Beel Kissing Chubby!mcs Soft Tummy After Having A Snack Binge Together.

beel kissing chubby!mc’s soft tummy after having a snack binge together.

belphie squeezing and kneading chubby!mc’s squishy thighs during their naps together.

beel and belphie and chubby!mc all curled up in bed. snacks are strewn about the surrounding area.

chubby!mc is on their back with beel’s head on one shoulder and belphie curled up with his head on their tummy.

both twins are mindlessly grabbing at chubby!mc in their sleep. one twin has a hand on mc’s waist while the other is groping their ass.

the three of them have always slept best together.

Reblog if reading someone else’s fanfiction has helped you get through a hard day

can’t believe 50 of you are willing to put up with me. wild

don’t mind me just thinking about asmo doing my makeup and swatching 37 different shades of lipstick just to put the lipstick on himself and cover me in kisses and leaving marks and hickeys all over me :)

i am so normal about this

Levi: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you.

MC: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule.

Levi: Absolutely not.

𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐒 — tw: disordered eating. body dysphoria.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚

540. 364. 241. And 806.

For breakfast I consumed 540 calories, for lunch 364, and dinner 241. I managed to burn 806. All in all, I consumed 1,145 calories, burned 806. My net is 339.

This tedious act of counting and recounting my calories had become some sort of religious act in what I had deemed “bettering myself,” but what could possibly get better? Do I think a skinny outside makes a happy inside? Even so, I chisel away at myself, like how a sculptor does in creation of their magnum opus. Nothing about me makes sense, the only sense I can make is to whittle away at the bits of my I do not like, only, I do not like any bit of me.

I want to see my ribs and count the spaces between them. I want to feel the bones of my hips flex and move beneath my skin. I want to squeeze my arm in a clasped fist and see my fingers wrap round and round. I want to feel my spine and dance my fingers down my vertebrae. I want to have just enough mass, just enough skin and bone, that I can disappear at will – that I can sink beneath dirt and soil from which I once came and then come back to Earth again.

I want to see my silhouette, shapely and curvaceous, dance against midnight walls. I want to caress my skin and feel soft, plump flesh beneath. I want to run my hands down either side of myself and feel the gentle slope of waist to hip and back again. I want to press my mounds and watch them entice prying eyes. I want those around me to sink into my flesh and devour me whole.

I want to be desired, to look like the magazines – to preserve curves or idolize heroin chic, I am conflicted. To love my curves or love my ribs, I have never understood the virtue of either, only ever understood that I am cut from a different cloth. An unsightly cloth from which no one wants to be stitched to.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚

moodyhaaze | 07•25•23