The One For Whom Food Is Not Enough

"I would go through you so hard that the only thing you would remember is my name." He rasped near her ear as heat crawled down her core that was in his hold. He was playing with her folds possessively. *** "DON'T TAKE MY NAME WITH THIS F**KING MOUTH OF YOURS." He roared. "Y-you want to k-kill me?" She asked with fear of abandonment and tears in her eyes that started pouring down. "F***k!" He cursed as he released her."THAT'S THE F***ING PROBLEM! I CAN'T EVEN KILL YOU! I CAN'T EVEN LEAVE YOU! I F***ING LOVE YOU SO MUCH!"

Iris had always dreamed of a quiet life; a man who truly loved her, extending a saving hand from this suffocating fate, so they could grow old together in peace. But life had-other plans. “Please… Gabriel… enough… let me go…” Her voice trembled inside the locked room, punctuated by sobs. No door-would open, and no window offered escape. Trapped inside a-luxurious space that felt like a golden cage. Alone, surrounded by luxury never part of her dreams. Nothing remained but to wait for his return. When he entered, silence became suffocating. His eyes smiled, but seeing her tears, his expression darkened. He lifted her chin despite resistance, wiping her tears, whispering, “Iris… tell me what you want… and I will give it to you.” She stayed silent. Her-only desire was to vanish from this world. Anger flickered in her-eyes. In desperation, she bit his hand and pushed him away. “Get away-from me…” Her defiance only fueled his delight. She retreated, tears falling. He smiled faintly, as if losing his mind. “A child… isn’t that what you used to dream of?” He drew closer, voice calm. Iris trembled, turning away. “Tell me again… and I will make it happen… just stay with me.” He silenced her. She could not speak, trapped between fear and confusion. His presence filled every corner of the room, leaving no space for her thoughts. Iris lowered her gaze, struggling to breathe calmly, realizing that every refusal only tightened his hold. She understood that escape was impossible, no matter how much she resisted. The words she once wanted to shout faded into silence inside her mind. she recognized something far more unsettling.The truth finally became clear, though it was far too late.This was not love,It was something darker and far more dangerous.Obsession!!

My father died of esophageal cancer. For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones. The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream. "I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make." My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave. The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot. Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband. That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well. "Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor." When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave. However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later. I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy. That evening, my daughter never came home from school. I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her. She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth. "Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry." I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home. That night, my father appeared in my dream once more. "I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me. "New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish." I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking. On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing. Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon. I could not believe it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.

Even though I knew cows were sacred to the Indorians, I still supported their biological daughter in her plan to serve beef at the dinner table of Indoria's wealthiest man. In my previous life, the wealthiest man in Indoria had held a nationwide contest to choose a wife. My sister had fought her way to the final round and planned to make a beef and veggie stew for the ultimate cooking challenge. I rushed to stop her, warning that in Indoria's religion, cows were considered holy, and eating beef could have serious legal consequences. However, my sister thought I was deliberately humiliating her for being "uncultured." In a fit of anger, she ran out, only to be struck and killed by a car. My adoptive parents tried to console me, telling me it was not my fault, that it was simply bad luck. Later, thanks to my exceptional cooking skills, I became the wife of Indoria's wealthiest man. Yet on the very day of my wedding, my adoptive parents sold me to the slums. That night, as eight men assaulted me one after another, I cried and demanded to know why. They kicked me viciously and spat: "If you hadn't made things difficult for Janet, she wouldn't have died. You owe her this!" By the end of that night, I had bled to death. Meanwhile, my adoptive parents used the money given by Indoria's wealthiest man to build a lavish tomb for their biological daughter. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my sister was about to serve her beef and veggie stew to Indoria's wealthiest man.

She is one who loves fiercely, but it always ends bad for her lovers. One boy upsets her pattern of love crisis, and she would rather leave him, than destroy him. However, there's more to this than she realizes

My girlfriend Chloe Bennett's childhood buddy, Daniel Miller, binds himself to a transfer system. Everything he eats gets sent straight into my stomach. He creates a live stream channel and eats nonstop for 12 hours a day to rake in money. Meanwhile, I end up in the ER with acute pancreatitis. I try to explain everything to Chloe, but she just looks at me like I've lost my mind. "How could something that ridiculous exist? If food could magically transfer, nobody would starve in the world. You're just jealous he's making money from streaming." Afterward, Daniel's every live stream triggers another pancreatitis episode, sending me back to the ER until I'm barely holding on. I get tested, but the doctors can't figure out what's wrong. They even want to admit me to psych. Later, in a desperate bid to outdo another streamer, Daniel downs ten pounds of mashed potatoes at once. The overload destroys my spleen and stomach, causing massive internal bleeding that kills me. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day of Daniel's very first live stream. This time, I rush out and order 20 takeout dishes before him. "This time, I'm eating first."