but his usual attire is traded in for some still comfy sweatpants and an oversized crewneck today. you voice your surprise. “no pokémon pajamas today, huh?”

he shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “sorry to disappoint.”

you’re far from disappointed. while you have no problem with his typical apparel, the simple outfit looks good on him. the sleeves hang low on his arms, hiding his hands so that he has to make an effort to grab anything. it’s cute, you think. the ensemble isn’t much of a step up from what he typically wears, but maybe he isn’t as careless about his appearance as you thought.

interacting with him closely has done nothing to shake your unexplainable feelings for the man. if anything, all it did was make you tiptoe farther and farther to the edge of the diving board. there’s one more thing you have to see before you dive into the deep end of what is suna rintaro.

“hey, do you want to work on the paper over lunch?”

hope you enjoyed this short little fic! if so, consider reblogging and telling me about your favorite part :3

[monarch-of-weird-girlboy-nation]

Hazel, who grew up in the 1940s and Jason who had no access to a phone and lived in Camp Jupiter his entire life.

They both do not understand meme culture one bit.

Piper: omg hazel you ate and left not a single crumb.

Hazel: I... I'm not eating anything?

Leo, making tacos: girl dinner, girl dinner

Jason: we're both boys?

Percy: no but i was literally serving in that toga.

Hazel: stop.

[delulujuls]

crumbs | op81, ln4

hi! i hope you don't mind that i am serving another landoscar you can probably already tell how many comfort i am finding in the papayas

anyway please enjoy and feel free to send requests if you have any!

summary: y/n gained a little bit of weight and didn't get well with that

warnings: problems with eating, body dysmorphia

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!mclarendriver x lando norris

"I would eat pizza"

Y/N wrinkled her nose, hearing Lando's suggestion to her left.

"Pizza? You can afford more than that" she replied, eyes glued to the screen while browsing restaurant offers on her phone.

"Pizza is always a good option" he added, shrugging and looking at Oscar for support.

Piastri let out a sight and streched his legs.

"Pizza is a safe choice, I must admit"

"Seriously? You too?"

The girl looked up from her phone and glanced at the aussie sitting to her right.

The three friends were sitting outside the medics' room, waiting for their routine check-ups before the race. It was lunchtime and they were intensively pondering what to eat.

"I would love some Mexican, but I'm not sure if it's a good idea" Oscar said after a few minutes of thinking.

"It's a shitty idea if you ask me" Lando laughed at his own excellent joke and continued until he entered the room for tests, leaving his friends alone.

"I would go for sushi, but I know this big baby won't let me eat fish in his presence" Y/N said, referring to Lando's picky choices.

"How about a burger?"

Oscar asked, glancing at her phone and pointing to a restaurant. She handed her phone to him and they both started looking at the menu.

"It looks decent enough"

After Lando came out it was time for Oscar and then it was Y/N turn. She had her blood pressure, sugar, and blood test taken. Finally, it was time for her weight check. Without thinking too much she took off her shoes and stepped on the scale, straightening up and looking ahead.

"Are you before your period?"

The girl blinked a few times, somewhat taken aback by the unexpected question, but she shook her head.

"Two weeks ago before the race you were four kilos lighter"

She looked down at her body and was surprised by the number on the scale. At the nurse's request she repeated the measurement, but it remained the same.

"Is there a chance that it's a weight scale error?" Y/N asked as she put on her shoes.

The nurse shook her head and wrote down the results.

"Lando and Oscar's weights are the same as during the last measurements, so i guess it's not about the scale"

The girl felt embarrassed. Did that mean she had actually gained weight?

"Do you stick to your diet and training?"

"Yes, I'm trying as best as I can" she quickly nodded, but the woman still looked dissatisfied.

"I'll inform your coach and dietitian, but you need to have more self-discipline."

Y/N nodded and lowered her gaze, feeling bad about herself. When she left the examination room, she noticed Lando and Oscar were still discussing where to eat that day.

"We thought burgers would be a good idea, but we changed the place, let us know if it suits you."

Oscar said, handing her the phone. She took it, but her appetite had completely left her, along with her good mood.

"I don't feel great after the blood test, so I'll pass on lunch today."

"We can eat later when you feel better" Lando suggested, glancing at her. Oscar agreed, nodding.

"No, you can go on your own."

"Then pick something for yourself, we'll get it for you to go."

Y/N handed back the phone and shook her head.

"No, there's no need. I need to rest for a while and I'll eat something later."

Her friends insisted for a while, but she remained adamant. When they lost the verbal battle with her, they both left the hotel together and she returned to her room. She immediately went to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. She carefully observed herself from every angle, raising and lowering her shirt, sucking in and relaxing her stomach. She didn't think anything had changed in her appearance, but the longer she looked at her reflection, the less she was liking what she was seeing. She slipped her finger under her waistband, trying to remember if her pants had been looser at some point. She leaned closer to the mirror, examining her face. Were her cheeks perhaps less round?

The girl shook her head, left the bathroom and sat on the bed. So yes, it is a fact. She had gained weight, which didn't bode well, especially for her performance. Not wanting to succumb to negative emotions, she got up and changed quickly, wanting to start her training for the day earlier. She headed to the hotel gym, spending two hours doing cardio exercises which killed any appetite she had left and certainly any craving for food.

"I thought I was the only one who came here with such a big head start" her trainer joked, putting his bag with her training equipment on the floor. Seeing her sweaty and flushed from exertion, he furrowed his brow.

"How long have you been here?"

"Not long, just warming up. We can start, im ready"

She replied, pretending not to have any trouble catching her breath. She wiped her face with a towel and took a sip of water. In reality, she had had enough.

After another two hours of intense exercise, Y/N had had even more than enough. If that was possible at all.

And that was how her days started to passing away, quickly turning into weeks. She spent more time on training than necessary, completely avoiding recovery time. She also avoided going out with Lando and Oscar, knowing it was better to avoid them than to come up with excuses for not ordering anything to eat and only drinking water with ice. But there were moments like this, when avoiding them was impossible.

After the pre-race conference, there was a big dinner from which Y/N couldn't escape. Everyone was milling around big swedish tables with their plates in hand, but she sat on the side, clutching a bottle of water. Suddenly, a plate of freshly prepared lasagna appeared in front of her. A few pieces of broccoli and a small portion of greek salad, her favorite, lay next to it. Lando and Oscar sat down in front of her, their plates also filled with delicious food. There was no way out of this, but she couldn't let herself be defeated.

"I took you some yummies, don't be grateful too much" Lando said and sat down, starting to eat. She forced a smile and held her fork, pushing the food around her plate. She took a knife in her other hand, starting to cut a piece into smaller portions while maintaining an active conversation with her friends. Her utensil movements were dynamic, she speared the food, waved it near her mouth. However, no piece eventually made it onto her tongue and not a single calorie disrupted her balance. Another great success.

Both Oscar and Lando easily sensed the change in her behavior. They had noticed it a while ago when she began to avoid them like the plague and when she was with them, she wasn't the person they used to know.

"We see what you're doing and you better stop that or at least tell us what's going on" Lando said firmly, setting aside his utensils. She looked at them, pretending to be surprised.

"You know what I'm talking about"

"I have no idea" she replied immedietaly.

"You haven't eaten anything even though your plate is full of your favs" Oscar pointed out.

"I just don't have an appetite, I ate earlier"

"You haven't eaten earlier, Y/N"

Oscar shook his head, looking at her with concern.

"You have no idea what I was doing earlier.

The girl said, shaking her head in irritation. What did it matter to them whether she ate or not? They had probably noticed she gained weight so they knew her results would be poor, which meant she would be worse than them. She wouldn't be worse than anyone.

"It's just that we don't know because you cut yourself off from us without a word"

"I didn't cut myself off from anyone"

"You stopped spending time with us, you don't talk to anyone and it's almost impossible to reach you so how you will call it other than cutting yourself off?"

Y/N snorted, shaking her head.

"This is absurd"

"We're just worried, that's all"

Lando said, not angry but genuinely concerned. And even if he was angry, it was only with himself for not knowing what was happening with his friend.

"No one has to worry about me"

She cut him off and stood up. She had no intention of listening to this nonsense but when she got up abruptly, her head spun and she staggered uncontrollably. Oscar caught her just in time and he exchanged a meaningful glance with Lando. They held the girl tightly and the three of them left the dinner.

Once they were outside, the cold night air somewhat cooled Y/N's unwarranted anger. Lando and Oscar were her friends, not enemies and none of them had ever made her feel like they had ill intentions.

"I feel weak" she finally admitted, squinting her eyes. After a moment, she felt something warm tickling her lips. Lando cursed when he saw a trickle of blood from her nose. He began frantically searching his pockets, but Oscar was faster and pressed a tissue to her nose.

"It's okay, just breathe"

Piastri said calmly, sitting her down on a bench. He laid her down, gently placing her head on his lap, telling Lando to lift her legs. He did what he was told, but he felt like he could faint at any moment himself.

The three of them sat in silence and Oscar and Lando from time to time were exchanging worried glances. They didn't want to press on Y/N too much. They knew her nature and that she had to open up to them on her own.

"I lied" the girl said quietly after few minutes of silence, so quietly that Oscar and Lando thought it was just the whistle of the wind.

"I didn't eat anything today. Yesterday, too and the day before either"

"You haven't eaten anything for three days?" Lando asked, looking at her with concern. She weakly nodded.

"Why?"

"I gained weight"

"Who told you that you gained weight?"

Lando asked, frowning his brows. He was ready to throw hands with anyone who let his friend down.

"It came out during the check. I gained weight, which shouldn't have happened"

"And that's why you stopped eating? Completely?"

"I shouldn't eat"

She admitted, still pressing the tissue against her nose. She felt her eyes filling with tears. She hated being weak, but that was exactly what she was in that moment. Just weak.

"You should eat, you need to eat," Oscar said, wiping away the tears that escaped her eyelids "Everyone needs to eat"

"Not me"

"Everyone deserves to enjoy delicious food, especially you"

"It would be better for me if there was no food in the world"

"You're being silly" Piastri said, gently caressing her cheek. She opened her eyelids and immediately met a pair of big brown eyes, looking at her calmly.

"We'll take you to your room, you'll rest. One of us will bring you something good to eat and you can have it in peace without any weird glances. Okay?"

She nodded weakly, not being able to continue this fight. Shortly after that all three of them were in her bedroom. They sat on the bed, each of them having a paper plate with something to eat. Oscar and Lando were already quite full, but they wanted to show their support to their friend, so each of them took a large piece of cake.

Y/N looked hesitantly at her meal, her nervous gaze shifting between her friends.

"This is safe food, good ingredients. Your stomach will thank you for it" Lando assured her, smiling encouragingly.

She nodded and slowly started eating. Lando and Oscar joined her, and they ate in silence. No unnecessary comments, no lectures. Just the comfort offered by friends. And nothing tasted better than that.

[sophrosynesworld]

With all my love, pt. 2

I wasn't originally planning a part 2, but I actually had fun writing this. Let me know if you want a part 3!

(Do you prefer first or third person?)

Katsuki Bakugou forcefully pushes open the door to his apartment, the hinges groaning ominously under the strain. He steps into the dimly lit space, shedding his jacket with a careless toss onto a nearby chair. The absence of the usual scent of peppermint, a comforting presence in their shared home, hangs in the air like a foreboding omen. His eyes dart to the quirky cat-shaped clock on the wall, a whimsical addition insisted upon by his partner, now serving as a silent witness to the tension gripping the room.

"Hey, I'm home," Bakugou calls out, his voice echoing slightly in the silence. He walks further into the apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Bakugou's sharp eyes sweep the room, searching for any clues. The kitchen, usually a scene of chaos with scattered ingredients and hastily abandoned utensils, now appears unnervingly pristine. Its surfaces gleam under the soft glow of overhead lights, devoid of the usual signs of life. Bakugou's senses are on high alert; by this hour, his partner should be on their second or third cup of tea. Yet, as his hand hovers over the cold kettle, a chill seeps into his bones. There are no half-empty mugs of tea, no crumbs scattered haphazardly, no evidence of the comforting chaos he's grown accustomed to while living together.

Bakugou's slender fingers trace the edge of the table, his frown deepening with each passing moment. A plain container occupies the center, topped with his partner's favorite pair of chopsticks. Resting atop the lid is a small sticky note.

Make sure you eat something tonight. It’s your favorite.

His mind races, considering the possibilities with a sense of urgency. Could his partner have been called away unexpectedly? Did they forget to mention plans? He opens the food container, instantly recognizing the smell of a familiar noodle dish. The silence weighs heavily on him, each unanswered question adding to the mounting tension that coils like a serpent in the pit of his stomach.

"Hey Asshole." he calls out again, his voice now laced with worry.

As he enters the living room again, his eyes gravitate towards the front door, a furrow forms between his brows. His eyes squint as he tries his best to remember—something was next to that door when he left for work. It had been there for a week, and he hadn’t thought much of it, assuming it was just part of the clutter. Now, its absence stands out, a silent testament to something he had been too blind to see.

"Katsuki, you idiot," he mutters to himself, the realization dawning on him. He moves quickly towards the bedroom, pushing the door open.

Drawers are left half-open, a few hangers lie scattered on the bed, but most noticeably, the closet is missing a significant amount of clothing. The wind outside picks up, howling through the cracks in the window, as if the world itself is mourning with him.

Katsuki stands up, his legs unsteady, as he walks to the window. His crimson eyes stare out at the city, the lights flickering in the distance, each one representing a life, a story, a possibility. And yet, here he stands, the sole reason the love of his life abandoned him. It was always his fault. He was never good at letting people in, and the person he loves understood that better than anyone.

With a trembling hand, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small, velvet box. Opening it slowly, he reveals an engagement ring. The diamond catches the faint light, sparkling mockingly. He had been so absent, so secretive, because he was nervously preparing for this moment, afraid he would give it away too soon. All the times he had been distant, all the moments he had missed, were because he was working up the courage to propose.

"Why didn't I see it?" he whispers to himself. The answer is painfully clear now, but it is too late. They’re gone.

The apartment that once felt like home is now a haunting reminder of what he has lost, a cold, empty space that mirrors the void in his heart. The ring, meant to symbolize a future together, now feels like a cruel reminder of what could have been.

[ronearoundblindly]

No Promises (3)

Lloyd Hansen x rival assassin!Reader

I Left You Something On The Body (see previous or LH Masterlist)

Summary: You and Lloyd take to leaving consolation prizes for whichever one of you 'loses.' It...escalates delightfully.

Warnings for DARKFIC. Language; descriptions of sexual situations, toys, various paraphernalia. Smut-adjacent (masturbation). MINORS DNI. I have plenty else for you on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you! WC 982

And you do; you let Lloyd have several open contracts after the keycard incident.

Sometimes you wonder about the man providing the most fun you’ve had in years, but mostly, you relax in a noisy city high-rise with a spectacular view. A small vacation between assassinations. You drop off the network for a month or so, picking up a straight-forward job nearby, and then show up at the target’s house to find him already dead.

Pinched onto the body, overtop a blood-soaked button-down, are golden nipple clamps.

You snort in disbelief.

The sick bastard, he’s really wooing you now.

A thin chain between the clamps sports a tied tag.

To: The Cobalt Cunt

You let out a dreamy sigh, the little tingle in your mind of possibly fucking (with) him again vibrating to life. You even miss him in a weird way.

On the reverse of the tag, it reads, “not safe for lace.”

It’s on obviously and more fun than you ever imagined. At some point, you can’t tell if you two are letting each other get places first on not. The money is, oddly, totally irrelevant, and your career takes on a renewed joy.

Lloyd claims a target. You show up, kill them, and drop off an intricately-packaged Gucci jock strap with “Eat Me” embroidered at the back of the waistband, right above his asshole.

For good measure—and to remind him what he’s missing—you add a spritz of your perfume to the cup.

That’s where you want to be nestled, it implies. That’s where you belong, right against his dick.

Sadly, the next ‘surprise’ takes a while as you two are not after the same jobs. There’s plenty of work to go around till you find an oblong box wrapped in brown paper on the armchair ten feet from an enormous bloodstain.

 With an empty scotch glass and a crumb-covered plate beside it, you know Lloyd’s been trolling for your attention. His snacky, sweet-tooth is somewhat notorious.

Your inconspicuous, purposefully plain gift waits patiently, the soft whipped cream of a strawberry shortcake dripping down its serving stand.

There’s no rush though, and you make a little ritual of opening it to reveal a beautiful dildo with golden speckles throughout the silicone molding. It is absolutely from a cast of Lloyd; you’d know that curve anywhere.

If that’s as close as you can get? Fine by you…

The rest of him barely participated before anyway.

Geneva.

Lloyd’s pissed and tired after the flight. Suzanne is the fucking worst and made him repeat the plan three times because her pea-brain is as sharp as a limp dick.

He dances down the plane steps, noticing a welcome party that is not his people. One sunglasses-clad, black-suited fellow walks up to Lloyd with an enormous gift basket.

It’s so goddamn pink Lloyd recoils and squints his eyes.

Good christ, it’s hideous. He loves it in a sick way.

Pink cellophane, fuzzy pink handcuffs, a sparkling fuchsia cock ring, rose gold anal beads with pesto-colored rope connecting them, and strawberry flavored lube.

Mood restored, Lloyd chuckles, turning on his heel to get back on the plane.

He’s going home. He has toys to play with.

He doesn’t bother to explain shit to Suzanne. One of these days, he’s just going to pop her for free.

This one doesn’t coincide with a job at all, but that’s what makes it all the sweeter to you.

Delivered to the place you’re staying for the week is an adorable, yellow stuffed rabbit with a pull-cord. Across its tummy is 'sunshine' in cursive letters.

You honest-to-god squeal in delight as you listen to each of the five custom recordings programed in.

Lloyd tuts then says “should have sized up my ring, you cock-drunk whore,” a deep gasp and a squelch punctuates the end.

Oh boy. It’s Christmas in July. Happy you!

You fake your own shocked gasp at the second soundbite.

“Know you don’t taste like fucking strawberries,“ he grunts before bitterly adding, “but I’ll take one for the team and eat that pussy any day.”

Third: “Bet I was the best you ever had, even when I wasn’t awake, you poor thing. So needy…”

Fourth: “How hard did you come, Sunshine? Be honest.” He laughs like the cat who got the cream to end that one.

Finally, the last of the pulls is just the slapping noise of him jerking off and finishing with a deep moan.

Now, at least, you know what Lloyd sounds like when he comes.

Utterly self-satisfied, Lloyd goes about his life of luxury.

He’ll be damned if he’s going to break and go to you. Fuck that. The thrill of this taco-and-hotdog game is worth it anyway.

He still works, and not every job revolves around you.

For one such fulfilled contract, he’s being paid in artwork and has the delivery men bring in the large framed canvas to uncover in his current villa’s sitting room.

The expectation is a well-known portrait.

It’s a painting alright, but it’s…very modern.

Lloyd crosses his arms over his chest and smothers a proud grin.

The torso and open legs of you stretch out facing the viewer, gold leaf embossed nipple clamps and their chains dangle over your stomach, and the blunt end of a golden dildo sits nestled in your cunt. There are brush strokes and paint visibly raised from the surface.

He wonders whether it was done from a photo or whether you sat there, bare, for some artist to reference for hours, maybe even days.

Lloyd had a spot in mind for his real payment, but this will do nicely. He’s quite pleased with the view. It shall go over the mantle in the bedroom, and he shall fuck whoever he wants—his fist included—while staring right at it.

The half dozen or so other people in the villa’s great room who can all see the painting don’t say a fucking word.

How the hell is he supposed to top this?

A/N: Full disclosure, I'm pretty sure this is the funniest thing I'll ever write, and I'm okay with that. I can't stop laughing 🤣🤣🤣

[Next Part: A Blazer Full of Bullet Holes]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

blue art deco divider by @/saradika-graphics--thank you for your beautiful work!

[minawritesfanfic]

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x F!Reader

Word count: ~1k

Summary: It seems there’s another careful serial killer roaming the streets of maimi and their police department

Part 0

Previous | Next

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Chicken schnitzel with creamed watercress, a delicious meal even with a few ingredients changes.

I coated the meat in buttermilk with my left hand then dipped it in the breadcrumbs, with my right hand I scooped up more bread crumbs sprinkling them on top and pressed them down into the meat. I flipped it over and repeated the process until it was carefully coated in breadcrumbs, and did the same for three more pieces. I wiped my hands clean and checked on the watercress, tasting a small bit of it making sure it was satisfactory. I smiled happy with the taste even despite me adding my special sauce into the mix, I set my spoon down and turned down the heat returning back to my breadcrumb covered chicken substitute.

In just a little under an hour I finished cooking, I was reveled in the smell of a homecooked meal wafting through the air. I set aside the other servings to eat later and sat down at my kitchen island with a glass of wine. I cut into the schnitzel picking it up with my fork and carefully placed it into my mouth, I let out a satisfied hum as I savored that first bite. The media likes to portray all cannibals are barbarians but I’d like to think I’m far more civilized than that. What barbarian knows how to make a good watercress and human meat schnitzel? A wonderful meal made from the shit of the earth Caleb Sands, full time solar panel installer part time serial killer and fuck does he taste delicious.

I sipped my wine with a smile as I continued to eat, my diet was a strange one consisting mostly of human remains or food drench in their blood. I’ve tried animal blood and no blood at all, but none of them have that unique taste that human blood has. I’m addicted to and couldn’t stop even if I tried, and I certainly have tried. It’s not like I was born this way but thanks the trauma from my childhood, I was doomed to live as a cannibal thanks to Mr and Mrs. Kerrigan.

I shook away the thought as I finished my meal and started to clean up, I left my wine and took my plate to the sink. I gave it a quick rinse and place it into the dishwasher before doing the same with the rest of the dishes in the sink. Once I was done loading the dishwasher I gave the countertop and stove a quick wipe down, with the kitchen clean and the dishwasher cycling I took my wine and headed into the living room. I relaxed onto the couch with a sigh and turned on the tv, I didn’t particularly care for what was on I just needed a distraction and it was working. I was a serial killer and not even for the love of the crime, I hated killing people it was gross, gorey, and the clean up was exhausting. I tried so hard to see it as a means to an end but it was hard, I hated why I became who I am, I hated who I’d become, and I hated that I was addicted with no clear way to escape from it.

I wiped the tears forming in my eyes and downed the rest of my wine, I turned off the tv and left my glass by the sink. I ran a hand through my hair as I made my way to my bedroom, thankfully the wine and food made me tired. Watching tv hadn’t really helped keep me from my thoughts so hopefully just shutting my brain off entirely by going to sleep, I collapsed onto the bed and turned on my white noise machine. I snuggled under the blankets and let my mind focus on the noise and it wasn’t long before I had fallen asleep.

★ ✮ ★

Work was busy that day with calls and requests coming in for the whole IT team, which consisted of Jackie a sweet and spunky girl fresh out of Texas, Sterling a flirty but nerdy guy born here and Miami, and Josefina a jokester from Tampa bursting with life. I loved them all and they made this job ten times more fun and enjoyable, speaking of them Sterling and Josefina came back into our tiny ‘office’. It was just an old storage room the stuffed four desks into, but it was our corner of the world and a second home.

“How was rubbing shoulders with the fraud department? Did they catch onto you yet Sterling?”

“Oh haha, it was fine just another stupid request. You’d think they would try turning it off and on again but the never do, and I’ll never get caught I’m that good.” He teased back at me as he sat at his desk.

“Some just aren’t as bright as others unfortunately.”

“Oh yeah and you are?” Josefina asked with a smirk as she spun her chair to face me hut I just rolled my eyes.

“Yeah I am, way smarter than you at least. Mrs. I thought the moon was made of cheese.” She turned red and threw a pen at me but I just dodges it.

Sterling and I couldn’t help but laugh as she just huffed and rolled her eyes at me, I smiled as I went back to typing up a report on my latest request. Sure the work was mostly menial task but the people made it worth while, and it wasn’t always boring. Sometimes I did have more difficult tasks to do but it was always fun and allowed me do what I loved, work with technology. Overall life was good, work was good, and my cooking was great. What more did one need in life?

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[beast-of-gluttony]

Instant Winter Weight

(A little weight gain story, featuring my very tight sweater)

(Instant weight gain, magic weight gain, surprise weight gain)

(POV you brought your chubby co-worker some very tasty muffins)

"Oh wow, these muffins really are amazing! So soft and fluffy. And lot's of chocolate chips! How'd you know they were my favorite?" Your favorite coworker eagerly devours your baking, patting his chubby belly in satisfaction. You can't help but watch it jiggle a bit beneath his already strained sweater.

"Hm? More? Well...I dunno, I've already had a lot. Shouldn't we save some for everyone else too?" You can see his cheeks turning pink as he realizes just how many of your special treats he's already eaten. "Well...maybe one more wouldn't hurt." He inhales another one then stops suddenly, surprised. "Wh-whoa!" He looks down at his belly, and you do too as you see that secret ingredient in your treats start to work its magic.

"Am...am I getting bigger?" He gets flustered, trying to adjust his sweater and shirt, but only serves to show how much he's growing even better. You see him start to panic a little and pull his sweater up and, giving you an amazing view of the now strained buttons of his dress shirt.

"Wha...when did I get so...so big?" He looks down, shocked at the way his buttons struggle to hold his swelling gut. Yet, even has he seems to panic, he keeps eating the muffin in his hand.

The soft swell of his stomach continues to swell and round out even more. You admire your work, and can't help but smile.

"Did...did you do this on purpose?" He acuses weakly, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of his new fat.

You nod, admitting you can't help but want to see him bigger, rounder, softer...fatter.

He blushes harder, but still can't seem to stop eating those addictive treats you've given him.

Finally his buttons give up the fight and go flying off in several directions. "Oh fuck..." He practically moans as his belly balloons outward, almost free of its prison.

He starts gobbling up more and more of your treats, muffin after muffin disappearing behind plump lips. You can see his pants falling lower to accommodate his growing mass, the sounds of seams splitting and threads popping grows more and more frequent.

Your entranced by his jiggling and growing frame. It's just what you wanted. To watch him grow and swell with fat you've piled onto him.

Finally, the last muffin vanishes, only a few crumbs left behind. Your once simply plump coworker is now properly fat and wobbly. He's panting and flushed, staring at his new weight, his ruined shirt, and his ripping pants.

He looks at you, and the only word on his lips is, "More."

[distant--shadow]

eyo, one person asked and i am eager to please, so here's a lil WIP of chapter 3 of The Witch and the Widow-

God. Everything the Lady says feels as though it has a second reading to it; a second voice, if you will. Imogen wants to hear it, distinguish whether it’s an intention of her mind or just a ripple muddied as it reverberates.

Her tongue is instead wound tight, music box key locked cogs turning mouth opening and closing, not quite giving melody to any of these intentions

The door knocks

“Your food, m’lady”

“Thank you, Sorcha-” Imogen does not miss the way the Lady’s eyes acknowledge Imogen before her in her deceased husband’s finery before slightly bulging in panic. “-you may leave it on the table in the hallway.”

“Yes m’lady. The room is ready m’lady.” The voice from behind the door responds; that belonging to the Lady’s handmaiden, the girl she keeps around her most often.

“Thank you, dear.” She replies over her shoulder, a genuine motherly (from what Imogen can only assume) softness gentling her face once the minor swelling panic has abated.

The Lady keeps her ear turned towards the door as the room falls into quiet, not silence, thanks to the aforementioned grandfather clock, the crackle of the fireplace, and the dialogue between breaths sharing a space less than a few feet apart.

Behind the door there is the sound of crockery and brass and mahogany being set down on polished marble, followed by the dulling footfalls of slight weight on carpeted floor retreating down the hallway.

Once the Lady seems happy that they have diminished enough, she turns back to Imogen.

“Please, take a seat, you must be hungry.”

She is, she can’t deny that, certainly can’t deny herself of satiating it with the spread now presenting itself on her lap.

Yeasty bread with melting butter slathered on pillowy crumb and golden crust, broth in warm liquid orange hue, bespeckled with flecks of oil fireflies in firelight,  coating cubes of carrots and potatoes and swedes and cabbage bobbing at the surface like segments of horse carcass resting on the lake-

Cookie kept a cauldron of stew or soup or something-of-the-like simmering at all times, ready and convenient for the servants on their staggered break times as much as for the Lady and her erratic schedule.

The soup, however, is not presented in the manner Imogen is used to - plain biscuit-glazed earthenware or maybe the wooden bowl and spoon she keeps around the stables swapped out like her outfit for fine porcelain - collar embellished with full-colour grape vines and hanging fruits and butterflies and birds hovering around interweaving morning glorys as though busied with pollinating, engraved silverware with polished metal blooming at the tip of the handle, even the tray the food is served on is a fine embellished  metal with filigreed edges that move as though flesh breathing living under the flame’s reach, the heat of the soup and the warm bread transposing through to the tops of Imogen's thighs

Imogen usually eats around the boiled and stewed meat should there be any present, but she notices that this bowl is absent of such.

Such hospitality only allows her to spare a fleeting thought for home-grown poisons

Maybe the pieces of the shattered-on-body-to-floor impact decoratively glazed crockery would make their way further down the river than the news, maybe what lies in the lake would ensure that nothing else was left of her.

The soup is the same, wonderful familiar, but tastes different when fed from a silver spoon.

She tears at the pieces of bread, eager, almost shaking, her body only now presented with an onslaught of tempting colours and smells able to consider its hunger, her gloved fingers dipping the bread into the soup, bringing the soaked pieces to her mouth dripping in salty herby broth and fatty butter, licking any remnants from leathered fingertips

The Lady smiles, and so Imogen does not refrain nor restrain.

As Imogen raises the spoon to her lips, she only just accounts the placing of the chair she is in; the angle of it towards the fire but still half-turned towards a vacant space on the rug, small signs of wear manifesting as darker potholes on woven landscape and thinned thread-bare colour left  by four chair legs. The Lady stands squarely in the middle of the four absent posts, caged, as if they were markings on a stage.

She wonders why the chair had to go but the clothes stayed. Maybe it is a case of out of sight and out of mind.

She does her best to not spill the soup down the front of the Lord’s waistcoat.

The Lady watches Imogen expectantly and in silence, perhaps unaware of how keen she appears. Maybe Imogen should spare more than a thought for possible poisons.

The sound the soup makes when she drinks it from the spoon is loud, on a different time signature to the metronome of the grandfather clock, out of place, despite her outfitting.

Imogen swallows

“You keep y’self busy.”

“Pardon?”

It had admittedly sounded like an instruction.

“Sorry, I mean ya do a lot with your time. I see you outside gettin’ your hands dirty or weavin’ on the bench and the like.” Hands-on and filthy things; things that do not require a well-educated mind, things that need not be spent on by a Lady’s time - especially when she has so many willing women under her employ. She hasn’t seen the Lady tooling leather, but she can be sure of her hands. Especially now. Imogen still feels the cool absence of her press at the base of her spine, thinks how the décor of the room would be perfect if only the armchair had a hand-knitted blanket draped over its tall back to warm her own.

“And what else would you have me do? Read books and write letters? I would be transcribing stories already written, and I am not as efficient as a printing press.”

“No, not at all. It’s jus’ peculiar- that’s all. I’m used’ta hearin’ about how fine folk spend their time at parties and makin’ appearances  and keepin’ their hands clean-” a drip of soup escapes from Imogen's mouth between all of her babbling, and she wipes it away with the back of her gloved hand before it can make its way to stain the frilled collar of the Lord’s shirt-

The Lady watches her movements.

“You’re rather peculiar yourself.”

The Lady’s eyes hold hers challengingly; the air left heavy and a smirk tugging at the wide corners of her mouth. Imogen clears her throat, her last spoon of soup now wishing to detour into her lungs when her motor functions are thrown into question.

She feels a cold sweat at her brow, at that place where the Lady’s hand had held occupancy at the base of her spine, the salt-water that will evaporate into damning steam from the fire.

“Your dress. Your occupation.” The Lady continues after she is satisfied with the weight she leant to the air. “You must hear as much of the same - yet tell me - does it feel peculiar to you to do so?”

It’s arguably evasive, but a conversation none the less.

“No, m’lady. It feels right.”

“Well then, we must trust our desires on these things, must we not? After all, I don’t see them causing any harm.”

Imogen shifts in her seat, squirms - if she’s honest - her fingertips digging into the upholstery of the arms of the chair

The draw Imogen feels to delving into the Lady’s mind is physical – not only the obvious hunger for answers to the subliminalities she speaks and the aura of questionable calm that surrounds her presence like a fog of lullabies and lavender-

With each time they share space it becomes more and more a battle internal, as though Imogen’s brain is swelling within the confines of its skull

it wants out.

The Lady steps out of her four-poster threadbare confines, skirts full and secluding her stride appearing a glide towards the window.

Imogen finishes the rest of the bread and soup to the Lady’s turned back and clock tic’ed quiet, the moon a crescent horseshoe catching ripples in the stained glass in white and pearl swatches, sky oranged by the firelight gilding the lead lining.

Their eyes meet in the reflection when Imogen stands with tray in hands, unsure of where to place it down and not wanting to give the task to her host and employer.

The Lady moves towards her bed, pulling a ceramic weighted gold rope that follows alongside one of the bed posts before lapping around a brass pulley and disappearing into the wall.

Imogen doesn’t hear it; but she knows that down in the servants’ quarters a bell rings.

Shortly enough Sorcha calls again from behind the door

The Lady must have decided that she does not mind if her handmaid sees Imogen in the familiar clothing.

[voxofthevoid]

Yuji&Co.'s ending might feel rushed as Hell or sloppy or whatever else we want but I quite like Sukuna's ending ngl... Especially when Mahito says that he's gone soft and Sukuna's like, "Of course, I've lost" Idk why, I just like it

You're not alone! I've seen quite a lot of people express satisfaction with Sukuna's ending, especially Sukuna fans themselves. I do think it neatly demonstrates the north/south choice and also serves as a good reconciliation of Sukuna's running tendency to loudly proclaim that he gives no fucks about emotions and people while clearly giving several fucks.

My main issue with it is that, while the destination is interesting in itself, large legs of the journey are missing. We know nearly nothing about Sukuna's life; the last arc gave us a handful of hints, like Sukuna eating his twin in the womb and being viewed/persecuted as an unwanted abomination after birth, but...this is the main villain who also serves as the protagonist's foil. His backstory shouldn't be left as crumbs, especially when it clearly influences Yuuji's ultimate stance toward him, which in turn influences Sukuna's afterlife reflection. We don't even know who the second person he thinks about is; hell, we don't know precisely how he met Uraume or how they could've served as a chance for a kinder life. Maybe it'll be expanded upon in the anime adaptation. I sure hope so.

Re Yuuji and co., I'm pretty happy with Yuuji's character development, as shown in Chapters 265 and 266, but the culmination of his and Sukuna's fight gives me the same feeling of seeing the destination while missing important parts of the journey. After that, the whole story's rushed, and we don't really get to see much of worth, character- or relationship-wise. Nobara becomes a plot device/twist, and the story ending afterward means she doesn't become much else. Megumi is essentially reduced to a MacGuffin in the last arc, and while I don't dislike the manner in which he resolves to live for Yuuji, the fact that he wakes up some hours later with nothing but mild brain fog to show for the possession and UV is frankly boring. Yuuta's survival without any loss or consequences for the body-switching (and its ultimate failure) is also one hell of a cop-out. Finally, the trio's last mission carries none of the weight of the events that preceded it and could've fit into a pre-Shibuya chapter. It's all just...bland. Feels like a different story, honestly.