#cellulite less

[pupcuck]

BLIND ITEM !

ft. og re4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. actor au, smut, leon is an ass, some misogyny duh, reader vomits once like non-sexual context, breaking and entering, dub-con that turns to just consensual sex, only one threat of violence :3

note. comm for the sweetest ever @liableperfections / 🪩 anon :3 plot credit goes entirely to her literally had to cut so many words down it was 10k before bc i was so excited ab it so if it seems choppy I’m so sorry… 😭 ignore my attempt at navigating la.. it’s so confusing usa system is so confusing .. ignore any typos :3 feedback n rbs always appreciated!!! REPOST CUZ TUMBLR HATES ME.

Malibu Beach is a terrestrial paradise. A post-apocalyptic Eden of sorts ‘cause there’s no tree of knowledge or any apples— Only thing Malibu Beach and Eden have in common is the naked ladies. It’s the best part of both. Which to Leon is factually correct, but to be politically correct as Hunnigan, his PR manager, would say it’s an opinion.

No need for serpent-induced bedlam, hedonism is at its peak, the fall of man is in full swing. There’s more snow than grains of sand. Leon’s world comes to life in bottle greens and muted blues, water glittering like a diamond behind the dimmed lenses of his aviators.

He snags a cabana close to the shore, draping curtains to keep him safe from blinding cameras and prying eyes and drab women who are more naked than they are clothed. From afar it’s a great sight. Up close it’s a whole lot of cellulite and over-plumped lips and over-plucked brows. Leon’s not picky, his standards are not high, he’s only asking for the bare minimum. Nice face, nice ass, nice tits— It’s expected, but it’s not an expectation ‘cause that would mean girls have to try and live up to it, but most of them come that way. Well, they’re supposed to come that way, but some girls got a little busted on the flight over from heaven.

Ashley faces him, she should be careful when Leon’s around, he pulls on bikini strings more than he tugs on his own dick, and her bikini has started to look especially stringy.

“Can you get my back?” In the light, her lashes twinkle like gossamer wet with morning dew.

Don’t need to ask him twice. Leon’s hands traverse the plains of her back, he coats her skin in lotion like the finest of pâtissiers would a cake, angling the spatula downwards to smooth thick buttercream into pastel swirls of perfection. It’s only SPF10 ‘cause Ashley’s more focused on getting an even tan and less worried about skin cancer.

They’ve been hanging out between filming. Ashley pisses him off with her hoity-toity shit, someone swapped out her brains for that rack, but she’s hot so Leon keeps her around. And to be completely honest, his perpetual state of ennui had been smashed like brittle glass by Ashley alone. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be riding the Raccoon City wave. Biggest blockbuster to come out of 1998. That’s a big feat. Competition was big names like Deep Impact, The Horse Whisperer— Oh, who is he kidding, nobody remembers that crap, but everybody remembers Raccoon City, the Resident Evil sequel that hit the ball out of the park.

The Resident Evil series is on its fourth instalment, and Ashley Graham insisted he come back to reprise his role; she wanted to act alongside Leon S. Kennedy and no one else. She stinks of money and Chanel Cristalle. Her dad is the studio head, so Leon’s kissing up to her, takes her cruising in his Bugatti Veyron up and down Rodeo Drive. They never breach the Platinum Triangle, he fears Ashley’s diaphanous skin would erode the moment unfiltered air hits her, melt off her bones in fleshly strings until there’s a skeleton rattling around in his passenger seat.

Ashley’s back is real nice. Like, the skin is super clear and creamy white and her shoulder blades stick out the same way a slinky feline’s do. If he could use anorexic as an adjective he would. Not quite, but almost.

“That feels so good, Leon.” He catches the tail end of the glance she casts over her shoulder, it’s flirty and he knows what’s coming next. Ashley’s spine straightens, skin pulled taut to the jagged bone, she twists her upper half and pouts directly at him. She pouts a lot for someone so scared of wrinkles. but when you’re this rich, the de-ageing secret is just Botox he guesses.

“C’mere,” Leon adopts a wider stance, spreading his thighs so she can curl up between them like a cosy pup in bed. “Hey, cutie.” He traces a thumb over her lips which are a milky shade of pink, fingers curling up beneath her chin to tilt her head up towards him.

She’s giving him bedroom eyes. Feathery lashes fanning his skin with the pace at which she bats them, like hummingbird wings beating against the wind. Leon is so going to get laid. Ashley’s nails rake over the sinewed flesh of his sculpted thighs, a testament to his athleticism, he does all his own stunts you know? Shit, he’s about to get the sloppiest head of all time, his dick is about to be degloved by that perfectly puckered pout, suction must go crazy—

In a single sweeping motion, the flimsy curtain is drawn back, fluttering in the same way Leon’s gut lurches. He can’t tell the difference between butterflies and nausea. It all feels the same to him. He half expects to be struck dumb by celestial flashes of camera light that gets him hotter than the sun.

However, in a much more pleasant turn of events, he spots a black whale tail that leads his sharp eyes to a bead of sweat dripping down a toned abdomen— Her belly button sticks out which Leon hates, but those tiny hotpants make up for her faults. They’re so short the flappy pockets are visible, distressed denim fringe brushing nice thighs that have got to mean an even nicer ass is right behind.

The face is even cuter. Round cheeks yet to shed baby fat, the apples smattered with charming freckles, her reddish ponytail is stiff with salt water. “Move,” she demands in a dictatorial fashion as if the world would bend to her will, rolling over and baring its belly like an appeased dog under her command.

Leon, against his better judgement, stays put. Who even are you, lady? The audacity of some girls, must be a fan of some kind. A clammy hand lands on his leg. Feels more like a dead fish left to rot on the docks. He shivers inwardly, prying sticky fingers off of him to clarify what the actual fuck is going on.

There’s a pretty girl in your peripheral. Not Claire. She’s not pretty in the way Claire is. She’s model pretty, might be a model or an actress or both, or neither. Just plain old pretty. But, it’s not plain, it’s extraordinary really. Polly Pocket dolly plucked from her compact home— Oh, gosh, your stomach is fucking killing right now.

Life is crazy, right? One minute you’re sucking face with a cute guy from Europe, and the next minute rotgut Mai Tais are not pairing well with the sweltering Malibu heat. And now you have reached the gates of heaven, fat-bellied clouds and Polly Pocket and something firm in your hand like a muscled calf. Not like a muscled calf, it is a muscled calf and it belongs to the most devastatingly handsome man you have ever laid eyes upon.

You anticipate the sprouting of wings from his back, the halo of Malibu sunlight that crowns his dirty blond hair to form an actual fucking halo. Holy fuck. You hope God can’t read your thoughts right now. Praying is out of the question, that’s like directly asking God not to press the big red button— Everyone presses the big red button, and then God would cast you down to hell in a fit of disgust. All ‘cause you want this angel to put your thighs to your chest and fuck you boneless with his seraphic dick.

“What the fuck, man?” Is the angelic knowledge he imparts upon your dying body. You feel like you’re being cooked alive, hot oil bubbling your skin.

“What is your problem, man?” Claire’s utterance comes at the same time.

“Hey, Claire,” you greet weakly.

“Hey, babe.” The back of her cool hand rests on your forehead, the heat is going to sear her skin like a piece of Grade-A beef. “Listen, man, can you just take your girlfriend and go?”

“She’s not my—“

“Leon, let’s just go.” The blonde girl loops her arm around this divine being’s bulging bicep.

Claire closes the curtain to shield you from the sun. It brings forth a wave of relief to your sizzling body, doused in floral breeze and sea-salt-infused linen.

“Aw, babe, you’re fucked.” She fans you lightly with her hand in hopes that man-made wind is enough to combat heat stroke or alcohol poisoning or whatever it is.

“You can head back, ‘m good here,” you slur, “gonna take a nap”

“You sure?” Claire pets your head, you see past her composed exterior, inside is a girl who’s mourning the loss of that cute beach bunny who ran for the hills the moment you started to emanate the smell of sickness.

“Mhm.” You nod, a sluggish movement that makes your liquified brain slosh about in your head. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll come check on you later, yeah? Just stay right here for me.” She lays a damp towel over your lower half and you feel like a bit of a beached whale. Like, fucking slack and stupid and heavy with sleep. It’s so unfair. Your one day off and the excessive day drinking comes to bite you in the ass.

Your nap is plagued by divine visions - getting to sink your teeth into that angel’s biceps. So life is not all bad. At least you’ve still got wet dreams to keep you going. The sun has sunken beyond the horizon, dwindling light paints the landscape a burnt orange, the deepening blues of the water taking on a coral hue as you poke your head out past the cotton curtains.

In the distance, you spot a mildly Claire-shaped dot with a ponytail. She’s still having fun so you make no move to bother her, instead you gather your belongings in a methodical manner. Beach towel folded at the bottom of your bag, cover-up slotted neatly into the side pocket. Water bottle and sunscreen on top - making sure to check the caps on both are tightly screwed on. Purse, keys, phone. You’ve got it all.

Though you’ve regained a sense of self - whatever you were going through a few hours ago that was an out-of-body experience - a tight knot lingers in the depths of your gut. It’s lodged in your throat. You proceed to the bathrooms located near the car park, beach bathrooms are not the nicest place on earth, but you’re not going there for a relaxing retreat, you’re there to unload the unholy amount of vomit that sits in your stomach like sunken rocks in a burlap sack.

Your gait is slightly off, it’s hard to navigate the beach in rubbery flip-flops, limping as your feet are anchored into the sinking sand with each step. After a treacherous journey over the colossal (read: totally flat, flatter than a brown rat’s feet) dunes, you’re granted access to the mildewy washrooms— The door swings open and collides with your delicate skull. A surge of nausea hits your system like adrenaline, pumping through you, and you pitch forward, hands on your knees as you hurl.

“What the fuck? Are you stupid?”

His voice is like the gentle tinkering of bells or a choir of angels, it’s thick and smooth like molasses, a knife through hot butter. All of the above. Even when he’s swearing the unholiest words you have ever heard under his breath. It’s him, the guy from before. And you just missed vomiting on his feet. Narrowly. He did hit you with a fucking door though. So there’s that.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? I saw that!” The cute blonde from before has swiftly joined his side.

“I’m fine, Ashley, she ran into me.” Ashley… Ashley…You might’ve seen her on a billboard somewhere in Hollywood. Certainly looks the type.

“Not you, asshole, oh my god, Leon. Are you serious? You hit her!” Her voice is like money. Papery thin, but there’s substance to it. Makes the world go round. Makes you happy. This concussion might be making you woozy enough to feel happy. “Oh my god, are you, like, okay?”

You clutch at the wall of the beach hut-shaped washroom, steadying yourself. “I’m good, yeah, I’m really good, thanks for asking.” The vomit is gone from your system, that’s a step forward, but now there’s an ugly bump forming on your head.

“What if you have a concession?” Ashley frets, she makes no move to step closer as she would have to manoeuvre the puddle of vomit.

“A concussion.” Leon corrects, he side-steps to make a swift and graceful exit from this situation, making a beeline for the topless convertible parked a few rows over. Oh, shit this guy is like a big shot, and you almost puked on him. Keyword almost.

“Leon! Hello? We can’t just leave her!” She waves her arms at him wildly, like she’s flagging down a rescue helicopter.

“Oh no, my friend’s still here, I came in her car,” you begin, smiling sheepishly as she has made you feel a little like an abandoned puppy. Or a nuisance.

“No, no, you’re sick, like, really sick, and Leon hit you. He totally owes you.” Ashley insists, a delicate hand grasps your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. “Get in the front.” She’s demanding not in the same way Claire is, but in the way of a spoiled little girl. It works for her, and you plop down on a leathery seat that sticks to your skin. “Leon, I’m gonna meet daddy over in Carbon, so don’t worry about me, okay?” She flutters her fingers at him. “Behave yourself!”

Shit. This car costs more than you would on the black market. That makes you nervous. The guy makes you even more nervous. The way he’s glowering at you— What an asshole. Ashley’s right, he hit you hard, you so deserve a swanky ride home.

“Are you stalking me?” He asks, sunglasses perched on the top of his head, he looks like a total asshole, levelling you up with those glacial eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you stalking me?” He’s like dead serious right now.

“Why would I be stalking you?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, at least that’s what you want Leon to believe.

“Funny,” he scoffs, “real funny.”

“I’m sorry, what’s so funny?” You blink at him stony, gaze unwavering.

You, bitch. Acting like you don’t know him, like his face isn’t plastered all over California. In every nook and cranny. From flagship stores to beige vegan cafes that are frequented by a handful of hipsters and bored trophy wives alone. “Nothing,” Leon settles on, you can play dumb all you want, but this isn’t his first rodeo with stalkers.

In your hand, your Nokia beeps, and much to his annoyance, you pick it up to make casual conversation with whatever creep that’s put you up to this plan. “No, I didn’t mean to scare you, Claire. I literally kinda, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but I’m safe, okay? I’m in a…” You trail off, casting a sideways glance at him, “I’m in a taxi right now.”

He squeezes the steering wheel white-knuckled. You’re playing with him right now, and it’s not fucking funny. A little pathetic if anything.

“Yeah, I got enough cash on me to make it back, don’t worry about it. I will, I will, yep, okay. Bye, Claire.” You drop your cell phone into your beach bag and it falls quiet apart from the prowling growl of his engine.

“Where you need to go?” Leon asks, his teeth grinding together, offset by his clenched jaw.

“Santa Monica.”

“That’s helpful,” he says dryly. “Long way over.”

“I’m just being safe.” You shrug. “It’s half an hour, where’d you come from anyway? Beverly Hills?”

“You’re being unhelpful,” he repeats to cement the fact that he is going out of his way to be an upstanding citizen and help stupid girls who walk face-first into doors no matter how stupid they fucking are. Leon’s soft spot for girls is clearly limited. “Bel Air,” he adds a moment later, “but you know that, don’t you?” It’s in every tabloid, don’t gotta be a stalker to know where he lives.

“No, I do not, I seriously don’t know who you are, man.” Your profile is nice enough, not an eyesore, lips look kissable, you would look nice at his feet he decides. Girls like you need dick in your mouth to learn a few things about shutting up.

“You got in my car.” Leon points out.

“I was forced into your car.” Comes your rebuttal.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit, just tell me.” Leon never raises his voice at women, that would be a brash decision, girls hear a slight shift in tone and go cuckoo. When you talk to them all nice and sweet they turn to putty with no regard for the subject matter at hand. Could be harvesting a few organs or taking a couple billion out of their trust fund, it doesn’t matter, they’ll be stuck swooning.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Look at you, you think you’re the shit. “I can get home from the boardwalk.”

Leon is a lot of things. He is an asshole, he would feel like more of an asshole if he made a chick walk home in the dark. He swallows his pride and he swears his Adam’s apple bulges out further than usual. “I’ll take you home, no sweat, I owe you one.”

“I’m good, I want to walk.” You are one stubborn bitch.

“You could use the walk,” Leon says, a slip of the tongue. He didn’t mean anything by that. Listen, it just came out. Promise. You’re testing his fucking patience.

You bristle beside him, to his surprise you make no move to insult him in turn. “Who are you, even?” It’s thrown over your shoulder coolly. “Like, am I supposed to know you?”

“Leon,” Leon says, and to his knowledge there are no other Leon’s in Hollywood - Leonardo DiCaprio does not count.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” You’ve gotta be messing with him. It’s working, you’re driving him insane.

“Okay, sure.” He bites his tongue, and soon enough you tell him your address. Not the nicest part of Santa Monica, not the worst part. Definitely not Downtown L.A. so that’s good.

The velvet sky is frosted by stars, and it is a beautiful night for road head which Leon really fucking deserves for putting up with so much shit. If it were Ashley by his side he would’ve been forced to pullover more than a few times on the drive over to The Flats.

He pulls up in front of a house that looks to be made of paper mache. Wow, you’re slumming it. Leon makes an unmitigated promise to himself to never be seen around these parts ever again. The air is different, and there’s so many bad smells and oh my lord is that a homeless woman? He better leave before she knocks on his car door to offer him a good time.

“Bye, sweetheart,” Leon tells you because he is the prime example of a gentleman. “Not gonna thank me?”

“What an asshole.” You don’t even bother to say it under your breath, just to his fucking face after he dropped you off in this ugly, grey neighbourhood in his gorgeous convertible.

He forgets about you by morning. Leon has seen more women than a gynaecologist will in their lifetime. You’re another forgettable rack. That is until the following week. A blind item drops. He skims the page.

Blond guy… Plays a lot of action-hero roles… Good with women… Total Asshole… Something about harassment… Something about a full article dropping next week…

Sounds like Leon alright. Hunnigan is on his ass about it. Ashley is on his ass about it. The director is on his ass about it. The staff are looking at him funny. The room is spinning. Leon is going to take a prop gun and shoot himself. He’s managed to keep his asshole status under wraps, money and dick go a long way for girls— Shit, that bitch from Santa Monica. You were not an easy lay, there was no laying in fact. He didn’t offer you sympathy dick to make up for whatever he said to get your panties in a twist.

Leon checks his watch— Filming can wait, Ashley can wait, he won’t be long. Traffic is a nightmare, this sheepskin jacket is sticking to him - only time he has ever lamented having a roofless car. He shrugs off his costume, lays it over the headrest of the passenger seat. Your place is the crumbling stack of bricks tucked into the far corner of a street that is more litter than street.

He knocks on your door firmly, afraid it’ll knock down the paper walls. You don’t answer. He knocks again, taps his foot, and you do not answer. Leon tries the handle, he’s fucking desperate, okay? This film— The premiere has to go smoothly, he has to be back in the limelight and then you can go around making as many accusations as you please, send the pitchfork-wielding mob his way the moment promotions are over.

The door opens. Leaving your door unlocked in a neighbourhood this rough, oh, honey, you’re just begging for it, aren’t you? He steps over the threshold, the door clicks shut behind him, he moves forward in deliberate strides like he knows his way around. To be fair, there’s not many rooms to explore, not Ashley’s sprawling marble landing. From the top of the stairs, he hears your voice.

“Claire, is that you? I just got out the shower, wait there!”

Babe, you got ready for him? That’s cute, he hopes you shaved. The floorboards creak under his boots, climbing the stairs to face the open door of the bathroom. You’re in there, facing the mirror, wrapped in a baby blue towel. Easy access. When you spot him in the reflection, you drop the tub of cleansing cream in the sink basin, it splatters at the same moment your scream shatters the silence.

“What— How did you get in? Why’re you in my house? Get out!” All questions that Leon would answer if you shut up. You’re a stupid little thing, backing yourself into the wall until the back of your knees bump the bathtub. “Oh my god—“

“I let myself in, door was open, babe,” Leon says smoothly, “That’s real dangerous, y’know?”

You clutch at the shower curtain and almost bring it down on your head, Leon pries your fingers from the material as his hands find purchase on the fat of your hips. “Get off me— Get off, get off, get off!” Your spine straightens when he taps your cheek sharply. Huh. That worked. Is that what you need to loosen up? A nice, hard fuck. Some dick in that lonely pussy of yours.

“Hey, calm down, it’s just me.” The guy you think you know all about. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re breaking into my fucking house, you fucking psycho, why would I want to talk to you?” Little fists hammer away at his chest, nails catching on his chest holster that looks more like BDSM gear than anything useful.

“You kidding me?” Leon captures your chin, his touch is anything but tender, a tactile intrusion that leaves crescent-shaped impressions on your jaw. “Had a lot to say in that article.”

“Is that… Is that what this is about?” You catch your breath, trying to appear nonplussed, though you tread carefully in trepidation. “The article isn’t even out yet-“ A soft whimper betrays your confident front when Leon bows his head to meet your eyes.

“Look at me when you’re speaking,” he instructs, and you do. What a good girl. “Okay, there you go, baby, continue.”

The disdain that spoils your pretty face intensifies at his words, and yet you can’t look away. Cute. Head says one thing, pussy says another. “I’m not- I’m not making Claire drop the article, this is the biggest scoop she’s ever had, and you’re gross.” You stand your ground. “You’re an asshole, I hope nobody ever has to deal with your shit again, I hope you get blacklisted, like, forever and fucking ever. I watched your shitty movies, I could do better than that and I got a D in drama class, you’re just hot and you get away with it-“

“That’s not very nice.” Leon talks to you like he is scolding a misbehaving child. Which you are. A rash little girl driven forward by noisy temerity. “We talked once, sweetheart. I wanted to go on a second date, what a shame.” He’s glad you find him hot though.

“Fuck off.”

“C’mon, you’re too cute to be using nasty words like that.” His teasing is not taken in stride, you elbow him in the gut and squirm out of his grip. Leon recovers fairly well, his fingers catching the hem of your towel, unravelling it like a spool of thread. He draws you closer, naked, wet body flush to his clothed one. Nice tits, tick, cute ass, tick, he wants to see how you’d look in a tight skirt, one that hugs your stomach and hips and the tapering of your waist. The type Hunnigan wears when she means business.

And shit. Your pussy is the only thing cuter than your face. Shaved bare like you knew he was coming. You wanted it. You did. Leon doesn’t see any other hot dates waiting for you. “Aw, baby, you shouldn’t have.” He coos, tracing your puffy pussy lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t do that…” Your voice is merely a whisper, and you’re not scared, girls like you don’t get scared. They get pissed off. Heated. Angry and upset. But never scared.

“Is this what you want, babe? Some dick ‘n you’ll shut up? Just wanted my attention.” Leon’s voice is a low rumble in your ears, he drawls like a slow trickle of sticky honey. Nothing is stickier than your cunt. He parts your lips, catching the dribbles of slick that form in beads along your slit. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ wet, baby. You needed this, didn’t you?”

“No,” you croak out, throat dry from only a few minutes of disuse.

“No? You want me to stop then, sweetheart?” Leon slows his touch, it diminishes until it’s gone entirely and you whine at the loss so sweetly. “You’re not making any sense, babe.”

“Oh my god.” You suck in a breath, trembling not out of fear, but out of unadulterated rage and dizzying lust for a piece of his dick. “Fuck you.” He takes that as a Please, fuck me!

“How about we do something easier, baby.” Leon forces you onto your knees, and he was fucking right. You look so good like this. Knelt by his feet. His belt is unclipped, pants unzipped, boxers lowered. He guides his dick into your mouth, and you really are the most cock-starved thing he's ever met, ‘cause you open up and swallow him whole.

Then you do the sluttiest fucking thing a girl has ever done for him - reach back and jab your nails into the meat of his ass to force his dick deeper down your throat. “Shit, that’s right, baby— Fuck, you’re a fucking freak, huh?” Leon rewards you with a skull fuck. Balls clapping wetly and obscenely against your chin.

You gag on it, and you love it. God, he feels the pulse of your cunt through his boot when you grind yourself down on the steel toe cap. It’s round enough to do no damage, cool enough to help that hot cunt out, and the perfect shape to part your folds and stimulate your swollen clit.

Leon slaps it on your cheek a couple of times, then he tightens his hand around the shaft as you play with his balls, try to fit ‘em in your mouth like jawbreakers. Shit, fuck, his brain fucking blanks. He’s gonna cum if you don’t stop. His hand comes to rest on your forehead, hoping to snuff out the pleasure that builds too soon in his belly, you pop off his cock, refusing to stop making out with his tip, tonguing the slit like you’re getting paid to do this.

The bedroom is a couple metres away, it’s an awkward shuffle over with his lips slotted to yours, tongue running over your teeth, licking at your gums. Your back hits the handle, then less than a metre after that it hits the squeaky mattress. He kisses down your body, you smell like fruity body wash, it might be strawberry or raspberry. It smells like pink, that’s all he knows.

A sloppy kiss is placed on the very front of your mound. “You want me to play with your sticky little pussy, baby?”

“Ew,” you whimper out, nodding anyways, legs bent at the knee to bare your sweet pussy to him.

He laps at you like a dog. Eating pussy is tedious, Leon likes pushing heads down on his dick, it’s way better. But to hear you moan like that, shit he would do it a thousand times over, latch onto your clit and suck till you see stars. “Did you like that, baby? Fuck, creamed on my fucking tongue, sweet little thing.” He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Sure, Leon's going to go back to set smelling of your cunt, it’s not so bad. He quite likes it. Better the tang of pussy than sweat.

“Jus’ put it in,” you beg, “please, please—“

“I heard you the first time, sweetheart. Be patient.” Leon takes your ankles in his hands, puts them by your ears. See this? That’s when Leon can tell a girl really fucking wants him. When she holds her thighs up for him, and then she puts her palms flat to spread herself as open as she can get. “Jesus, baby, you’re a slut.” He laughs derisively, it rolls off his tongue as sweetly as any other pet name.

You’re left keening when the head of his dick sinks into your weeping cunt, your toes curl, and Leon cranes his neck to kiss your ankle. He runs his hands over the backs of your plush thighs, circling his hips as he eases into you— He’s lying. In his world, there’s no easing. Leon’s dick is mean, and he can tell you’ve been dying for a rough fuck. He bottoms out the second his head pops past your fluttering hole. Then he’s balls-to-the-wall. Like, literally. They’re heavy against your ass, slapping loudly with each measured thrust.

“Baby,” Leon starts, he’s breathless, rolling his hips into yours, “I swear on my life, sweetheart, if that shit drops I’ll beat you fuckin’ bloody.” That article dropping would signal the end of his life as he knows it. Your pussy clamps down on him at his words. “Oh, you nasty little bitch, you liked that?”

There’s a string of yes, yes, yeses! and then a string of expletives, and then a drawn-out call out of his name as he drives into you with all the force of a freight train. Your nails are scratching down his back, and your pussy is coating him in the same wetness that pools below your ass.

“Take it, baby, take it, fucking take it.” It takes one last thrust for you to come undone, your orgasm has your body going ramrod straight, and then your pussy fucking gushes. And Leon in all his years of sex and women and pussy and fucking has never made a girl do that. Half of him is convinced you’ve gone and pissed on him, the other half is sure he’s made you squirt like girls do in porn— Holy shit. He’s twenty-seven years old and he only just made a girl squirt.

You cry out as he grinds into you, his dick bumping your cervix, his pelvis grinding into your clit— And you sob, shaking your head as another burst of liquid spurts out of your cunt, soaking his abdomen, soaking his fucking shirt that belongs to the costume department—

Fuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s cumming hard. Leon’s balls tighten, and his shaft twitches as his load shoots out of the tip of his cock into your tight cunt. He didn’t pull out. If there’s one thing, he’s good at, it’s pulling out. Leon made a girl squirt, and he didn’t pull out. All in one day. What an accomplished man he is.

“Mmm.” You roll onto your front, face in the pillows as you catch your breath, still shivering as aftershocks zap at your nerve endings. Leon wipes the sweat built on his forehead, strands of his hair stuck to it. “I’m not convinced, the article’s still going up.”

What a bitch.

“Right.” He delivers a brisk swat to your ass, it elicits an involuntary yelp. “Guess I’ll have to convince you. I got a week, don’t I?”

“A week and a half,” you say, not bothering to bid him bye as he zips his cargos, “I’m pretty hard to convince.” Cheeky.

“It can be done.” Through another round of dick from Monday to Friday.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

[trash-king18]

i see a lot of miguel fics(and works in general) where the reader is described as slender with an hourglass figure and all that shit… but let’s be real. if we’re talking about an afab reader he wants somebody with hip dips, love handles, a jiggly ass, and a stomach. the type has that beautiful wonderful perfect pudge that hangs over the band of your panties or anytime you wear something low cut. the type of stomach that bulges out around the hips in a dress. he goes crazy for it. he adores it. and he loves to grab it possessively and cover it with kisses in bed while he showers you with praise.

your arms got a little jiggle? perfect means your well fed and he’s treating you right.

you still have baby fat on your face or full cheeks? they’re full of love. his love and no one else’s.

if you’re plus size, fat however you wanna say it (it shouldn’t be an insult it’s a word and it’s beautiful and if you’re a beautiful sexy wonderful person then your body type is just as much so. end of discussion) it doesn’t matter to him. he’s the kind of man who could care less about stretch marks and “cellulite” and imperfect shaving. he knows what a woman/lover(if you aren’t afab or simply don’t identify with she/her pronouns) looks like and he’s in love with every inch of your body. he’s a big man and he needs a lot of woman/lover.

that’s not to say he has a problem with skinny or muscular people but let’s give other body types the love they deserve.

thank you and goodnight.

#across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #atsv #miguel ohara #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara smut #body appreciation

[girlwithalotoffeelings]

Anymore more A/B/ O Bakugo brain rot? I too have contacted it

Sis I have plenty, I think it's contagious.

A/B/O Bakugou Katsuki

Insecurities

Bakugou, the alpha courting you, is pissed. You've have been avoiding going to the gym with him for forever and he's sick of it. You always come up with some excuse of why you can't...

"Sorry, I've gotta help my mom with something."

"I have some paperwork I'm behind on."

"I'm really tired today."

"I think I pulled something on patrol earlier."

And today, he's finally sick of it.

"I'm going to the gym, do you wanna come?" He says from the kitchen counter as he fills his water bottle.

"I'm sorry Ki I have t-" you start, not even looking up from your laptop until you hear him slam his bottle down on the counter, making water droplets fly.

"What?! What else do you have to do that's so fucking important that you can't spend two hours with me at the gym?" His hands were braced on the counter, his jaw tensed, and his shoulders squared.

You were both silent, both of you not knowing how to break the tension. You got up off the couch and walked over to him behind the counter, releasing a calming scent into the air. You heard him take a sharp inhale through his nose and exhale it, letting his shoulders relax a bit.

You slowly ran your hands up his sides under his tank top to feel his skin, coming to wrap around his waist as you lean your head against his back.

"Do you not like spending time with me?" You hear him say in a firm tone as he stares straight ahead.

"That's not it." You whisper against him in a voice smaller than normal.

He shifts, bringing you to his front so he can look at your face.

"Then what is?" He looks down at you, resting his arms on the counter behind you, effectively caging you in.

You don't look up at him; this being the only time you were less than game to make direct eye contact with the man that has been courting you for the past 6 months.

He could tell it was something serious, his usually feisty fire cracker, now looking uncertain. He leaned down more, bringing his head over your shoulder, placing the scent gland just behind his ear, right by your nose, giving you no choice but to inhale him each time you took a breath. He raised both of his hands to rub up and down your arms, trying to soothe you.

"What is it, baby?" His voice is soft, calm, and patient. A complete 180 compared to how he is with everyone else. This side of him is reserved just for you.

"I don't like being watched..." Your voice trails off. He pulls back from you just enough to look into your eyes that are now looking up at him through your lashes. He silently urges you to go on.

"When I'm working out, I don't look... pretty. I look like a drowned mole rat most of the time. My cellulite shows, I sweat profusely, I don't look good." You weren't looking at him anymore; your head turned to the side. To your surprise, you hear a deep bellowing laugh from the man in front of you. You felt strong arms wrap around you as he continued to chuckle softly under his breath.

"Baby, I dont think anyone's supposed to look good while working out. I'm sorry for laughing but, I thought it was something a lot worse, so this is kinda a relief..." He pulls back with a small smile on his lips.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you look away from him, suddenly finding the lamp next to the couch very interesting.

"I thought that you were drifting from me..." you hear his gruff voice whisper. The declaration making you forget your shyness instantly, eyes snapping to him.

"What? Why?" Safe to say you were a little more than very concerned, what had you done to make him think that?

"I don't know," he was looking everywhere else besides your eyes, afraid he might divulge all his biggest insecurities if he wasn't careful.

"I guess I thought you realized you didn't like me as much as you thought you did. That maybe you'd..." There it was, the big seedy underbelly of his small but bountiful list of things he was less than happy with himself about "I don't know" He shook his head with a sigh letting his gaze drop down, giving up trying to put it into words.

"Katsuki, I dont just like you. I love you." You voice was gentle and calm as you spoke. His eyes snapped up to meet yours immediately. What the hell did you just say. You just said that you loved him, and he was losing his absolute shit. That was the first 'I love you'. You had said it to him. His lips slightly parted in shock as he listened to you speak.

"Yeah you get on my nerves and sometimes I wanna strangle you. You can be rude and standoff-ish, but that's what drew me to you in the first place." You lifted you hands to lock then behind his neck.

"You liked that I was rude?" He said with an amused and almost breathless scoff that turned into more of a chuckle.

"I liked that you were unapologetic. That you don't care what anyone thinks of you. You're... real. You're tenacious and determined. You know exactly what you want, and you fight to get there. You're ambitious and honest in everything you do." Your thumb have found homes at the edges of his jaw under his ears as you rub against his stubble. "And even though you are a bit mean sometimes," He's dumbstruck, completely speechless, how have you been watching him this closely all this time. He was sure that he wasnt that serious to you as you are to him. It almost brings him to tears just hearing you talk about all the things you love about him. You lean in to place a gentle ghosting kiss on his lips, that leaves him wanting so much more. "You can be soft and sweet when you really wanna be." You pull back slightly and rest your forehead against his. "And I'll go with you to the gym if it means that much to you." You chuckle lightly and run you hands through the hair on the back of his head.

"Nah, you don't have to. I don't want to you feel uncomfortable. Even though I think you look beautiful all the time." A small smile lazily graces his features as he wraps his arms around your back pulling you closer against him.

"Maybe we can workout together at home sometime?" He says into your hair, enjoying the feeling of you against him.

"I'd like that." You say into to knook of his neck.

A couple beats of silence goes by of you two just holding each other before he speaks again.

"You just said that you love me." He says pulling away slightly to look at you.

"I did, and yes, i did mean it." You were looking up unto his eyes enjoying this close intimacy that is only for you both to know about.

He moves a hand from your back to the back of your neck and pulls you in for the most amazing kiss you've ever had. It was slow and gentle but so full of passion and love. You separate but don't pull away completely, still holding each other close. "I love you, more than you know." He whispers against your lips.

You adore this side of him, the side that only the two of you know exists, the side of your relationship that only you two understand. It's out of the public eye, no pictures taken to capture the moment. It only lived on inside your shared memories together.

Gosh, all the feels for this man. I headcannon that he would crave this sort of soft intimacy from time to time. Bro istg I need me a man like this.

In any case I am back from my unintentional 3 month hiatus. I am so ready to write again, SFW and NSFW so if you would like to request my inbox is always available. And for those who have requested while I was away I'll be going through and pumping out content from there during the next few days.

May the next good dick you receive also be attached to a good man 🙏♡

#bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo mha #alpha and omega #abo dynamics #a/b/o #alpha beta omega #a/b/o verse headcanon #bakugou angst

[kairiscorner]

imagine playing with the miggy doll you made in the previous part in front of miguel, like

a/n: gets a little suggestive in the end...? idk, just don't flag this shit please 😭

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

"isn't he just a grumpy one today?" you asked the miggy doll you made in a voice that imitated a parent cooing to an upset toddler. you waved him around a little and made him stomp on your desk in an agitated manner. 'grr, i hate everything that is fun, nice, and wonderful in the world!' you made him say as you manipulated him to kick up your papers and topple over a few pens on the desk as you groaned a little at the doll's outburst which was pretty much you mockingly impersonating miguel.

"but miggyyyyy..." you whined to the doll as you made it face you abruptly and shake still. 'what!' you exclaimed in a gruff, poor imitation of the real miguel. you gave the miggy doll the sweetest doe eyes you could ever muster–the kind that you've never shown anyone, not even the real miguel–and you bat your eyelashes at the doll, which gazed lifelessly back into your own gleaming eyes. "i thought we agreed you'd put a stop to the grumpiness when i'm around... i thought a good miggy never lies." you reasoned with the inanimate doll, which you manipulated to put in a thinking position, since you went the extra mile and gave him 360 moving joints to make him more expressive.

'i told you, i get grumpy around pretty people! they're my weakness! they're just too freaking pretty for my tight ass to handle! hmph!' you made him exclaim and crossed his arms over his chest in a stiff way, for even fine 3d printed dolls with 360 movable joints still looked less human than real ones. thank goodness, though, they're not made of cellulite.

you huffed at the miggy doll and turned its head around with your finger, and the doll's head followed suit. "would you still be mad at a pretty person who's actually in love with you?" you teased at the very nonliving doll, which you integrated a 'flustered' feature on. at the push of a button, the doll would change its expression into one of bashfulness. 'what, uh, um... maybe not!' you made him say, which made you giggle, dreaming this was the real miguel–flustered in front of you as you teased him relentlessly.

as you continued playing with the doll, you suddenly noticed a large shadow looming over your figure. before you could even get his name out, he did it for you. "that doll again, that... miggy doll again, was it?" asked a fluid, authoritative voice that made you shudder. you turned in your computer seat slowly, facing his chest and abdomen that met your line of vision from where you sat, while his real face gazed down at you.

"hi miggy." you said with a wide, awkward smile as he looked at you in your petrified state, and at the miggy doll that was inexplicably embarrassed and flustered in the face. "so, what have you been up to with the little version of me, hmm?" he questioned you as he moved forward, then crouching down to meet your gaze, so you two were face to face.

you felt a little hotter when he got closer, and you avoided looking into his eyes at the moment, darting your eyes from one side of the room to the other. "oh, psh, nothing..." you lied, which didn't convince miguel in the slightest, but he decided to indulge you in your little lie. he raised and eyebrow. "so, you telling the doll me that you loved me was not in any way influenced by what you feel for me in the real world, is that right?" he asked with a sort of sultry tone in his voice when he asked you that very last word.

you got a little flustered when he asked that, mimicking the image of the miggy doll you had right then and there. you chuckled nervously as you fidgeted with the miggy doll in your hand for a bit. "whaaaat? i love the miggy? no! no, i... i never said that! who would ever, hah, who would ever tell a doll they love it? it's a doll!" you tried to worm your way out of that when miguel placed his fingers underneath your chin and tilted your head slightly, in the way you did with your miggy doll, and made you face him. "but it looks like me, and dare i say, it's pretty damn accurate, scary accurate to what i look like. if you love that doll..." he trailed off as he inched his face closer to you, his breath hot on your face as he neared you, his nose gently brushing against yours. "...why not love me, hmm? i'm the real miggy, in the flesh. if you love him, why not me?" he asked, which made you gasp at how close he really was, how intense his gaze was–how gentle he held you, despite still keeping you in place with his dominating aura.

"so pretty, like a doll, you are... i still haven't gotten that doll version of you yet. to think of all the things i could play with them... oh, but i'll always save the best ones for you." he said as he moved his lips closer to your ear, softly kissing it a little as he began to whisper, "i'd always play the best games with you. we're each other's favorite playthings, no?"

a/n: HEHE ENDING IT HERE, ANYWAY I WANT A MIGGY DOLL NOW 😠😠😠💢💢💢

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #barbie #miguel o'hara fluff #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #atsv #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv fluff #basically ah yes me my partner and their 3d printed miggy doll

[fakeversacepurse]

Since you started gaining, you've consistently gained 10-13 lbs a month. That's at least 35,000 in excess calories. And you don't seem like you can slow down. You've been holding back for so long, and now you're insatiable.

At this rate, you'll hit 300lbs in July, maybe even sooner. Can you imagine? Eating yourself into morbid obesity in less than a year. Cellulite-covered thighs, red stretchmarks from gaining so much so quickly, outgrown clothes, a belly that pushes your legs apart when you sit, rolls, a double chin. Fat.

You're fat now, but you're only going to get fatter. You won't ever be this small again.

the speed of my gain honestly floored me bc yeah I eat a lot but I didn’t realise it was that much until the numbers started skyrocketing.

I have accepted my fate of 300 by the end of this year at least but knowing it could be so soon is scary..

#fvasks #gaining fat

[peeves-gurl]

Thighs

Fred Weasley × BigThigh! Female

i literally have no idea where this is coming from after a year of writing nothing.

Summary: She hates her thighs, but her boyfriend loves them, and he wants to make sure she knows.

Warnings: established relationship, self hate, body dismorphia, lots of fluff, pet names (sweetheart/baby/darling/ love), mention of pregnancy, 18+ MDNI!!

FEMALE CHARACTER HAS NO NAME, AND NO SPECIFIC SKIN/EYE/HAIR COLOUR (partly because i couldn't make my brain come up with so many details😭)

smut: oral fem recieving, thigh fucking, face sitting, unprotected p in v, praise, body worship, hickeys? idk

She looked at herself in the mirror, light makeup highlighting her features beautifully. The thin straps of the sundress hanging across her shoulders, the top resting just above her bust, not exposing much, but not showing anything either. The fabric was a light powder blue with tiny flowers along its length, and it hugged her figure perfectly. It was the perfect summer dress, upto her mid thigh.

She looked alright in her opinion, good even, but for her thighs. They were too thick, with too many stretch marks. The cellulite was dimpled and heavy, and jiggled with each movement of hers, and it truly disgusted her with herself. She was okay with her body, and honestly thought she was attractive when she was dressed well, like today, but her thighs were always the problem.

Gritting her teeth in annoyance, she flung open the door of her wardrobe that she shared with Fred, and picked out a different dress. It was a pale pink one, loose and long, and extended beyond her knees, hiding her biggest insecurity. Still slightly grumpy, she completed the finishing touches to her look, when she heard her boyfriend's voice from the door.

"You ready love?" Fred called out, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yeah. All done." She smiled, grabbing her purse and slipping on her sandals, before walking towards the handsome man. He was dressed in a white tank top vest and blue jeans, and a blue and white floral shirt wrapped around his broad shoulders, completing the summery look.

Fred held out his hand to her, and she delicately placed her much smaller one into his, and he gently pulled her closer to himself. Placing a tender kiss on his lips, she smiled up at him, admiring his beautiful eyes and perfect freckles and his signature Weasley hair that she loved so much.

Fred's eyes trailed down her body in admiration, before he turned back to meet her eyes with a puzzled look.

"You didn't wear that dress?" He asked sincerely, hoping to finally see her in it since she had been so happy buying it weeks ago.

"Not in the mood." She lied, and he nodded convincingly, though he was anything but convinced by her answer.

"Gorgeous, never the less," he said, complimenting her as he always did.

"You more," she smiled, kissing his cheek.

Since buying the dress, it was the only thing that she had talked about. She gushed over how her bag and sandals went perfectly with it, and how she'd style her hair whenever she'd get the chance to wear it. And now, she stood there, wearing something else, and Fred was sure there was more to it than she was showing.

They hurriedly locked their place and apparated to their destination, Lee Jordan's housewarming party. It was just a close knit celebration that he and his girlfriend, Andrea, were hosting together, since moving into their first appartment in London.

She blended quickly among the known faces, smiling and chatting with all their old friends and then joining Andrea and Angelina in a small tour of the appartment. The entire party then ended up in the living room, and she, along with Fred, George and Angelina hopped around their circle, enjoying the little reunion they were having with the entire gang from Hogwarts.

Fred couldn't help but look at her. He always thought her to be the most beautiful woman in the world, and himself to be the luckiest man in the world, to be able to call her his girlfriend. He loved looking at her hair, her soft makeup and her smile, but today it wasn't as big as it always was, and he knew it wasn't as real, and it physically hurt him to not know the reason for it. He was sure it had something to do with her dress, because every time someone complimented her tonight, there seemed to be a bit of hesitation before she uttered her usual 'thank you'.

She'd been saving it up for some 'special occasion', and as soon as Lee had called to extend an invitation to the party, she had been delighted at the idea of getting to wear it the way she had wanted. Fred was happy that she was happy, and now she wasn't, and he didn't know why.

It was nearly midnight when the party ended, and Fred and George finally bid goodbye, ready with their plan to spend the next day together at their shop, as per usual. She hugged Angelina, and then got hold of Fred's hand and apparated them back to their front door. Fred unlocked it and hung the keys in their spot as she headed back to their room to change into her pajamas. The feeling of her thighs touching each other under the dress made her want to throw up. She felt disgusting in her body and she just wanted to cover herself from head to toe and bury herself quietly into the blankets.

Her expression must have given it away, because Fred walked into the room right as she took out her pajamas.

"Hey," whisper into her ear, kissing her neck softly, and his hands circled her waist. "Don't change just yet, love. I haven't had the chance to admire you properly tonight."

"The dress is a bit uncomfortable", she replied, trying to stop her voice from breaking.

"Just a few minutes, please?" He requested, and she complied, twisting around in his arms to finally face him. His eyes were so full of love for her that it nearly made her cry, and when he leaned down to press his lips to hers, a stray tear managed to find its way down her cheek.

"Baby what's wrong?" He asked, gently wiping the tear away.

"Nothing, just tired," she lied.

"Why didn't you wear that dress today?" He asked again, and she repeated her previous answer of not being in the mood to wear it.

"Don't lie to me," he condemned softly, and she knew she was caught. "Tell me love, why didn't you wear it?"

The singular tear that had made its way out of her eyes was now followed by many more, and before she knew, she was a sobbing mess in front of her boyfriend. Fred pulled her into himself and comforted her, his hands gliding over her back and just letting her know that he was there, and he would be there forever.

When she had finally calmed down, Fred gently guided her over to their bed, and sat down, as she stood before him with puffy and swollen eyes. He slowly pulled her onto himself, making her straddle his lap and resting his hands across her back.

"What's the matter Princess?" he coaxed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It's something about that dress isn't it?"

She breathed in deeply, contemplating weather she should tell him or not. Of course she can tell him, he's Freddie, her Freddie, and he'd always understand.

"Ihatemythighs" she blurted out in a single breath, only to find Fred looking down at her, amused.

"Try saying that slower baby? I'm not that smart," he joked, earning a small smile.

"I hate my thighs," she said finally. "They're fat and ugly and they move around a lot, and that dress reveals them too much."

"Don't say that darling!" Fred said seriously, upset over what she'd just said about herself. "I've seen you try that dress on and you looked gorgeous!"

"Those trial room lights make everything look good, but I look horrid in that dress." She said.

"Do not say that about yourself," Fred scolded. "You're the most beautiful woman I've seen, with the most beautiful body and the most beautiful thighs. I won't hear anyone talk like that about you, even if you're the one saying it."

"You'd obviously say that, you're my boyfriend," she reasoned.

"I'm not lying sweetheart, I swear. You don't have to be insecure about anything." He said, only to be matched with a blank look from her.

"You don't believe me." He stated in disappointment, settling his hands over her thighs, through her dress, his fingers steadily moving towards the hem. "Can I?" He asked cautiously, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable. She took a deep breath before nodding, allowing him to flip it up and run his fingers on the smooth skin.

"I love you. Every thing about you is perfect. You've got the most beautiful face, and I can't stop looking at it. Your eyes, your lips, your cute button nose," he said, leaning in to peck it. "I love your hair, and you look gorgeous when you leave it down. I love your neck, and that tiny freckle on your collarbone." He buried his nose at the base of her neck, breathing her scent, and nibbling gently.

"I love your boobs, and I can't stop thinking about them when you're not around, and your bum too," he smiled cheekily as his hands trailed up her thighs to gently squeeze her ass, and then returned to their previous place. "I love your arms, the way they wrap around my neck when I kiss you. And those damn hands, those fingers, could very well be the death of me." He smiled, kissing her exposed shoulder, and then her upper arm a few times.

"And your stomach is so soft darling. I love just looking at it, thinking if someday you'd let me put a baby in there?" He smiled, earning back a smile and a nod from her. "Your pussy, baby. I'm not even going to say anything, because you know she's better than drugs. And I love your legs, especially when you show them off in pretty skirts and dresses. I love it when you wrap them around me and pull me closer when I make love to you."

"So pretty," he whispered, caressing her thighs, barely audible. "Such beautiful thighs baby, so soft. I want to bury myself into them right fucking now."

"Freddie, please" she whispered back, not even sure what she was pleading for.

"Can I baby? Please?" He said, running his fingers over the smooth skin, and she nodded without thinking.

Fred's arms looped around her back, holding her tight to himself as he stood up and turned them around. He gently lay her down on the bed and got on between her legs. Leaning down to kiss her deeply, he whispered praises to her, making her feel so loved.

He kissed her neck and collarbone, leaving a few stray hickeys, and then pushed the straps of her dress aside to show the same love to her shoulders. Looking up at her for confirmation, he slipped her dress off her body and tossed it away in the room.

She was there now, in nothing but a pair of panties, and she could feel her usual confidence seep back into her body. She reached for Fred and pulled him back in, kissing him passionately and lovingly. Her hands fisted his shirt and pulled it off him, soon followed by his tank top vest, leaving his torso as bare as hers.

"Hmm that's how I like it," he encouraged into the kiss. Soon enough, he moved to her breasts, biting and sucking, and the room was filled with her moans. He kissed his way down to her panties, and she lifted her hips to let him pull them down. He placed her legs over his shoulders, and she shut her eyes in anticipation.

Instead of going right to her clit, he began to kiss and caress her thighs. "They're so pretty sweetheart. Why would you ever dislike them?" He whispered, teasing the skin with his teeth. He licked up the length of her left thigh, but stopped short of where she needed him. He began to suck and nibble the flesh there, drawing moan after moan from her throat. Soon enough, he was repeating his actions on her right thigh, and she was getting hornier by the minute.

Finally, his tongue reached where she wanted, and her eyes rolled back into her head at the feeling. Her fingers found themselves intertwined in his hair, pulling and tugging each time he did something more pleasurable than he'd done previously. Her walls had began to clench around nothing, and the pleasure she felt was too much to hold back. She was so close to her climax, moaning Fred's name, at the edge of bursting, when Fred stopped his actions and pulled away. Groaning, she sat up to face him, as he smiled through his slick covered lips.

"Sit on my face," he demanded with a grin.

"What? No." She said breathlessly.

"Please baby, it's not something that we haven't done before," he reasoned.

"But my thighs are really big and you..."

"No buts, come on!" He said, lying flat on his back, waiting for her to climb onto him.

Still not very sure of the idea, she positioned herself, but didn't put any weight on him, choosing to hover over his face instead. A blush crept up her neck and made its way to her face at being so spread out in front of him.

Fred smiled and licked a stripe from her entrance to her clit, and her head hung back at the feeling, as he picked up right where he had left off. Seeing her pleasure, his hands caressed her ass, before he pulled her onto himself entirely. He moaned at the feeling of being between her thighs, and began eating her out with even more enthusiasm than before.

She was so lost in her pleasure that she forgot her insecurity and began grinding down his face once his tongue entered her, and her moans were reciprocated with his own. She was coming in mere minutes, and it was probably the one of the best orgasms she'd had.

As she came down from her high, she shifted back from his face, sitting on Fred's chest now. His eyes were drowsy and his face was covered in her slick, as he smiled up at her. She immediately felt something hard behind herself and instantly reached her hand out, unzipping his jeans and letting her hand slide under the waistband of his boxers to reach his dick. Fred groaned in pleasure when her hand brushed against his sensitive tip, and instinctively jerked his hips forward.

"Don't," he grunted, almost sounding pained. "I won't be able to hold it in."

"Then don't hold it in, Freddie." She smiled, leaning down to kiss him, moaning at her own taste all over his mouth. She quickly whispered a soft "I love you," only for him to hear.

"Want to fuck you baby," he said. "Please."

She let go of him at his request, and climbed off him. Her hands busied themselves with getting rid of his jeans and boxers, as he lay on the bed watching her. As soon as he was completely undressed, he sat up, and then proceeded to get off the bed, much to her confusion. He walked over to ger dresser, hurriedly tossing everything off it onto the chair next to it. He came back towards her then, offering his hand to her, and she took it, following him off the bed.

"Going to fuck your thighs today, baby." He declared, "Need you to know how much I love them. Is that okay?"

She nodded, letting him sit on the sturdy wooden table, with his back against the mirror, and stood right between his legs. One of his hands rested on her waist as he finally took his length in the other and guided it to her slit, rubbing it through her wetness and letting his head fall back against the mirror in pleasure. She had enough of his teasing now, so she quickly took matters into her own hands. Her fingers pulled away his own from his dick, and she wrapped her palm around him now. He let her take the lead, both his hands clutching onto her waist, and holding her in place. Spreading her hickey covered thighs a little, she guided his tip through the gap. He thrusted forward in relief, and he brushed perfectly against her clit, giving her just as much pleasure as him. His head now rested on her shoulder, and his moans went straight into her ears, turning her into a complete mess.

It was slow at first, since they had never tried this before, but once the pleasure built up, Fred's thrusts became more confident and sure, until he was close enough for them to become sloppy once more. She was just as close, her clit throbbing with each stroke against it.

"I'm so close baby," he whispered hoarsely. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside Freddie, please!" She replied, barely able to keep her eyes open. He immediately pulled her onto himself and she was straddling his lap now, her hand guiding his tip into her warmth. She sat down as soon as the tip was inside, completely sheathing him, and burying her face into his chest.

"So warm love. So good." He moaned, thrusting up into her mercilessly.

"You're so big Freddie. Could never get used to you," she said back in her state of complete haze. Her walls fluttered around him, and he connected their lips, his tongue intertwined hers as she came hard. Fred followed seconds later, his moans swallowed by her as their lips remained connected, and his warmth coated her insides.

She once again buried herself into his chest as they stilled, her arms in their rightful place around him, and his softening dick still inside her. He held her close to himself, warm breath fanning her back as his head rested on her shoulder.

"Baby?" He whispered after a few moments of silence, and his voice was laced with his usual mischief.

"Hmm?"

"Do you like your thighs yet? If not then I'd love to try again."

#fred and george #fred weasley #harry potter #weasley twins #fred wealsey fic #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfics #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fluff #fredweasley #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter smut

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

hi baby! im sure ure flooded with requests but ive been feeling really insecure ab my hip dips n stretch marks lately n ur writing really comforts me... so i was wondering if u could write smt ab dokyeom or anyone u want rlly! finding reader feeling bad ab their hip dips and stretchmarks and he comforts them? totally ur choice love u! ❤

oh girl i have had the WORLDS WORST body image week ever so this request hits difffffffffffffferent. i'm so happy to do that -- for both of us. warnings: female reader, body image issues are a major theme, descriptions of physical insecurities of the reader, mention of a doctor visit, and possibly a bit angsty with a happy ending

this is:

No Less a Goddess

"can i come to the gym with you?" you ask shyly, peeking around the corner at your boyfriend, who is changing into his shorts and tee to work out.

"huh?" seokmin asks, whirling to look at you with his arms in the sleeves of his shirt, having been interrupted in pulling it over his head. "you've never asked before! i'd love to have you come along!"

"what do i wear?" you ask, unable to keep from smiling at his enthusiasm.

"anything you want!" he says. "just make sure it's easy to move in."

about fifteen minutes later, the two of you are walking down the stairs to the gym in your shared apartment complex, hand in hand. seokmin's sunny smile and idle chatter is almost enough to distract you from the growing knot of discomfort in your stomach.

sure enough, the second you walk in, you notice a woman running on the treadmill. her short shorts and sports bra are stylishly coordinated, at a stark contrast to your ratty gray sweatpants and ugly oversized tee. her legs are muscular, and you can't see a single ounce of fat on her. you swallow hard and try to pay attention to seokmin instead, who is excitedly showing you around. "and this is where i painstakingly grew the arms you have come to know and love," he's saying, pointing at the barbells. "you should say thank you."

"i appreciate your service," you say with a small salute, and seokmin chuckles.

"so, what are your fitness goals?" seokmin asks, shrugging off his jacket.

you have to appreciate how the gray tee hugs the contours of his body, so you just say, "i just want to be a part of whatever it is you've got going on." which makes him beam.

you join seokmin for leg day. surprisingly, you're amazed by how much you're actually able to do -- apparently years of working on your feet has paid off, and while you're not perfect, you can mostly keep up with your very athletic boyfriend. it's actually kind of fun, too, which is no surprise -- seokmin makes everything fun.

but in the back of your mind, you're still thinking about that woman on the treadmill. seokmin is the most loyal man you know, and the idea of him cheating on you is actually laughable, but you can't help but compare yourself to her. that's the kind of person he deserves, you think to yourself. not a slob like me.

it had been a bad week for your body image. earlier on, you'd had to go to the urgent care for a bad case of pink eye, and the doctor had announced your weight to you out loud, which honestly felt like cruel and unusual punishment, especially given that it was the heaviest you'd ever been. the sting was only exacerbated when you went shopping for a few new outfits for a cruise you were taking next month with seokmin. your love handles, your thick thighs covered in stretch marks and cellulite, your hip dips -- all these insecurities you'd always had seemed to zoom into the forefront of your mind and start yelling at you.

you hadn't yet confided in seokmin, because you knew exactly how he'd react. but it becomes impossible not to tell him when, post-gym and post-shower, he corners you in the bedroom and sits you firmly down on the mattress. "something's up," he insists. "what's wrong?"

"i'm feeling insecure," you admit, avoiding his gaze.

"about what?" he asks.

"have you noticed i've gained weight?" you ask in a small voice.

"no," he responds, confused. "is that what this is about?"

"at the doctor's office," you continue softly, "i found out i'm the heaviest i've ever been." you take a shuddering breath. "and i'm getting more and more stretch marks. and i just feel like you're so out of my league. i mean, look at you." you gesture to him in all his freshly showered glory.

seokmin just blinks. "well? do you have anything to say?" you ask him, feeling a little hurt at his lack of response.

he hesitates. "well, i'm not sure what to say," he says slowly.

"well, thanks," you say, standing up and stalking out of the room. "super helpful, babe."

"no, wait! come back!" seokmin says, sounding panicked. "let me finish."

"oh, was there more?" you shoot at him. "because your silence was really loud."

he sighs. "honey, i understand you're feeling upset and i get it, i really do. but you have to let me finish talking."

his patient tone of voice grates at your already frayed nerves, but you bite your tongue and sit back down on the bed. this is seokmin, you remind yourself. seokmin, the kindest person alive. seokmin, who never meant to hurt you even when he did. and seokmin, who always made things right.

he reaches over and grabs your hand. "it's hard for me to respond to that because to me, you're perfect," he begins. you scoff, and he squeezes your hand. "hear me out," he implores.

you sigh but finally turn to look him in the eyes. he gives a small smile before starting again, playing absently with your fingers. "your body is ..." he says, and trails off, his eyes devouring you hungrily. he finally shakes himself back to normal and continues. "ugh. i'm gonna get distracted if i go into more detail, but let's just say i'm more attracted to you now than i ever have been, and that's saying something." he laughs quietly. "it's hard for me to understand the insecurities because to me, you're a goddess."

"okay," you say hesitantly. "but that doesn't make them any less real."

"no, i know," seokmin agrees. "so i guess what i should've said is that... i'm really sorry you can't see yourself like i do right now. and i will do whatever it takes to remind you that no matter how things change, or how you change, i fell in love with you for so much more than just your body. and that's one thing that's never changing," he finishes.

you study him with a stony face for a moment. "okay, that was pretty good," you admit, finally cracking a smile.

"was it?" he asks.

"and you should be rewarded," you continue, sliding closer to him on the bed in the most suggestive way you can muster.

he blushes. "well...i'll never say no to that," he agrees, pulling you closer to him for a kiss.

#anon ask #anon request #seokmin fanfic #seokmin fluff #seokmin x reader #lee seokmin #seokmin svt #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen fic #seventeen #svt fic #svt #svt x reader #svt fluff

[adore-laur]

BEAUTY

— harry & nadine’s meet-cute — it’s kinda all over the place but whatever 🕊️

——

SIX YEARS AGO

Grey skies loomed over Loire Valley with the promise of an April rainstorm. The slow-moving river snaked through the scenic countryside and stretched beyond what the human eye could see. Trees rustled in a favorable breeze, stirring up aromas from nearby fruit orchids. Firecrests and turtle doves chirped in the distance, signaling the start of spring.

Nadine savored it all while crossing the bridge on her Beaumont bicycle. In the front wicker basket was her canvas tote bag containing her Kodak camera protectively wrapped in a pillowcase, a serving of fresh tapioca pudding she had impulsively purchased from the local farmer's market, and an unknown flower she had found under the oak tree in her backyard. Her yellow rain poncho crinkled as she pedaled vigorously to get to her destination before the clouds burst. The scrape on her knee she had gotten from falling off her bike in the gravel driveway dully ached. Maybe the rain would wash away the dried blood.

The Domaine de Chaumont-sur-Loire opened its annual International Garden Festival that morning, which Nadine wouldn't have missed for the world. It resurfaced fond childhood memories of strolling through the enriching gardens with her family and getting lost in the creative landscapes showcased by landscapers, architects, and photographers far and wide.

Nadine planned to take modeling photos to build her portfolio. As a curvy girl with distinct ethnic features, getting her foot in the door had been challenging, but the alluring backdrop of the gardens would make her stand out. The theme was Gardens of Sensations.

In the past, it had been no easy feat to try to photograph herself with her less-than-adequate camera and awkward self-direction. However, she prepared to make these sacrifices for a prosperous career. Loire Valley only had one modeling agency, which meant she had to start somewhere small and cheap before traveling north to Paris for more lavish opportunities.

To earn a living, Nadine provided housekeeping services for surrounding chateaus. The work was rewarding, but it did not spark any passion for her. As a young girl, she had been fascinated by the aesthetic of posing in different environments and making fashion statements after seeing magazine spreads of French models strutting down the catwalk. But she had never been able to imagine herself in their shoes—literally and figuratively. Those six-inch heels seemed killer. With her thick eyebrows, pesky cellulite, and blemished skin, she had been the complete opposite of what model scouts sought.

Once Nadine became wiser over the years, she knew her worth. Her natural beauty just needed to be highlighted by the right scenery and clothing.

When she arrived at the festival, she locked her bike on a rack and slung her tote bag over her shoulder. The historical Chateau-de-Chaumont on the sprawling lawn caused her to stop and stare for a moment. It was grand and beautiful, just as she remembered. Her newfangled perspective left her wondering what inspiration she would discover.

After buying an admission ticket, she walked under the arch of the chateau to reach the garden path weaving through twenty-one hectares of artistic garden exhibits. Each display differed depending on where the landscaper originally hailed from, like Japan, Korea, Great Britain, and many other countries. Among the trees was a greenhouse kitchen where vegetables were grown and offered to visitors. Nadine remembered eating juicy little tomatoes there as a teenager—they were called 'the nipples of Venus.' The memory made her smile faintly.

She glanced around for a pretty scene to photograph herself in just as the rain began to sprinkle. Shivering, she pulled the hood of her poncho over her head. Maybe today wasn’t the best day to embark on a modeling adventure. Maybe she should have turned around and gone home.

But further in the gardens, Nadine stumbled upon a peculiar situation. An exhibition was still being set up, nestled in an opening surrounded by greenery like a secret oasis. Landscapers worked diligently to put the finishing touches on it. They removed leaves and branches from the water with pool skimmers. Their work had been delayed by the unpredictable climate in central France. It was a blessing the rain did not fall much through the canopy of trees above.

There was a rectangular vat of water with a wooden path winding through it, similar to a Candyland board. Red bamboo canes stood tall around it, hugging it with vibrant color. There was something simple yet entrancing about it, and she was drawn to the energy of tranquility that called to her.

Nadine slowly approached, trying to act invisible so as not to disturb them. She would wait until they were done before taking photos. Perhaps sitting on the path and posing near the bamboo would be adequate. Yes, that would be a fantastic shot. Unique, too, which was what she was striving for.

Her childlike wonder pushed her closer until her attention snagged on something else. Something a little more... intriguing.

A man stood waist-deep in the water, rearranging bamboo with sedulous care, his bare back turned to her. He had the most muscular, contoured back Nadine had ever seen in her life. It was sculpted in a way that captured her gaze, but she should not have been surprised. He was some sort of landscaper, which was a labor-intensive job. His tendons were surely robust. Sacré bleu, why was she thinking about his tendons?

She snapped out of her man-induced hypnosis. She had a job to get done. Her future was at stake! With that thought, she unwrapped her camera from its cocoon just as a couple of landscapers brushed past her with plastic buckets, paying no mind to her lingering presence. She must have looked like a mere tourist.

Nadine delicately cleared her throat in an attempt to catch the attention of the man with the beautiful back. He was the only one still tending to the exhibit and did not seem to hear her.

"Excusez-moi?" she said, removing her hood to appear more approachable.

The man's large hands, which were also gorgeously sculpted, halted around the lithe bamboo sticks. His face turned before his body did and— goodness gracious. Oh wow. He was pleasing. To look at, she meant. His foreign face was a masterpiece of symmetry. While he did not look French, remnants of European features still adorned his face. A well-chiseled bone structure and an elegant straight nose. Pink lips that were parted. A firm chest with a ridged midsection. Disheveled, rain-soaked hair. A pair of soulful green eyes stared intently at her.

"Bonjour," he replied, sounding perplexed.

Nadine's gaze desperately wanted to wander south again, but she remained strong. "Is this exhibit open to visitors?" she asked.

He regarded her for longer than normal—not scrutinizingly, but rather in a mystified manner. "Yes. My apologies, I was just perfecting a few details."

"I did not mean to intrude. I—" She paused and searched for the proper words. "Well, I was hoping to take pictures for my portfolio here."

"Your portfolio?" he echoed.

Nodding, Nadine nervously tucked her damp hair behind her ears. "For modeling. I am broadening my use of compelling backdrops, and this festival has plenty of them." She waved a hand, the flourishing nature around them not needing further explanation. "Anyway, this particular exhibit caught my eye. Would it be possible for me to take some pictures?"

The man glanced behind her, his brows furrowing. "Where is your photographer?"

"I... do not have one," she said shyly. "I place my camera on a flat surface and set the timer."

It was far too expensive to hire an entire crew for a photoshoot. She would have rather saved money by gaining hands-free experience herself. Besides, people in the modeling industry admired humble beginnings. She was building herself from the ground up.

"Would you like some assistance?" he asked, raindrops gently falling from his chin. Nadine detected a lilted British accent.

"Oh, I do not want to be a nuisance," she said. "I’m sure you are busy."

He walked to the edge closest to her and shook his head, a handsome smile pulling at his lips. "No, not anymore."

Thrilled, Nadine's heartbeat pounded like a stampede of animals. "All right, then."

It was an unexpected turn of events. As far as she was concerned, she had not expected to meet someone as generous as this man. She hadn't expected much of anything out of today since the weather put a damper on her mood, and her dreams often felt unobtainable.

"What's your name?"

Handing over her camera, she answered, "Nadine."

"I'm Harry," he said. "I'm a landscape architect, which might not help your situation, but I did get a passing grade in a college-level photography class. Is that good enough?"

"I don't know," she countered playfully. "I might interpret a passing grade differently from you."

He laughed, his nose scrunching. "B-minus."

She pretended to mull it over before saying, "I will accept that."

"Merci." He sat on the wooden path. "So, do you have any specific ideas in mind for the photoshoot?"

"I know I want to be a part of nature. Close-up shots are preferred. And..." Nadine looked at the exhibit, pondering. "Am I allowed to go in the water?"

"I don't see why not."

"Will I get into trouble? I couldn't stand being banned from this place."

While fidgeting with her camera, Harry said, "This is my exhibit."

This had been designed by him? It was highly impressive, and it made her feel better knowing a person with a meticulous brain and a keen eye for design was helping her. It was also attractive knowing he had constructed it with his bare hands. Did his fingers have calluses? Were there blood, sweat, and tears involved? No, do not think about him sweating!

"You're letting a stranger interfere with your creation?" she asked, willing away the heat rushing up her neck.

As Harry raised the camera to his eye and pointed it at random things, seemingly testing its functionality, he murmured, "You would be adding beauty to it."

In the middle of removing her sandals and poncho, Nadine’s breath hitched. It was quite bold of him to make such a statement. She had to tread carefully around this male enigma. She was there for business and business only.

"Hop in," Harry said. "The water is heated."

She felt vulnerable in her white camisole and brown corduroy maxi skirt. Her curves were accentuated by the spring breeze blowing the fabric. Her feet sank into the dirt. To remain true to the theme of nature and its rawness, she had opted not to wear any makeup.

Shimmying down her skirt and letting it pool on the ground, she revealed her beige underwear. Without saying a word, the mood turned intimate.

While she dipped one leg into the water, Harry's gentlemanly gaze remained fixed on her face. He was right—it was a glorious temperature, like sinking into a lukewarm bath after a long day. She was submerged up to her rib cage.

"Are you new to Loire Valley?" Nadine asked, curious about how this beautiful man showed up in her hometown.

"I live in England. I was invited to this festival to create a United Kingdom exhibit."

"Ah, oui. It must be such an honor. Do you like it here so far?"

Harry nodded. "It's gorgeous. The architecture is brilliant."

"I hope the sheer amount of chateaus we have is not overwhelming,” Nadine said, slicking her hair back with wet palms.

He chuckled and stood up. "Shall we get started?"

Nadine leaned against the edge of the vat, swaying trees and clusters of red bamboo behind her. She settled her expression into her "model face", which was basically just her looking slightly pissed off at something but in a sexy way. With her chin tilted up, she showed off her sharp jaw and neck muscles.

Harry knelt on the wood and held the camera steadily. Leaning forward, he zoomed in at a low angle. There was a look of concentration on his face, and she felt elated that he was so serious about assisting her.

The shutter clicked a few times. By moving her face just a smidge, she subtly posed. It all was natural to her once she was in the moment—it was like breathing. She loved immersing herself in working the camera to her advantage. She made it her best friend.

"Regardez-moi," Harry murmured, sending a delightful shiver down Nadine’s spine. She looked at him with her lips pursed attractively, and he snapped more photos. "Parfaite."

"You speak very good French."

Still adorably focused on his task, he hummed. "I studied architecture at Versailles and took French classes. It's a romantic language."

"I agree." She switched her pose by spreading her arms in the water and trying to smize, as invented by Tyra Banks.

To get the best angles, Harry contorted his body in semi-ridiculous ways. He then got in the water and stood near her. Nadine’s heart rate spiked. He was even more ethereal up close. There was a gentleness to his presence, and she was undeniably attracted to it.

"What do you call an angry French aunt?" Harry asked, setting up a joke.

"Oh, boy. What?"

"A crossaunt."

Nadine let an endeared giggle escape. Slowly lowering the camera, Harry stared at her in awe. His smile was stuck in place as if making her laugh stopped time.

"Fossetes," he whispered. Dimples.

A powerful blush expanded across her face and spread to her chest. Suddenly, her smile turned shy. She had never experienced such attention from a man before. The feeling was both daunting and exhilarating.

Water sluiced down Nadine's body when she stood at her full height. "Thank you for doing this," she said, her voice weak.

"It was my pleasure,” Harry replied. “You made my job easy."

She was going to burst into flames if she kept blushing. "Can I repay the favor in any way?"

His lips quirked to the side as he hummed thoughtfully. "What are your plans for next weekend?" he asked.

"I will most likely be back here again."

"As will I."

"So...” Nadine chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I will see you then?"

"Absolutely." He cleared his throat and held her gaze. "I was wondering if you would fancy doing something with me afterward. We could visit all the farmer's markets. Perhaps stroll along the river at sunset. You could show me your favorite spots and tell me why you love them."

Nadine inhaled a little gasp. If he wanted to spend an evening together, he had surely felt the connection too. It was palpable, hanging thickly in the air like a storm cloud. She could feel the electrical charge with just a single glance. It was definitely worth exploring.

"Unless you're taken,” Harry added uncertainly, combing a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I should have asked first. I just find you so pretty, and you have a lovely laugh." He paused briefly, glimpsing at her lips. "I'd love to hear more of it."

She walked toward him with her pulse going haywire. Her hands cradled his face, and she softly kissed his clean-shaven cheek. "I’m available."

"Oui?"

"Oui."

Harry's eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Splendid. I'm looking forward to it, dove."

Flutters of glee took flight in Nadine's stomach. She had been yearning for a serendipitous moment for ages. The prospect of being wanted always felt unreachable to her. No boys had ever decided she was worth a chance. Now, there was a glimmer of hope.

When Nadine arrived home later that evening, she perused through the pictures on her camera—there were at least fifty. Each one captured her in a certain light that had been unknown to her. Through the eyes of someone else, she found herself feeling desirable.

All thanks to the man with the beautiful back.

——

#harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #foxtail #harry and nadine #adore-laur

[genericpuff]

I was reading your essay on "fat" rep in LO and as woman who is overweight, maybe not but definitely chubby/pudgy and often getting shit for it by my family... Do we ever see Persephone with a not-flat stomach? Even just a little protruding, not necessarily round. Or a double chin? I know fat looks different on different people, but... To me that seems like a pretty obvious way for an artist to show their character is meant as fat rep. If Rachel actually wanted that, I mean.

There are definitely times Rachel tries to draw her "fat" but it feels so tone deaf because it's still just like... as I've mentioned in my essay about it, it's "Hollywood fat", i.e. the kind of belly pouch fat that many women have that's often painted as ugly even though it's very commonplace to have (because no person is entirely flat! we're humans, not planks of wood!) The problem is if you try to quantify as little amount of fat as possible as "fat representation", you can't really call it fat representation because it only represents people on the lower end of the spectrum of fat. Here's an example of what I mean when I tried to find that one specific image example I was thinking of that I had seen ages ago lmao (this isn't the one I was thinking of but it gets the same point across):

Yes, cartoon stylization is a thing, but watch out for the folks who say they can't draw fat people because "it wouldn't suit my style", it falls into the same type of excuse camp as Tim Burton saying black people wouldn't suit the "aesthetic" of his films. They actually could draw fat characters in their style, it's more likely they just don't want to (but don't want to admit to that).

And honestly, if someone just wants to stick to drawing characters of a specific race, body type, etc. that they're familiar with, that's not a crime in and of itself IMO, but don't claim that your work is representation for a group when it's really only carrying the bare minimum or if you're just forcing it for the sake of seeming progressive. That's pretty much where LO falls, its "fat representation" only represents the bare minimum of fat that doesn't apply to the people who are looking for legitimate fat rep in media. Sure, there will be people who will still connect with that body type, especially for people who have stretch marks or belly pouches, but can it really be called 'fat rep' on the whole when it's not going to connect with the people who are genuinely fat? I'm someone who's gone through weight gain and struggled with body image, while I can totally relate to the type of body Persephone has where she (sometimes) has a muffin top and cellulite on her legs, that doesn't make her "fat representation" as a whole because she doesn't represent the women who are genuinely fat beyond chubbiness or being "not flat".

All that aside, the only indications of Persephone being 'fat' are the odd panel where Rachel gives her a belly or "stretch marks" (tbh they look less like stretch marks and more like scars from a bear attack lol):

But then she'll also draw Persephone with a straight up bodybuilder torso and have her say outloud that she's "small-medium":

It all feels very tone deaf because it's Rachel trying to have her cake and eat it too - she wants to draw Persephone as her usual small cinnamon roll self who can be infantilized and fetishized by the men around her (which Rachel loves to write and draw btw) BUT she also wants to try and take credit for Persephone being "fat rep" so whenever she remembers to do so, she'll throw in her laziest attempts at making Persephone seem "fat" but really she's just the Hollywood version of "fat" by having a belly pouch and stretch marks that many women of varying sizes have regardless of weight changes. We can't even assume that she may have been fat at one point and lost the weight (leading to the stretch marks) because we've seen Persephone in basically all stages of her life from childhood to adulthood. She's always been itty bitty and her entire personality and relationship with Hades is written around that.

#ama #ask me anything #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus

[sanjisblackasswife]

I cannot tell 100% if ur ask box is open or not so if it is not feel free to ignore this please!!!

But if it is open! Could you write about luffy, shanks, and sanji reacting to their significant others stretchmarks on her upper thighs? I got like real bad ones RIGHT below my butt that go down a bit so now I don’t wear short skirts or short shorts :,)

Again feel free to ignore have a LOVELY day!!!

I always wanted stretch marks on my butt :(((( i have em on my inner thighs n chest. I FRIGGIN LOVE STRETCH MARKS. Especially on men😚😚 Dont be ashamed of them stripes babe theyre so beautiful:) anyways enjoy!

Them with a S/O That Has Stretch Marks (SFW-ISH)

Ft. Sanji, Luffy, Shanks

Black Fem Reader in Mind

CW: Reader is insecure, Shanks needs a leash, Sanji’s is suggestive, Mentions of Sex, uhhh yeah

Luffy

Physical “flaws” isn’t something he even notices on you. Small/saggy breasts? Okay? He still wanna squeeze. Cellulite? Who gives af he likes ‘em. Stretch marks though? He still dont care.

He doesn’t pay mind to stuff like that let alone question it. Luffy…Luffy just dont gaf man if he likes you he likes all of you.

If he peeps you being out right “i hate my stretch marks” or whatever he just wouldn’t understand why.

“They’re like smaller versions of the scars i have! I like em!”

Bless his heart he will always make you feel so loved about your stripes. He traces them alot when you let him lay on you and trace them with his finger as he talks to you about his goal and dream.

(Slightly NSFW) For some reason you speaking on your stretch mark insecurity was something he just couldn’t forget. He has forgotten many things you’ve told him; anniversary, birthday, hell even your name once but he never forgets to lick and kiss your marks and blemishes in appreciation before going down on you. His kisses are so slow and soft giving each of your “flaws” the right attention you damn near cried when he first did it because it felt so out of character for him.

Sanji

Bold of you to assume this man would love you any less because of that.

Sanji doesn’t care if you have stretchmarks, pigmentation, hairy, cellulite. Doesn’t matter he loves you so just believe it and move on

He noticed almost immediately what your insecurities were by the way you act when they’re mentioned and his assumptions were correct when you and him were about to take a shower together for the first time, but you wasn’t sure he’d like what he seen

“I just…have stretch marks all over and—“

He didn’t say much, he simply begins to slowly strip down your towel kissing your lips tenderly mumbling praises in between about your body.

“Your stretch marks were never an issue.”

If anything Sanji does in fact love your stretch marks. They were one of the first things he noticed (AND WAS INFATUATED WITH) when he seen them. He wanted nothing more than to trace his tongue on each one and leave a kiss. They’re normal to have what’s problem with them?

“Everything about you is nothing less than perfect you know.”

You felt a tinge of embarrassment feeling Sanji’s soft hands glide over your marked breast, butt, and thighs in the shower, but his neck kisses gave you a form of calmness you just couldn’t explain. Which he was grateful for when you told him that night as he massaged your body.

Shanks

He doesn’t give af about your insecurities and i say that in the most respectful way.

“Stretch marks? Thats a dumb thing to be upset over? Here. Look.”

He doesn’t give a shit because he also has them on his shoulders.

“See? They’re just things you get when your body grows, dummy. Now come here.”

Yeah he teases you a bit, but only about being ashamed of something you can’t necessarily help.

He makes you sit on his lap in front of the mirror and begins to grope you like the caveman he was

“You know how hot your tiger stripes look when i cum on your ass? Or these great tits—”

“SHANKS!?”

He laughs at your shyness,kissing your cheek to then move your face to look at you both in the mirror.

He doesn’t know where the animosity you have against them began but he doesn’t really care to know. The most he wants to do right now is make you forget about it.

“How about i spoil you tonight.” His fingers dancing on your clothed cunt under your skirt, making your back arch a little at how delicate his index and middle finger swirled in your clit,“I want to see every stretch mark you have.”

Shanks reminds you that night that he is with you because of you not because of your stretch marks.

#one piece #TimikosLuffy #TimikosSanji #TimikosShanks #one piece headcanons #black reader #one piece x female reader #sanji #sanjionepiece #sanji imagine #sanji x black reader #sanji x reader #one piece fluff #luffy x y/n #luffy headcanons #shanks headcanons #one piece x black!reader #black foot sanji #x female reader #female reader #one piece scenario #shanks x y/n #shanks fluff #shanks imagine #mugiwara no luffy #luffy x female reader #luffy x black reader #shanks x black reader

[haggishlyhagging]

Between 1984 and 1986, the number of liposuction operations rose 78 percent—but the procedure barely worked. Liposuction removed only one to two pounds of fat, had no mitigating effect on the unseemly "dimpling" effect of cellulite, and, in fact, often made it worse. The procedure also could produce permanent bagginess in the skin and edema, just two of the "variations from the ideal" that the plastic surgery society cataloged in its own report. Another "variation" on the list: "pain."

Furthermore, the plastic surgery society's survey of its members turned up several other unfortunate incidents. A liposuction patient lay down to have stomach fat removed and woke up with a perforated bowel and fecal matter leaking through the abdominal cavity. Three patients developed pulmonary infections and two had massive infections. Three suffered pulmonary fat embolism syndrome, a life-threatening condition in which fat can lodge in the heart, lungs, and eyes. And "numerous patients" required, as the survey delicately put it, "unplanned transfusions." On March 30, 1987, Patsy Howell died of massive infections three days after a liposuction operation performed by Dr. Hugo Ramirez, a gynecologist who ran a plastic surgery clinic in Pasadena, Texas. The same day Howell had her operation, Ramirez performed liposuction on Patricia Rogers; she also developed massive infections, was hospitalized in critical condition, and eventually had to have all her skin from below her chest to the top of her thighs removed.

Howell, a thirty-nine-year-old floral shop manager and the mother of two sons, submitted to liposuction to remove a small paunch on her five-foot-one frame. She weighed only 120 pounds. “This literature she got at a shopping mall said the procedure was so simple,” her friend Rheba Downey told a reporter. “She said, ‘Why not?’” She made up her mind after reading Ramirez's newspaper ad, calling the surgery "the revolutionary technique for reduction of fat without dieting." No one told her about the dangers. Ramirez operated on more than two hundred women, causing numerous injuries and two deaths before his license was finally revoked.

By 1987, only five years after the fat-scraping technique was introduced in the United States, the plastic surgery society had counted eleven deaths from liposuction. A 1988 congressional subcommittee placed the death toll at twenty. And the figure is probably higher, because patients' families are often reluctant to report that the cause of death is this "vanity" procedure. A woman in San Francisco, for example, who was not on the surgery society's or Congress's list, died in 1989 from an infection caused by liposuction to her stomach; the infection spread to her brain, her lungs collapsed, and she finally had a massive stroke. But her family was too ashamed about the procedure to bring it to public attention.

The society's 1987 report on liposuction, however, seemed less concerned with safety than with "the reputation of suction lipectomy," which its authors feared had been "marred by avoidable deaths and preventable complications." It concluded that all problems with liposuction could be easily solved with "guidelines governing who is permitted to perform and advertise surgical procedures." In other words, just get rid of the gynecologists and dermatologists and leave the surgery to them.

Yet some of the liposuction patients had died at the hands of plastic surgeons. And the most common cause of death was the release of fat emboli into the heart, lungs, and brain—a risk whenever inner layers of epidermis are scraped, no matter how proficient the scraper. As even the report acknowledged: "[Liposuction] is by its nature a tissue-crush phenomenon. Therefore, fat embolism is a realistic possibility."

Surgeons also marketed the injection of liquid silicone straight into the face. Vogue described it this way: "Plastic surgery used to be a dramatic process, but new techniques now allow doctors to make smaller, sculptural facial changes." This "new" technique was actually an old practice that had been used by doctors in the last backlash era to expand breasts—and abandoned as too dangerous. It was no better the second time around; thousands of women who tried it developed severe facial pain, numbing, ulcerations, and hideous deformities. One Los Angeles plastic surgeon, Dr. Jack Startz, devastated the faces of hundreds of the two thousand women he injected with liquid silicone. He later committed suicide.

For the most part, these doctors were not operating on women who might actually benefit from plastic surgery. In fact, the number of reconstructive operations to aid burn victims and breast cancer patients declined in the late '80s. For many plastic surgeons, helping to boost women's self-esteem wasn't the main appeal of their profession. Despite the ads, the doctors were less interested in improving their patients' sense of "control" than they were in improving their own control over their patients. "To me," said plastic surgeon Kurt Wagner, who operated on his wife's physique nine times, "surgery is like being in the arena where decisions are made and no one can tell me what to do." Women under anesthesia don't talk back.

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

#susan faludi #liposuction #plastic surgery #womb envy #beauty standards #male entitlement