#sugarpoppss2

[achubbydumpling]

Forgive that it’s a shitty screenshot but. You probably already saw bc it’s just on the wiki but I can’t not discuss this

What the HELL. That’s like proper feedism fodder . Heyyyyyy DC so about the BELLY BLOATER BURGER

dude! DC what is this?!! I love the little icon leaning back, obviously stuffed and with a happy smile on their face, love the whole idea and it gave me a little plot bunny

also found a screenrant article that seems related 😳😳 https://screenrant.com/does-superman-need-to-eat/

soooo I'm combining like five different ideas here, but anyway have a little ficlet about Superman discovering Big Belly Burger and filling in a few dozen of those Frequent Customer Cards :D

He'd first really noticed it when he was younger. Or rather been made to notice it. The bit of winter weight that inevitably crept up on him every year when the sun struggled to heave itself over the horizon and was hidden behind grey snow clouds.

That little winter weight gain and the weight gain prior to a growth spurt had fallen into the same short few months and a few kids had taken to teasing him about it when they changed before PE.

Clark had stewed on it a few weeks before he brought it up to his Ma after dinner. He'd been stuck elbow deep in dish water, Pa's cooking just on this side of heavy in his belly, when he'd brought it up.

"D'ya ever think aboutUh," he wasn't sure how to say this, "how your body changes?"

Ma had taken a deep breath and Clark had added so quickly you could barely understand, "not the puberty changes," while going beet red and staring intently at the plate he was washing.

"Ok, what changes then?"

"Uhh, weight… changes."

"Who said something about your weight?"

Clark wanted to groan at the mother hen tone, but now looking back he could appreciate that Ma was always down to bat for him.

"No one." He handed the plate to be dried to his Ma. "Doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter anyway, but if someone did say something," Martha hedged, "it doesn't matter none what they said. We Kents, we're built sturdy. We'd last a famine any day. Look at your Ma!"

Clark couldn't help but smile as he looked at her. He didn't have the heart to point out they weren't blood-related.

"You think I worry about losing weight? No! Winter weight keeps you warm anyway."

That was hard to disagree with. So, Clark took to buying his winter clothes a size or two bigger and stopped worrying about the few pounds that melted off anyway once the spring sun grew stronger.

That is until this fateful winter that would bring a bit more than temporary winter weight.

Between working for the Daily Planet, his role as Superman and his new relationship with Lois, keeping himself fed wasn't an easy task.

During the summer months the sun usually provided enough sustenance for him to keep going with minimal food, but winter saw him feeling sluggish with anything less than three square meals a day.

So, it was a blessing to discover that new restaurant downtown. He'd spotted it at the end of October while flying overhead to help a young girl that had fallen into an unsecured building site while trick or treating. Thankfully he could bring her home with nothing more than a big scare and some scrapes on her knees.

Afterwards he'd spent a few more hours at his desk working on finishing up his articles for tomorrow's issue and fixing some last small issues. Boredom and the afternoon dip were starting to set in when Clark decided to just take a quick look at Big Belly Burger's menu.

His mouth started watering at a black bean burger (The Belly Bloater Burger, har har) with all the fixings, fries and a kiwi shake for—wow—$10. They probably hadn't worked out the pricing yet, seeing as they had just opened.

But how could he say no to an offer like that? He'd throw in an extra generous tip.

Not ten minutes later Clark was carrying a heavy, heavenly-smelling paper bag back to his apartment. Big Belly Burger was just a few blocks away and he arrived home with his food still warm and ready to eat.

Clark wasn't proud of it but half the fries had already disappeared on the walk home. The food was good. Not just acceptable but actually genuinely good. Greasy and heavy, satisfying in a way that only fast food seemed to be.

The portions were too big for this to be his nightly dinner, he felt just a bit uncomfortable after finishing everything and lazily sipped the last few ounces of his coke.

Clark hadn't planned on coming back the next day but they'd thrown in a frequent customer card and after he'd gushed about the place at work everyone had decided to go there for lunch. Well, everyone ended up being Lois, Jimmy and the two guys he shared a desk/cubicle with.

Their server had offered to give Clark everyone's stamps, though he'd tried to decline politely, he'd ended up with his frequent customer card already half full.

Half full quickly became full and a week later Clark walked into Big Belly Burger to get his first free burger. With the restaurant still building its customer base the cashier actually remembered Clark and his order.

"Congrats, you're the first one who's managed to fill one of those out."

Clark ducked his head and laughed to hide his discomfort.

"Not surprising for a big guy like you!" The cashier added.

When he arrived home Clark found not only his burger, fries and drink but also another frequent customer card with one stamp and—to his complete surprise—6 piece nuggets he hadn't ordered.

He was unsure how to handle the mistake but decided on eating them and paying next time he went to Big Belly Burger. (Already planning the next time.)

Despite the fact that his first meal there had left him almost uncomfortably full, this time he finished everything with ease. He had to admit those nuggets hit the spot after everything.

The next time he managed to fill up his card Big Belly Burger had a promotion for the newly added double patty burger. Another patty for just $1 more? Of course, Clark got that. Plus his usual fries and pop and those nuggets that had become a new standard side for every meal.

He'd retired his last "summer jeans" that week too. November drew to an end in no time. December didn't bring any less stress at work or as Superman. So Clark continued to rely on Big Belly Burger for most of his meals.

By now he'd stop by at least once a day either for lunch or dinner. Sometimes a work colleague would tag along, but usually Clark went alone, picked up his usual meal (by now a burger with double patties, large loaded fries, large pop and 9 piece nuggets) and spent his lunch break eating in the breakroom while chatting with Lois.

Maybe Clark is slightly worried about Lois' reacting. He shouldn't have been. If anything she seems more affectionate. Almost getting them caught at work multiple times to grope his ass or belly.

"You should try some of their desserts too. I tried their banana bread the other day and it was incredible. Apparently they use oat flour to improve the taste and you can definitely tell."

Clark follows her advice and Lois is 100% right. The oat flour gives it a slight sweetness and a somewhat nutty taste without any nuts apparently.

Every time he comes back the menu seems to have expanded.

"We're actually planning on adding a breakfast menu soon."

There's always something new to try. Some new promotion. A seasonal special. The core menu remains fairly consistent, but Clark can't help but throw in a treat or two for fear of missing out.

When he finally digs out his Christmas sweaters they are already straining across his belly even before Christmas dinner at his parents' house. He'd invited Lois along this year (after a week-long internal debate, Lois had asked about his plans for Christmas and whether she was invited.)

Despite that he didn't hold back. His Pa had cooked enough to feed half the neighbourhood and his Ma had baked enough for the other half. Clark's appetite had grown significantly since he'd become a regular customer of the Big Belly Burger, but even he wasn't up for the sheer volume of food.

Clark had made a good dent into the spread in front of him, but after close to an hour of constant eating even he had to admit defeat. He slouched in his chair, his eyes almost as heavy as his belly and as much as it pained him when everyone else stood to clear the table he still couldn't move an inch.

"I'll do the washing up later," Clark promised but almost simultaneously his parents and Lois told him to stay put.

"That's a cute food baby," Lois poked fun at Clark. All good-natured. Her hands on the sliver of belly that peeked out underneath his sweater actually felt pretty good.

Ma and Pa Kent had had the foresight to replace the single bed in Clark's old room with a double. Lois and Clark excused themselves not long after everyone exchanged gifts.

Nothing big everyone stayed within a reasonable budget but it felt good to be able to surprise the people they loved most with gifts they wouldn't buy themselves. Lois had included what she called an "ugly Christmas sweater" and while Clark thought it was certainly very colourful, he didn't agree on it being ugly.

Thankfully, it was another size up from what he usually wore during winter and covered his belly fully even after Christmas dinner.

(And a few more trips back to the kitchen for seconds and thirds and…)

Even super strength couldn't keep Clark from feeling weighed down by his food baby and winter weight. When he waddled to the bedroom he couldn't help but try and alleviate some of the weight of his belly by placing his hands underneath and lifting it.

Despite that he grabs another plate of christmas cookies to take to bed with him. Lois looks on incredulously as Clark keeps eating despite his fullness and at this point slight pain.

He's been training for this. The half-filled in frequent customer rewards card in his wallet is proof of that.

Of course, it doesn't stay half-filled for long.

They've only just arrived back in Metropolis when Clark decides to stop by Big Belly Burger. I mean who wants to cook right after coming home from a vacation?

And, hey, check that the staff seem to really like him because lately he's been getting two stamps every time he stops by (though maybe that has more to do with his growing meal size).

He finally upgrades his winter wardrobe when even in the morning right after waking up his belly peeks out under his sweaters. Not a full wardrobe upgrade because he'll lose this weight in the summer again, right?

Right?

[visceravalentines]

Happy holidays. My cat wearing sweater

MATCHING U

happy holidays my friend I hope they have been and continue to be good!! <333

[our-chaos]

Gareth ‘body worship kink’ Emerson, who could spend hours just touching you, memorizing every curve and mark. Who will fucking m e l t if you do it to him, who will be a whining mess in no time if you touch him like he’s precious to you. Thoughts to have with your morning coffee

I was literally drinking coffee when you sent this best friend.

I feel like it’s on a day when you two are just super lazy, laying around in his bed spending hours making out and touching each other. Both of you are just barely running your hands across each other’s skin in the most intimate ways. I’m crying. I feel like by the end of it if anything just barely grazed against your cunt or his dick that’s all it would take for you both to cum. You’re both super whiny and breathless and your cheeks are all pink and he’s smiling like an idiot. Soooo fucking cuuuuuute

[sinnersandsaints-linwrites]

Loaded question number 46 for sweetheart Morgan?

What’s the most toxic thing about yourself you actually kind of secretly like?

"Oh, my ability to joke about most serious things," they snicker. "Who else do you know that is able to feel absolutely nothing when looking at corpses? All I get is ideas for jokes."

[visceravalentines]

Rip to living in a figless area

YOU BASTARD

[visceravalentines]

Smut prompt 110 with Vincent my love? He’s so hhhrrrnnngg Yknow

"For your safety, I'll be gentle."

Vincent Sinclair x GN!Reader

Thanks for this, Vince and I have hit a new level in our relationship. 😁

1.6k words

Smut, Vinny gets rough, mild choking, marking, biting, manhandling, creampie

Waking up in Vincent’s workshop always felt like melting out of one dream and into another.  The flickering of the boiler, the sweet, deep smell of wax and earth, the quiet, crackling sound of Vincent playing Chopin or Metallica through his little radio speaker with the volume turned way down so as not to disturb you.  The man himself, bent over his sketchbook or a canvas with his gorgeous long hair like a curtain shutting out everything but his own thoughts.  It was like a fairy tale, some alchemist’s lair. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep.  You remembered what came before.  So did your body.  The dopamine hadn’t quite faded from your veins, even after a few hours’ sleep.  You’d never been with anyone quite like Vincent Sinclair.  He had an uncanny knack for picking up on every detail of your pleasure, every muscle spasm, every gasp.  And he remembered it all, recited it like a litany with his mouth and hands whenever you let him. 

It was unquestionably the best sex you’d ever had. 

You rolled onto your side on his cot, adjusted your legs gingerly around the pleasant soreness between them.  He was sitting staring at a canvas, hands on his knees.  Examining his own work, making notes, finding flaws no one else could see.  He was still shirtless, wearing a pair of sweatpants that was holding onto his hips for dear life.  He was maskless too, a recent and monumental milestone in your relationship. 

You watched him for a while, the way he chewed his lower lip with concentration, the way his hands could not keep still for even a second, long fingers tapping and flexing on his thighs, scratching at a spot of wax in the fabric, rubbing his thumb over his cuticles. 

“Vincent,” you said softly at last.  That sole, precious eye flicked over to you in a sudden realization that you were awake.  The suggestion of a smile graced his lips. 

“My love,” he signed with one hand.  “Come here?” 

You stretched and pushed aside the thin blanket, padded over to him.  He gave the canvas one last look before turning his full attention to you, guiding you into his lap and wrapping his lithe arms around you. 

“You feel good, beloved?” he asked. 

“Wonderful,” you sighed.  You gazed up at him.  “You’re…quite the lover.” 

He had this adorable twisted, close-mouthed grin that appeared whenever he felt genuine mirth.  “I'm telling Bo you said that.”  You laughed out loud. 

Your fingertips traced the invisible lines between moles on his arm.  “I feel like it’s always about me, though.  I want it to be about you.  I want to make you feel good, Vin.” 

Vincent looked down at you with his head cocked, a silent request for more information. 

You ran your thumb over his collarbones.  He still wouldn’t let you touch his face.  “It feels like you’re…holding back sometimes.  I want you to let go.” 

He considered you for a second, leaned down to kiss you sweetly.  “But you are what’s important,” he signed close to his cheek. 

“You’re important.”  You could feel his heartbeat under your hand.  “I want you to take what you want, Vincent.”  His expression was inscrutable, wary.  You kissed him again, stroked his chest, his arms.  “That would make me happy,” you whispered, a breath away from his lips.  “If you used me.” 

His brow was furrowed, but you felt his cock jump against your thigh.  You couldn’t fault him for being reluctant; he took a lot of convincing when it came to doing anything for his own benefit. 

When he finally released you, his pupil was blown, his eye glittering with something besides the candlelight.  His chest rose and fell with the effort of restraint.  “Are you sure?” he signed sloppily. 

You circled his nipple with your thumb, rocked your hips innocuously to coax up his erection.  “I want you to use me, Vincent.  However you’d like.” 

You kissed him again, the tip of your tongue teasing at his lip.  He hesitated for only a few seconds before meeting your persuasion with hunger, pushing your tongue aside to make room for his own.  You loosed a soft moan, arched against him when his hands fell to your hips and squeezed gently.  He took your lip in his teeth, bit and sucked on it. 

You nodded, alight with anticipation.  “Please.  Show me what you need.” 

The words were barely out of your mouth before he was stealing your breath again, kissing you with a fervor he had often brought out of you but never shown himself.  His hands were all over you, under the shirt you wore, groping and grasping at your flesh.  With little effort he repositioned you so you were straddling him, fingers digging into your ass, grinding your bare sex against him.  You gasped when he pulled away from your lips to suck on your neck, hard. 

“Vincent,” you breathed. 

Immediately he stopped, head snapping up to look at you with a mix of concern and craving on his face. 

You shook your head quickly.  “I’m okay.  I’m…god, Vincent.”  You laced your fingers through the hair at the base of his skull and brought his face back to your throat.  You felt his tongue on your skin, goosebumps rippling down your entire body.  He was gripping you tight enough to leave bruises, rocking you against him with increasing urgency.  Those sweatpants were fighting a losing battle. 

He lifted his head again, a pretty flush on his cheek.  You opened your mouth but he cut you off before you could speak. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he signed quickly.  “For your safety.” 

“I – okay.” 

In one fluid motion, Vincent stood and lifted you onto the workbench at the same time.  He shoved the sweats to the floor, erection springing free, the tip glistening with his arousal.  He pulled you against him, hitched your legs over his hips, his cock prodding at your entrance. 

There was a beat, a pause.  He kissed your forehead.  Then his hand was on your throat, pushing you back and pinning you against the wooden tabletop.  You instinctively locked your ankles behind his back.  He eased himself into you slowly, deliberately, his head falling back, teeth bared.  You let out a soft whine, arching your spine against the tabletop.  His grip on your neck tightened and for a moment the basement was filled with stars. 

You gasped, your windpipe jumping against his palm.  He gave a few experimental thrusts and you felt your sore muscles part around him.  The tender sting gave way quickly to an irresistible heat. 

His hands found your wrists and trapped them against the waxy wood at your sides.  He ramped up his pace rapidly, fucked you hard in the shadow of every canvas he’d ever made, his grip almost crushing, his eye blazing.  His hair fell over his face.  He paid it no mind.  You couldn’t tear your gaze away; he was beautiful and terrible, the lust on his face raw and unguarded. 

Without warning he released your wrists and pulled out of you, took hold of your hips and yanked you halfway off the tabletop, easing you to the ground.  He circled his finger in an unmistakable sign. 

“Turn around.” 

You obeyed, panting, faced the table and bent forward.  He grabbed your hips to position you where he wanted you, then pushed halfway into you with a single thrust, drew back slowly, did it again and again until your ass was pressed against his stomach and he was buried inside you to the hilt.  It felt like being coveted, being claimed, being conquered. 

Then he stopped, left you quivering and clenching desperately around his length.  You twisted to look back at him.  He was drinking it in, the sight of you doubled over and helpless in front of him, with a ravenous expression on his face.  He ran one broad hand up your spine, grasped the back of your neck, squeezed firmly.   

A snap of his hips made your breath hitch in your throat.  “V-Vincent,” you whimpered.  He did it again and you cried out. 

The heat of his firm chest pressed against your back.  He laced his fingers through yours, stretched your arms out long in front of you, splaying you over the table.  The angle of his thrusts was indescribable, deeper than you thought possible, and you were powerless to do anything but choke out his name. 

You came apart as he laid kisses down the back of your neck, the simultaneous brutality and tenderness too much to withstand.  Vincent pounded through your climax, driving you into frenzied overstimulation, groaning low in his throat as you bucked against him. 

When he hit his release, he sank his teeth into the crook of your neck, squeezing your hands as he came deep inside you.  You could feel him breathing hard against your back.  Your shirt was damp with sweat from both of you.  Vincent nuzzled your ear before pulling away, his hands on your waist to steady you, or maybe himself, or maybe both. 

You turned around and looked up at him.  His face was flushed, brow knit with concern.  “You okay?” he signed. 

You grinned up at him, wrapped your arms around his bare torso and held him against you.  “I’m so good, love.” 

The relief on his face was quickly replaced with a smile – a real smile.  He slumped forward, pressed his lips to your brow.  You set your head on his chest and listened to his heart rate slow back to normal, overwhelmed with affection for this man who simply could not see how marvelous he was. 

“You know, Vin?  We oughta make you the priority more often.” 

[visceravalentines]

ARMAND AND HIS STUPID IPAD Ill never be over it. 500 years old walking around like Siri dim the lights. Stop the interview Armand lost his Apple Pencil everyone help look

DYING @ THIS

interrupts Daniel to request everyone stand up and search and after a prolonged ordeal he pulls it out of his pocket and very innocently says ah. here it is. 🙂

[visceravalentines]

Headcanon: Lester has a trailer parked somewhere in the woods around Ambrose. Bo helped him hook it up to the septic system and Lester feels almost normal when he’s there by himself (or with Jonesy. She sleeps in the bed w him). Bound as he is to Ambrose he couldn’t stay IN the house. Whatever spiteful high Bo gets from stepping into their fathers ‘man of the house place’, Lester doesn’t get. It feels like sleeping in a too small twin bed and listening to the groaning of the basement furnace and it feels like being nine and waking up to the sound of Trudy screaming (in anger or pain, doesn’t matter. She never mellowed as she got sick, still haunted the house in shrieking soprano). Idk just spitballing about Lester lol

ugh THIS you're so right imo

Bo and Vincent can't let go of the memory of their parents, particularly their mother, and living in that dust and shadow is what gives them purpose. they could never leave.

but Lester on the other hand, Lester doesn't share that attachment to Trudy or Victor. who he does have an attachment to are his brothers. so he stays, but he stays an arm's length away. Lester I think has a genuine sense of self. Bo and Vincent are nothing without each other and nothing without Trudy, unfortunately.