#at a bit under 200 pounds

[genderfluid-dynamics]

calorie math is really fucked for gaining weight.

so my daily maintenance level is 2500kcal. (i’m rounding somewhat.) that’s what i have to eat on average just to break even.

that’s already a solid amount of food, so the most i can do in terms of surplus is maybe 500kcal, but that’s with a full belly for hours and requires quite a few snacks.

the only sustainable way to get more of a surplus physically in would be to spend considerably more money on calorie-dense food prepared by other people, which i doubt i could do with my current resources and fairly expensive food requirements.

but i skip one day, and now i need to eat at full surplus for five days just to catch up.

it is so lopsided.

[whateveriwant]

The 141 getting you to stay in bed

It gets a little spicy towards the end so 18+ please

Soap

Waking up to the feeling of a numb arm is extremely unpleasant, but you suppose it comes with the territory when trying to cuddle 200+ pounds of rugged Scotsman

You manage to free your trapped limb and roll to the other side of the bed, but that space behind you remains empty for only about three seconds before Johnny's pressing himself flat to your back 

Now with his arms around your waist, he holds you tight to him, mumbling unintelligibly against the back of your head

He drifts back to sleep quickly enough, his grip on you starting to loosen, only for it to tighten again when he feels you try to wriggle out of his hold

The incoherent grumbles from his throat grow increasingly displeased the more you try to shift away from him, until finally he huffs a grumpy, “Quit it,” into your scalp, hooking his leg over yours 

If you still don't listen, he'll have no choice but to take drastic measures to keep you still. Fed up with your squirming, he simply rolls on top of you, pinning you to the mattress below him

You can try beating on his back, telling him that you can't breathe, but he just shrugs and says, “Use my breath.”

Don't even bother trying to explain how oxygen doesn't work like that, because he doesn't care. “Tough,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck. “‘Cause I'm no' movin’.” And by extension, neither are you

Gaz

Kyle is also a stage 5 clinger, but he's less boa constrictor and more baby koala

So when your alarm goes off at 8am precisely, it's no surprise that the man behind you grumbles in protest

“It's Saturday,” he bemoans. “Why you getting up so bloody early?” When you tell him you like to keep your routine even on the weekends, he just groans and mutters, “Five more minutes.”

You can try to squirm and wrestle out of his hold, but he'll just tighten his arm around your midsection, keeping his front firmly glued to your back

But you need to get up! You have to pee for goodness’ sake! 

“Use the empty bottle on your nightstand,” he mumbles into your hair, peeking an eye open as you crane to look back at him. The look you give him at such a horrid suggestion has him sighing. “Alright, fine,” he relents and releases you. “But be quick. Bed gets cold without you.”

Once you've answered the call of nature, don't be surprised to find Kyle waiting for you directly outside the bathroom. He's wrapped up in your comforter like an oversized burrito, only his face and feet visible as they peek out from under the plush cover

With a sleepy pout, he holds his hand out for you, tugging you back to bed with him. Oh, he’ll make sure you get those five more minutes alright. Even if he has to drag you kicking and screaming

Ghost

First of all, don't even kid yourself into thinking you'll stand a chance of waking up before him or sneaking out of bed without him knowing. This man is the epitome of a light sleeper, whenever he does sleep, that is

So when you do finally wake up, it comes as no surprise to see Simon already up too. But just because you're both awake now doesn't mean you have to immediately be productive; quite the opposite, in fact

With how busy and stressed he is all the time, Simon loves nothing more than to just lie in bed with you and do nothing for hours

If you try to get up, he's stopping you with a gentle hand on your wrist, his voice quiet but firm as he commands, “Stay.”

You'll lay back down for a bit to appease him, but it won't be long before you feel guilty since you have so many things you should be doing instead

But actually, no, you don't have  anything to worry about. He's already taken care of everything before you woke up, he humbly informs you

The cat's been fed, the bin’s been taken out to the curb, he's even gotten your breakfast typed up on his phone – just give him the word and he'll place the order

So now when he opens his arms for you, having you bury your face in his chest, you've got nothing to worry about except savoring this moment with him 

Price

John is also a very light sleeper, so it only takes .02 seconds of you trying to stand from the bed for his bear-like snores to cease and his eyes to flit wide open

He'll grab you by the shirt hem, mumbling, “Where’re y’ goin’?” But it doesn't really matter what your answer is because his response is always the same: “No y’r not.” And pulls you back down. “Y’r stayin’ right here.”

He'll lie on his stomach, face smushed in the pillow, a big, warm hand tucked under your shirt resting against your belly

With nothing better to do, you scroll through your phone, catching up on your socials, the news, etc., but it's not long before you hear him grumble, “Put that away, will ya? ‘S too early to be meltin’ your brain with that thing.”

Well, what does he expect you to do? Lie there and stare at the ceiling for an hour? “Expect you to be good,” he tells you. “Don't make me get the handcuffs out again.”

Now that you have to laugh at. If he thinks it's too early to be on your phone, it's definitely too early for that

He smirks, opening his eye just a sliver, and the hand on your stomach begins to rub soft circles. “Is that so?” he taunts, his touch sneakily edging downwards. And when he slips beneath the band of your shorts, well…

Let's just say you're not leaving that bed anytime soon

[kazzattack]

↳ 18+ content, nasty rough wall sex ༉‧₊˚✧

"that's it, baby. just fuckin' take it,” jason todd groans into your ear, digging your back further into the wall. he’s split you open on his cock, sucking deep bruises into your neck and holding you with large and calloused hands under your plush thighs.

you whimper, head thumping the wall with your mouth hanging open and your arms clinging to him tightly. as if it’ll help you keep steady you clench around him, mewling his name and squeezing your eyes shut. quickly, as if correcting you, his hand grabs your face and your eyes shoot back open with the harsh thrust. his forehead rests against yours, husky whispers spilling out of him as he praises you. so perfect for me, he’d mutter, so perfect and all fucking mine. you gonna come? fuck, ma- lemme hear you.

he fucks you harder, if possible, making you rely solely on the 200+ pounds of muscle trapping you between himself and the flat surface. you slip, just a bit, and your nails dig into the scarred skin of his back. the groan that rumbles deep from his throat is mouth watering, even if drawn out by accident. still, you panic, frantically tapping his shoulder with the little composure you have. “jay- jason, I’m-“

“never, princess,” he cuts you off, propping you further up with his fingers digging into your ass and hip. “i’d be a goddamn idiot to let you go and you know that. don’t you, baby?” jason never lets you answer, though, continuing his almost mindless rant. yeah, i’ve got you, he grunts, relax and let me make you cum again. you want it? wanna cum all over this dick? give it to me, baby.

“oh fuck- jason!”

“you hear me?” you nod into his neck and bite, hard, cunt tightening and gushing around his length while he moans and mutters into your ear. goddamn, sweetheart- a hard and desperate thrust follows, there you fuckin’ go, makin’ such a pretty mess.

[oceantornadoo]

the realistic aftermath of ghost catching the handy in the back alley with best friend!johnny…a few weeks later

“ugh johnny, get off.” you tried pushing against him but he was deadweight, 200+ pounds of muscle at the mercy of many, many alcoholic drinks. “fhehnihernr.” you rolled your eyes. “i don’t know what you’re saying.” instead of answering, he wrapped his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you into him by your stomach. “miss? did you need some help? or another drink?” you laid your hand on top of johnny’s and he growled in approval. “two waters, please.” the bartender nodded and turned around to grab the cups. “wanna be closer t’ ye, leannen.” you chuckled in spite of yourself. “can’t get much closer than you are now.” to save him from responding, the bartender placed down your waters and you took them, nodding your thanks. “drink up, come on.” you pushed the water cup toward him, ignoring his messy mohawk and gleaming blue eyes. how even shitfaced, your best friend was too handsome and flirtatious for his own good. “let’s go back to gaz.”

johnny slid into the booth first, wrapping an arm around gaz’s shoulder. “gazzy!” you snorted, attempting to slide in after johnny. he halted your plans by dragging you into his lap, losing no strength even with his lack of sobriety. instead of protesting, you laid back on johnny’s chest, mouthing “sorry”to gaz. gaz shook his head, opting to answer with a sip of his beer. “you’re lucky cap isn’t here.” johnny had finished the water cup, slamming it down on the table. you leaned forward, ignoring his growl at the movement, and placed the second cup in his waiting hands. he chugged it, muscled throat pumping at the exertion. you overted your eyes, wisely placing your gaze on the football game on the tv. “why’s that?” thankfully, johnny sounded more sober now, the slurring at a minimum. “‘cause you two are disgusting.” you shot him an affronted look. “i’m not doing anything!” gaz pushed at your shoulder, causing you to tilt, until johnny righted you in his lap, grip growing tighter. “soap’s annoyin’ but he knows how to take a woman’s no for an answer. you jus’ never tell him no.” hmph. he did have you there. instead of forcing you to answer, johnny rested his chin your shoulder, drawing the blame back on him. “think yer jealous ‘cause i hav’ a new favorite sergeant. she’s a wee more bonnie than you, gazzy.” he placed down the second water cup, sounding s bit more sober now. “well ‘ve got 100 quid on you tossers so don’t fuck it up.” instead of letting you answer, johnny pushed you off his lap and out of the booth, murmuring something about going to the dance floor.

and now you were here, arms wrapped around johnny as you danced way too slowly to the 80s rock crooning out of the pub speakers. the tension was calmer now, the drinks in your system finally hitting, putting you at an equal level with johnny’s slowly sobering brain. he rocks you gently, strong arms keeping you steady as your fingers skim his triceps, defined even under his shirt. his fingers splay against your waist, brushing the top of your ass as you sway off beat. gaz’s words swam through your mind, coupled with the looks ghost had been giving you since he caught you two in the alley. he hadn’t told anyone, hence the bet gaz mentioned, but youve felt the silent questions coming off of him every time you entered the room. johnny feels you tense in his arms, too intuned with all your movements. “ask me, lass.” you swallowed at the low gravel of his voice, accent deeper in your ear. “are- are we doing something wrong? i dunno, johnny, it was all fine before anyone said anything and now-“ he stops you with a pinch to your hip. “‘s a pile of shite, bon. unless,” he pulls back slightly, grasping your chin to force you to meet his eyes. “tell me to stop.” you shake your head immediately, noting the smile on his face. “don’t stop. i like being close to you, anyway i can. even with the blurry lines.” he tucks you back against his chest, grip finally relaxing. “no lines, jus’ us.”

[dtrghost]

nibbles and kisses

this wasn't a request but this was inspired by something... i will simply not tell you what because shhhhh. In my opinion, König is a colonel, his ego is probably bigger than his dick and I don't see him as being as shy as i've seen, definitely has his aspects, but ya know.

könig x f!reader

no use of y/n.

warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff, and more fluff with some NSFW so MINORS DNI and reader having self deprecating thoughts, possessive colonel, wants you and ONLY, you. there is no plot to this, called headcannons maybe? i just wanted to write this down. mentions of male masturbation, nudes of you, etc.

When König found you, when you finished your conversation that pushed just a bit too long and made him a few minutes late for his brief, he knew he had to keep you. When he witnessed your smile that brightened up his world and caused a warmth to rise up his neck to his cheeks hidden under the safety of his long mask, he knew, as you were the only one to peek through his proud manner. You were flawless to him, pushing aside all of your reasons why he should hate you, why you thought of yourself as undeserving of him, and showing you what his loved looked like.

When he touched you for the first time, feeling the softness of your skin grace along the rough pads of his fingers, god. His usual cocky demeanor cracked, staring at you with wide eyes as he relished the tingles that shot through his body faster than a bullet. From then on, that man was desperate. He craved your touch in any way, anywhere, any time.

Whenever you were in public, he was towering over you as his chest bumped into your back, his hands running up the smooth skin of your arms. hHe'd hold your hand while you walked even though he wasn't one for pda. On base he had a picture of you in his office, smiling a rare, delicate smile he snapped a photo of once that he immediately had framed, a beautiful gold that complimented you in your entirety. After all you deserved the best, even if you weren't there to see it. In spirit, in his mind, you were beyond worthy of it. Your merit was more than gold, more than anything.

The real winner was the locked drawer, a special key that he kept on him at all times to open it, revealing the drawer he dedicated to you when he was gone on missions. He'd always take something with him, a pair of your panties, a shirt that he sprayed every inch of in your perfume, a bottle of your perfume to respray it before he left and when he got back before he hid it again, and his favorite item. He took his time with this one, an album full of your nude photos, some of you fucked out and in a daze as you took his fat cock in you, stretching you to the brim as your eyes rolled to the back of your head in euphoria.

He'd whimper, he the colonel, whimpering for you. Your name breathed out of his mouth as he fucked into his fist, missing the warm tug of your pretty cunt that swallowed him greedily whenever he fucked you. But you did something to him, the thought of you made his skin tingle, his cheeks heat, shivers of pleasure, need, love and want to run up his spine at the very thought of you in his presence.

So when he got home? Shit. Buckle up. If it's the day, which is rare in his line of work, he'll call you beforehand.

"Get ready Meine Liebe, your colonel needs you."

He'd come home to see you in his favorite set of lingerie, leaning on the bed, ready for him to take you in however he needed.

But when it was at night, which was more often than its counterpart, he'd shower first, lock all the doors, close the curtains, it was a prep almost. Then he'd come back to your sweet small form, which is any form because he's 6'10 and 200+ pounds, and he'd coaxed you awake with soft kisses on your skin, starting from your shoulder and building up to your eyelids, feeling your lashes tickle his lips as your eyes fluttered open. He'd eat you out, getting off to the sound of your sweet moans.

He'd watch your head fall back in ecstasy as he curled his long, thick fingers in your sopping cunt, bringing you to more orgasms than you could count before he desperately needed to feel you clamp around his cock. Depending on how long he'd been gone, he likes certain positions over others. When he was gone for a long time, weeks, he would always favor missionary. He loved watching you cry for him, tears running down your pretty cheeks as he fucked into you, moaning as he watched you stretch to accommodate his length.

"Fuck, taking me like you were made for me. So ein gutes mädchen."

While yes, König loved making love to you, slowly, passionately, intimately, he was a man with needs. Whether it was day or not, he would fuck you, manhandle you, in any way he wanted.

"So needy for me Maus. Such a good girl for your colonel."

"You missed me mein leibling? you missed my fat cock stretching your pretty little pussy out? i know i did."

He would breed you, the mating press, all of it. He'd cum more than once too, until it hurt, because you just felt too good around him, the tightness of your hole constricting around him being enough to keep him going for what felt like forever.

But when he was done, oh the aftercare. He'd pepper kisses all over you, shower you, feed you and make sure you drink enough water, all while whispering sweet nothings to you, how pretty you are, how perfect you are. Then he'd take you to bed, laying on top of you, knowing that if anything were to happen god forbid, he would protect you, his frame completely covering yours. He coax you to sleep with soft kisses on your neck, your cheeks, your chin and your jaw, nibbling on your lobe with sweet words that carried you into a dream on cloud nine.

He loved you, he owned you, just as you owned him.

So ein gutes mädchen: such a good girl.

SO yeah. Colonel König 🫡. Gotta love him. Anyway hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading!!

[sugarandspicewriting]

Hihi!! I saw that you're taking requests? Do you think you could cook up some headcanons for your choice of DC characters with a s/o that really loves to do extravagant makeup? Thank you 🫶

Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl Like Me

Summary: DC characters (Starfire, Wonderwoman, and Jason) react to your extravagant makeup

Warnings: Mentions of people making fun of you

Starfire (Koriand'r)

I imagine there are probably some kind of cosmetic routines on Tamaran, but the standards of beauty are different.

I think she would be interested to see what you do and why. She doesn’t judge how extravagant your makeup is, because her frame reference is skewed. All makeup seems extravagant to her

I do think she’d be horrified by fake lashes at first if that’s something you do.

“What are you doing, my star?” 

“I’m putting glue on a fake lash strip to put on my eyes!”

“You… glue fake lashes on your eyes? But you already have eyelashes? How do you get them off?”

“I just rip them off-”

“What?!?”

Seriously we never talk about how crazy fake lashes are.

If you let her, she’d want to watch you do your routine and grill you on what you’re doing and why. It might feel a little weird doing your makeup and she’s just sitting there like :0

Don’t mind her, she just loves you.

Might make you feel bad about how little you know.

“So this liquid goes on your lips? What ingredients are in it? Is it safe to consume?”

Oof. Now I feel stupid.

After careful studying, she’ll ask if she can try

Let her do your makeup for you. A 6 feet tall lady pulling you into her lap and doing your graphic eyeliner under your instruction. Yes. Call me Homotron 3000.

Honestly it might be a little rough the first time but that just gives her an excuse to do it again

She will absolutely defend your makeup if someone comments on it. She considers what you do to be an art worth studying. 

Scary dog gf privileges.

WonderWoman (Diana) 

Fresh from Themyscira Diana might be similar to Starfire.

They didn’t have makeup, but they probably had morning grooming routines. She would have similar reservations about fake lashes and ingredients. 

But if we’re talking about a Diana that has been here a while and is familiar with Earth culture, she’s probably more concerned about your why.

She questions why you do your makeup in this way.

But not in a judgemental way.

“Why is it that you do such exaggerated makeup? It is not how others do it?” 

“I like how it looks”

“I see. It is pretty”

And then she’d go back to whatever she was doing.

She would find your makeup amusing.She finds a lot of what humans do amusing.

Like sorry we can’t all be blessed with beauty by the gods. Damn.

She would still defend your choices though.

If someone were to comment on it in a negative way with her around, all she’d have to do is give them a look and they’d stop. 

Scary dog gf privileges part 2

Red Hood (Jason Todd)

Scary dog bf privileges but he’s actually going to bite people

Biting is more of a Damian thing but he will defend you.

Feminist king balances the “You look beautiful without makeup” and “I think your makeup is so cool” without being annoying. How does he do it?

He is friends with Artemis and Donna so he’s familiar with most of what you're doing. 

He enjoys sitting with you while you do your makeup. His life has been so chaotic that little moments of calm and domesticity mean a lot to him. He might watch you and chat, but he might sit quietly and read a book or check his phone and enjoy the comfortable silence between you.

If you ask nicely he’ll read to you

If someone were to insult you for what you do he would not let that slide.

He’s not going to immediately escalate it to violence; mostly because he doesn’t need to.

He can do that teacher thing where he can just look at someone and they act right.

Because he’s over 6 ft and 200 pounds. It’s giving Bruce energy a little bit but don’t tell him that.

[cartoonsinthemorning]

Soft chunky fem!stan who still loves boxing and wants to show off how strong she is to Ford so she crushes a watermelon in-between her thighs🚀🌋💥

Hey there anon! It's your unlucky day, because I know you where hoping for art, but I'm the mood to write, instead. You get a short fanfic. I HC that fem!Stan (just gonna call her Stan from now on, short for Constance) isn't allowed to box. Even more than that, actually: Filbrick didn't allow her to take boxing lessons, and Caryn forbid her to box at all, because "You already inherited your father's nose, sweety! What would become of your face if you broke it? your face is the one good thing you have...don't look at me like that, you know you're too fat". So, of course, Stan convinces Ford to give her secret lessons. He said no, at first- he doesn't want to get into trouble, and doesn't want her to get hurt! She is a girl, after all! why can't Stan just resume ballet lessons, like mom wants? But Stan is not only extremely stubborn, she knows her Sixer will do anything, if she strokes her ego right. She insists he would be a great teacher: he's so good at explaining stuff to her! And he's got so much better with boxing, over the years, she is sure he's got amazing tips and tricks to share. Ford knows she is buttering him up, he's not stupid. But eventually, as he always does, capitulates.

Ford doesn't even understand why Stan is so enthusiastic about boxing. It's boring to him. But she absorbs all the basics fast, and gets so disappointed and whiny when he puts his foot down and says he refuses to spar with her, now that he taught her everything he knows. He would never, ever hit her, no matter if it's just to exercise. Stan protests that she will never be able to improve, without a training partner, but this time Ford means it, so eventually she stops asking. She doesn't give up, though. Stan convinces Ford to sneak her in the gym after everyone left, this time, to massacre the sack with all her frustrations. It is quite a sight to behold, and a private spectacle Ford can't help but admire. She's starting to pack up some muscle mass, under her soft curves, and she must like it as much as Ford does, because eventually Stan starts to do squats and even attempts push ups, at the gym and in their room. One day, she gets this idea in mind. She wants to prove herself, by crushing a watermelon with her thighs muscles. Maybe she saw the trick in a magazine or something. It's such a stupid stunt, that it makes Ford roll his eyes when he first hears about it- but Stan's eyes sparkle when she talks about it, so of course, he agrees to assist her. Stan goes for the biggest watermelon she spots in the store, first, but Ford eyeballs that it would take about 364 pounds to crush it, and she should humble herself a bit- for once. Eventually she settles for one that may take about 200-something pounds, and brings it home. Despite the downgrade, Ford is still convinced the challenge is way above her sister's current might. And indeed, he doesn't hide a smug smile when she squats down to press the melon with all her strength, and the fruit stays stubbornly intact. She's a knucklehead tomboy, she knows that, right? Let's call it a day and slice that thing up for a snack, before she gets all bruised up. But his sister growls at him she can do it! She just needs to press some more. Maybe try something different.... When she lies down and props herself on her elbows, gripping the melon between her crossed thighs, something changes.

Not because she immediately succeeds, but because Ford doesn't feel amused anymore. Stan is groaning, cussing, blushing, tossing her head back, while her long legs tense up, wrapped around that stupid melon. Both twins are sweating, but for entirely different reasons. Ford begins to be afraid the tension building up between his own thighs may soon be a problem, so he tries to call the whole stunt off. "Stan, enough!" he exclaims, getting up, hoping by realizing her sole spectator is leaving, she will give up. "WAIT!" she growls, panting furiously, chest bobbing up and down "I'M SO CLOSE!". Ford is frozen into place- because he's stuck by the sight of her, so downright obscene, and because she is right: the watermelon is cracking. With a gross, squelching noise, the watermelon POPS- making Stan moan in triumph and exhaustion, as the red juice wets her trembling thighs, traveling down- Ford gulps down a lump in his throat- down between her ass cheeks and lower back, and drippling on the floor. Some droplets even splattered all over her white shirt, peppering her cleavage with tiny, pulpy, red hearts and dots. The final straw, for Ford, is when she looks up at him and winks- she winks, the shameless teas that she is- and says, between heavy breathes "See, Sixer? Am I the strongest girl in the world or what?". Ford looks at her in what he hope comes across as deadpan, rather than sexually frustrated, and curtly replies: "Yeah, well done. I'm not helping you cleaning up that mess" before booking out, running to the bathroom. OMAKE: Stan bruised her inner thighs and Ford once saw her spreading ointment over it, and he busted the biggest nut by masturbating imagining he was the one applying it. THE END.

[captain039]

PART 2 Predator grounds (Cooper Howard)

Alpha!Cooper Howard (pre-war)x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB dynamics, vault tech things, forced heats/ruts, eventual smut, age gap, angst? Experiments, needles, drugs, talks of pregnancy, first times, anxiety attacks, anxiety, forced claiming

Previous part <-

Has it even been a day down here? You remember falling in and out of sleep on the edge of the bed, almost falling off at one point. You know the lights went dim twice so far and the music stopped when it did. You wish you could put those damn speakers up the vaults overseers ass if he was even around. Hell the only person you saw was the man bringing the food everyday. His overly cheery voice making you want to reach through the food slot and choke him. You think you’ve used too much water considering you’ve had five showers now, well you weren’t really washing yourself more like sitting on the floor in despair trying to relieve yourself quietly so the alpha outside didn’t hear. He hasn’t said a word, he’s been quietly brooding in the corner for the last few days. You’re worried about him, he always looks tense, you swear he never sleeps and he’s always twitching at every sound he hears. You feel sorry for him, feel sorry that he isn’t with the one person he married even if they did seperate he deserves that familiarity. He wouldn’t be in this harsh rut too, someone to take the ease off. God you’ve imagined too many times about how he could take you in every single inch of this vault room. He’s moved the couch to the corner, pushed the TV out of the way, he moved it while you were in the shower the second time.

You haven’t drawn the curtains back so you can’t see out into the hall way, hell you don’t want to, that couple across from you probably still going at it. You sit on the floor on pillows and a towel reading a crappy book they supplied on the book shelf. You haven’t explored all the shelves and cupboard, hell you probably wouldn’t mind watching a movie but it’s on his side of the room. You’ve never seen Mr Howard like this, so tense and caught up in his head, he’s usually a care free, kind, charcmismic man. Guess being frozen for 200 years will do that to a man. You glance at him hesitantly and gulp a little.

“Mr Howard?” You finally speak and he hums looking to you. His stare makes you falter and you nervously glance at the wall behind him before focusing back on his eyes.

“Are you- are you doing ok? Do you want a book? I think the Video tapes are on the bottom shelf too” you gesture to the light brown shelf filled with books and tape holders.

“I’m ok, sweetheart” he says his lips twitching slightly and you just nod a little saddened. You say against the wall head leaning on the mattress cursing the ache in your lower stomach.

“Room 236” a woman’s voice calls over and you frown.

“You’re not completing your functions!” She says cheerily and you raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Go fuck yourself and do it yourself asshole” Cooper yells and you flinch a bit at the tone but smile to yourself.

“If this continues we will seperate you to more appropriate partners! We want to save the America and you can help!” Coopers statement goes ignored and her words make your whole body tense and into a panic. You can’t go to someone else, you can’t be with someone else you’ve never done this, what the hell? They can’t just move you to get impregnated. You don’t want kids, the thought of a baby terrifies you.

“Sweetie look at me” you can hear Coopers voice briefly but your heart is pounding in your ears. He yells your name and you flinch and look at him.

“You’re alright, they’re not gonna take you from this room ok, I promise” he says so sincerely but he can’t control them, can’t control if they do take you, they’re in control here.

The lights dim signalling night time and you’re curled up hiding under the covers like it’d save you. The speakers words scare you to death, this whole situation seems to be dawning on you. Tears roll down your face silently and you suck in a small breath. You don’t hear the footsteps till you feel the bed dip and your heart rate rockets into panic.

“It’s me” Cooper mutters and you let out the breath in a shudder that you were holding.

“I keep my promises you know this” he speaks softly in the darkness and you nod your head despite him not being able to see.

“I know” you croak cursing yourself silently. He always did, he was that kind of man.

“Get some sleep” he mutters after some silence and walks back to his side of the room.

Morning comes, the lights turning on brightly making you wince. You didn’t sleep well at all last night, tossing and turning, fleeting nightmares. Alarms blare and you’re suddenly wide awake and standing up by the bed on wobbly feet. Your door is opening, Cooper is up quickly as well. You see two men in hazard suits and two people behind them with guns. You tense realising they were here to take you away. You see a scared woman being held behind the four people, she’s cuffed and held by two others in hazard suits.

“You aren’t fulfilling your duties in room 236, we are to remove the omega and replace her” his words sound automated and suddenly you’re wrapped up in strong arms.

“You won’t take her” Coopers voice is low, his breathing is coming out almost in a harsh snarl, he’s got one arm across your upper chest the other over your stomach.

“Sir, let the omega go” the people in the hazard suits are unbothered by the smells and tone he’s using.

“You. Won’t. Take. Her” he breathes harshly between each word and you swear he’s a man possessed.

“I’m so sorry” he whispers softly in your ear and suddenly there’s like an electric shock of pleasure going through your body as blunt teeth clamp on your shoulder. You let out a strangled noise as a mating bond clicks into place, you’re flooded by him and feelings making you stagger but not fall in his embrace.

“You won’t take my mate away” he challenges after he stops biting and you’re in a daze. They halt there advances, a mate bond is strong, he won’t touch another omega now. They step back hands up and the door slides shut. You breathe deeply, having held your breath majority of that time as you finally process everything that happened. You place a hand on your neck feeling where he bit and stutter. You hear him apologising feel him move in front of you but you’re in overload right now. You don’t look at him, you turn, grab a chair and head to the bathroom. You force the chair against the door and collapse to the floor in a heap. What just happened?

Next part ->

NOTES:

To continue Wasteland heat I gotta watch the episodes again I think I got like episode five? While writing and then had this idea xD but I’ll continue Wasteland heat after xD

[talesofesther]

under the sunlight

Summary: After 200 years of darkness, Astarion feels the sun on his skin again.

A/N: It's been quite a long while since I've enjoyed a game the way I'm enjoying BG3, a feeling I've missed all too much. And of course, this pretty, charming boy has secured his place in my heart fairly quickly. I love him, he deserves all the warmth and softness in the world. And this is a moment I've been wanting to visualize for a while. So, here's a small drabble about Astarion's first time back in the sunlight.

Requests for Astarion are open, if anyone wants more of him here. <3

Masterlist

The world around him smelled like smoke and burnt flesh, the air stung as it ghosted over his dry lips. Dust and remains of rubble clung to his skin, his body felt heavy and sore all over. Each movement more painful than the last, for seconds that felt like hours.

The pale elf didn't know how it happened, all he knew was that the mind flayer ship he had been trapped in had started to fall, and fall, and fall; until it crashed, and he crashed with it. He also had no idea how he had survived, but he wasn't about to complain.

A deep groan escaped Astarion as he steadily regained consciousness. He kept his eyes clenched shut, a headache pounding his head and making him wince.

He scratched the dirt and grass beneath him, grounding himself. His muscles complained as he slowly started to push himself up, and as he tried opening his eyes, a hiss fell past his lips and he blinked several times. Squinting, he tried to adjust his sight to the bright sunlight.

He stilled. Hand frozen midair as he was about to shake the dust off his hair.

Sunlight.

Moving faster than he probably should, given his state, the vampire crawled backward until his back hit the trunk of a tree. His skin only partially hidden from the warm glow.

He tucked his knees closer to his chest, eyes wide as he watched the soft slivers of sunlight that sneaked between the leaves dance on the tip of his fingers. With a trembling hand, he gingerly curled a finger around one strip of sunlight, as if the light would bend its rules for him to hold it.

Sharp fangs dug into his lower lip, scratching and drawing a drop of his own blood. There was a tightness in his chest, clawing at his throat; whether it was fear or hope he didn't know. Maybe a bit of both.

A soft breeze flew by, carrying away the stench of smoke and bringing a distinct perfume, no doubt from the berry bushes nearby. The skies cleared, welcoming, beckoning him under.

With his palm up, Astarion eyed the stripe of sunlight resting on his hand. The soft glow had a gentle warmth to it, kissing his pale skin ever so tenderly. It was enough to blur his sight, tears brimming on the bottom lid of his eyes.

Could it be?

Wobbling in his stance, feet unsteady, Astarion pushed himself up. He took one, and then two steps forward—resembling a wild cat walking into a cozy home, after sleeping countless nights out in cold streets.

When the warm light of the sun embraced him—without pain, without burning—a quiet whimper fell past his lips, and Astarion closed his eyes. He angled his chin up to the sky, pleading for the sun's attention. For it to kiss his cheeks and dry the drops of blood on his clothes. For it to shine on his silver hair and warm up his cold skin.

He blinked his eyes open, lower lip trembling when his sight was temporarily blinded by the light. He looked around him, to the bright greenery and the blue skies and the mountains far away.

It was so warm. After 200 years of cold nights. He felt so warm.

Tears fell down pale cheeks, glimmering, under the sunlight.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

[destroymeinherz]

The Party

A little while back someone posted about a fantasy of being passed around a stethoscope party, with different people listening to their heart. I don’t remember who did so if it was you, I hope you like this. It sparked creativity,

I could continue if anyone wants another part. But I wanted to do the basic idea.

The Party

I’d just signed with a modeling agency. It wasn’t the most exclusive, sometimes the jobs weren’t exactly what I hoped but college was expensive, so I took what I could. How bad could it be? It’s not like I planned to run for office or something.

My agent called me after classes one afternoon asking if I’d be interested in a gig that was more unconventional. After a few basic questions for my safety, nothing seemed too offensive even if it was secretive, and a rep from the agency would be there in case of trouble, I decided to take it.

Friday night I arrived at a big mansion just outside the city. From the looks of it this was old money, probably descendants of oil barons and railway tycoons. Which meant the paycheck would be huge. They’d promised a large payout for anyone who stayed til midnight.

I was let into a large foyer and usher back to a small hallway to a butlers parlor. A woman checked my ID, checked my name off a list and then looked me over.

“You will be required to wear one of two outfits tonight,” She instructed, pulling two hangers off a rack of clothes. “Black is standard, you are willing to do anything that would be clothes on. Call it PG-13.”

She held up a black Herve Luger bandage dress for emphasis. Then in her other hand, she held up a red one nearly identical to the former.

“Red,” She continued. “You are open to sexual behavior, and by wearing red you are giving consent to sexual advance,”

Well, I was single and I was never a prude, so I took the red. Might as well have a bit of fun. Once I accepted my color choice, she handed me an iPad with a waiver basically stating that I would take proper precautions, assert myself and under no circumstances attempt to contact anyone I met here after the event. I would ask for aid if I felt unsafe and leave without a scene. If I did not make it to midnight, I’d be compensated $200 per hour worked.

I shrugged and signed. She then held back a curtain for me to change in a small closet. I slipped inside, squeezed into the dress and as I was ushered to a door she fit me with a bracelet.

“If you need out, press the red button. Security will extract you.” She informed. “Are you ready?”

I blinked. Extracted? My heart started to pound, suddenly feeling crushed by the tight dress. What did I get myself into. But… the money was clouding my judgement. So I nodded, and the door opened. Once I cleared the threshold, it closed behind me.

Just walk around. Be eye candy. That was my only instruction. So that is what I did.

The room was a parlor, antique and dimly lit. It was full of golds and deep rich red textiles, dark wood and gold finishes. Old leather bound editions of classic literature adorned the bookshelves. I felt like I’d gone back in time. Or I was in a vampire’s house. My heart thudded at the thought.

The room was also full of people, in fine clothes, expensive tuxes and dresses. All of them wore masks like a masquerade. As I started to work through the crowd they watched me, with hungry eyes. Maybe I was in a vampire’s den. I was about to be dinner. There were a few other girls dressed in the red or black, varying heights and hair colors and skin tones.

I swallowed and tried to will my poor heart to stop trying to escape my chest. Until finally, a man approached me.

“Well, aren’t you lovely,” He said, holding out his hand.

I took his hand, and he brought it to his lips. He then moved his fingers down my wrist, stopping to feel my pulse. He offered him a soft smile. Then, he nodded before he motioned a waiter over.

The waiter came with a silver cloche, removing the dome top and extending the tray to the man. But there wasn’t food. It was a line of various stethoscopes. His fingers danced along them as he made his selection, a red tube that matched my dress.

He waved the man off, then examined it before placing the buds in his ears.

“Now, deep breath for me. Like a doctor’s office.” He said as he placed the diaphragm on my chest,

I was surprised, but I did as he asked, breathing in deeply and feeling my heart kick in my chest. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.

He must have enjoyed the sound of my heart because he moved the diaphragm around my chest, smiling to himself and eventually he stopped. He listened for a long time, and even behind a mask I could see his eyes were closed.

I blushed. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump

Finally, he opened his eyes and moved the diaphragm away. He took the ear pieces out and looked around. Then he must have seen who he needed, because he waved to someone.

“You have a perfect heart, my dear.” He said.

“Uh, thanks…” I replied.

Another man approached, he also had a stethoscope. He looked to the first man oblivious to me and waited for why he’d been called over.

“I think she’s the one. Take a listen.”

The new man finally looked at me. I smiled at him but he simply leaned in with his own stethoscope and listened to my heart. I took a deep breath like I had before.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump

“I think you’re right,” He replied. “Take her in, I’ll grab the others.”

The others? I blinked in surprise. Is this all it was? A bunch of cosplayers listening to my heart for a few hours? That didn’t seem so bad. Even if they wanted to listen to it during sex or something. That was actually, kinda hot.

“Come with me,” The first man said.

I nodded as he took my hand again. This time he lead me down another hallway to a different room. He opened the door and brought me in, then closed it behind me. It was more of a sitting room with a beautiful chaise in the center, raised up on a platform.

I recognized some medical equipment from various movies or doctors visits. Nothing seemed too concerning.

“Now, lay down on the chaise,” He instructed. “You may stay clothed for now. But do remove your shoes as to not damage the upholstery.”

I did as he asked. Once I was settled, he returned to my side. He brought the steth out again and gently placed it on my chest. He let out a content sigh as he listened to my heart pound.

As he listened, others started to fill the room. They lined up behind him. I had never expected anything like this. Just lay here and let them hear my heart beat.

“Before we continue, could I get you anything? Water, soda, wine?”

I smiled. “What would you like me to have?”

“Oh you are cheeky.” He grinned. “Perhaps a little caffeine, to stimulate you. What does everyone think?”

There was a nod of agreement from the group and some muttering of approval. The first man smiled and had one of the caterers being me a soda can on a platter with a straw beside it.

“Go ahead and open it, then use the straw to limit your movement to drink.” He instructed.

I did as he asked. Once the can was open and the straw was in, in leaned over to the table where it sat and drank a few gulps. As I did, the man placed the diaphragm on my chest again.

He closed his eyes, listening and seemingly very content with the sound. Finally he opened them, took my hand and kissed the back of it. He stepped aside and the next person in line stepped up.

There was no clock in the room but it felt like time slowed in this room. Each person took their turn stepping up to my seat and just listening to my heartbeat. Some had me drink the soda, some had me lay down, some had me sit and stand quickly. I’d stand there and pant through running in place and jumping jacks in a too tight dress, as they listened to my heart’s reaction and then recovery.

Ba-dumpba-dumpba-dumpba-dump ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump

I had to admit, this was fun.

The last person was a woman, she couldn’t have been much older than me. She seemed more keen then the men had. Her eyes were bright behind her mask. She took a deep breath as her gold and white stethoscope settled on my chest.

“My… your heart… it’s by far one of the loveliest I’ve heard.” She said to me, her voice was lustful. “May I rest my head on your chest? Hear it directly with my ear?”

“Sure. I don’t see why not.” I replied.

“Would you like to hear your heart while I do?” She removed the stethoscope and offered it.

The people in the room all watched, eager to see how I would respond. Well, why not? If it made them happy it was my job tonight. I don’t think I’d ever heard my heartbeat before, not like this anyway.

“Okay. Sure” I replied with a smile.

That was the right answer as she grinned with excitement and placed the ear pieces in my ears. Then she placed the diaphragm down on my skin and rested her ear next to it.

I inhaled as I had before and my head filled with the rhythmic thumping they’d all been indulging in for the last few hours.

Ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump

I closed my own eyes and lost myself in the sound. Maybe I should come to these parties more often. Hearing the steady beat, knowing it was mine… that was intoxicating.

“Do you like it?” She asked.

“Yeah. I think I get the vibe.” I responded.

“Are you ready to try something a little more interesting?” The first man asked, approaching me slowly. “You can refuse any of the requests, we won’t take offense or change your compensation. These would be granting special requests.”

The stethoscope was removed from my ears and I almost whined about it. I liked hearing my heart, understanding what they were hearing. What they enjoyed that brought me here.

“Sure,” I said. “What do you have in mind?”

End?

[skylarsblue]

✦Slashers With A Strong S/O✦

✦Note; Gender Neutral Reader, fluff, no warnings! I added a few for my own enjoyment, hope you don't mind! 

FOR SOME FUCKIN REASON THIS POST GLITCHED OUT HELLA HARD, SO I'M REPOSTING IT JUST IN CASE. IF YOU REQUESTED THIS I'M SORRY YOU DIDN'T GET NOTIFIED RIGHT AWAY. TUMBLR'S A BITCH

✦Michael: He/Him, Jason: He/Him, Billy: He/It, Bubba: He/They/She, Bo: He/Him, Vincent: They/He, Danny: He/They

❀Michael Myers❀

Oh, he has no idea how to feel. This is OG Myers, he's got a pretty average build. 5'10", 190-somethin' pounds. Though he has super-human strength, for some reason, there are certainly people bigger than him. He knows this...he doesn't have to like it though. He likes being this strong and imposing figure that makes hearts sink. The fact he likes you is amazing as it is, the fact he doesn't feel a little threatened by you is even more bewildering.

Do not try to pick him up for no reason/out of nowhere. Not in the beginning, at least. You don't want to push your luck. As strong as you may be, he's immortal, so he'll find a way to ensure you know your place. He doesn't like being overpowered.

That being said, there are certain scenarios where your strength comes in handy, and it's in these times he'll begrudgingly admit to himself that he likes it. For example, when he's wounded enough to actually affect his ability to walk. Don't tease him as you princess carry him, but he is silently appreciative, as embarrassing as it is.

Michael's just very aware when he's in a position that's vulnerable. He's never liked that feeling, so it'll take a long time for him to be comfortable with the knowledge that you're powerful enough to hoist him up without breaking a sweat. Give it some time though and he'll start to enjoy it. He'll never admit it though.

Don't expect him to koala you, ever. But at some point, he'll start to be okay with you carrying him up the stairs when he's hurt from a hunt, or moving him to the couch during those rare times he gets sick from his poor wound care.

All and all, he'll never admit to liking your strength, but eventually, he'll come to find it useful. Just don't push your luck. He'll still stab you if you forget his terrifying reputation.

❀Jason Voorhees❀

Well, if he likes you, he trusts you a whole lot. Jason's all or nothing when it comes to comfort/trust. This means, unlike Michael, he doesn't really have any worries or insecurities over your strength. He thinks it's rather impressive actually! Depending on your height, if you're like...under 5'8"? He's gonna be double impressed.

Living in the woods and being self-sustainable is hard work. It requires a lot of physical labor. Carrying lumber around, building things, carrying heavy metal to set up his traps, fixing up the cabins. Jason can do it with ease, but it can get pretty tiresome when that's all he does. Lugging around logs of firewood and dead bodies. A corpse doesn't pull its own weight, after all.

Having you around and willing to help is extremely helpful! He's too polite to go out of his way to ask for your help, but when you do it anyways, it makes his stomach feel all weird. What gives him the shock of his life...(afterlife?) is when you lift him up for the first time.

He lets out a surprised grunt and looks around like a freaked-out cat. Processing the fact his significant other hoisted his 6'5", 200+ pound ass right off the ground without any struggle. It makes him admittedly a bit flustered.

He'd prefer if you gave him a little warning before you do it, it kinda freaks him out when you lift him all of a sudden, but that doesn't mean he dislikes it. Quite the contrary! He won't ask for it but when you lift him up and hold him there, it makes him feel safe. It reminds him of being a kid, when his mother would carry him virtually everywhere. Bringing back those old memories before he lost her is an easy way to make Jason melt.

He'll constantly worry about being too heavy, and he'll weakly insist you stop lifting him. He doesn't want you hurting yourself! Of course, you know better, and it makes his heart happy that you insist on doing it anyway.

❀Billy Lenz❀

Billy's a bit iffy with touch. Sometimes he can't get enough, other times he shuts down completely at the lightest tap. But he trusts you which means you get a pass more often. It likes your touch! Your touch doesn't mean bad things!

Billy's not very heavy or big. It's rather slim, actually. Bit of a twig, really. About 5'6", not including the heels on his boots, and maybe around 125 pounds soaking wet. Picking him up really isn't that difficult, to be honest. Still! It'll make him light up when you hold him aloft like a cat. On an excitable day, it'll squirm and giggle relentlessly.

On days where he's really not lucid, but not hyperactive either, he likes to cling to you like a koala. It doesn't matter if he's in the way, he's stuck to you for a while. It's probably the best time to cuddle it in all honesty. He won't talk much, doesn't really move either, just settles against you. Letting you be the anchor in reality so he doesn't drift off into space. It prefers that dynamic much more than panic attacks.

He tries to pick you up once and he fails, absolutely. Billy's a climber and he can hoist his own body weight just fine, but it's a different scenario when lifting someone else. Though the experience definitely makes him like how strong you are a lot more than before. Now it's twice as impressive.

Sometimes he squirms around when you lift him up. Be cautious of his legs, especially if you got a pair of nuts. Those boots are pretty damn effective at crotch shots.

❀Bubba Sawyer❀

Oh, Bubs is so flustered so quick, bro. Bubba is a big, big baby. Just shy of 6'6" and over 300 lbs. No one can just lift him. They haven't been lifted up since they were a kid, and even then it was rare. He's always been heavier set and his eldest brother often insisted it was a pain to lift him.

Here you come though, buff as hell, raising her off the ground like she weighs nothing. It definitely makes them all giddy. Bubba will start squeaking and squealing, flapping his hands all excitedly. Please carry Bubba like a princess, they'll swoon so hard.

It's guaranteed he'll be really worried about your back though. He's been hyper-aware of his weight for a long time, it's an insecurity they've always dealt with. All of her brother's comments definitely make her worry that you'll hurt yourself trying to carry her.

As a result of this? Carry him more, it'll make him melt completely. Go ahead and shower him with compliments while you hold him off the ground. It's the easiest way to make Bubba fall for you even harder. If y'all weren't already married, you will be now, it's sealed.

Sometimes Chop-Top & Nubbins will bother you to do the same with them. Bubba will let out little noises of discontent, they like to be the only one you pick up and carry. It's special for them! Though they won't insist you say no to his brothers, he will feel all fuzzy if you insist it's a Bubba-Only Privilege.

No matter your size, weight, or height? She'll return the favor. Bubba's used to heavy lifting, he's a butcher farmhand! It's only fair he share the experience, plus, it feels nice to have you close to him all day. Worry not about her arms, she was built for this!

❀Danny -Jed Olsen- Johnson❀

Ghostface is all over that shit man. He's so into it. If you're a victim, it's annoying, because it makes his job harder. But you're not! Not anymore, anyway, so he gets to appreciate all that strength. The knowledge you could probably whoop his ass definitely gives him a feeling of warmth in his face...and groin.

Danny's athletic and fit, but he's not Pyramid-Head levels of buff by any means. 5'11", bout 190 somethin' pounds. They're strong enough to lift twice their body weight with minimal struggle, but it's not every day you come across someone who can carry you like it's nothing.

I imagine you probably did it first in order to prove a point. Danny likes to tease, they probably make a little comment about being stronger than you, only for you to pick him up like it was nothing. It definitely catches him off guard for a bit, which is hard to do! As soon as it processes though? He's back to flirting with a smug-ass grin. He's a little shit.

After that, they'll try to get you to do it again, usually by annoying you or insisting it was a fluke and that you're not as strong as you look. It's only because he's secretly too embarrassed to admit he just likes being held. Danny's a switch and you can fight me on that. He won't admit it but he likes being carried like a pretty princess sometimes, makes him feel all cute.

One day, he'll come home all exhausted and annoyed. A day when their job was stressful, probably his coworkers being bitches, the coffee machine wouldn't work. It's times like that when he wants to go batshit crazy. Drop the Jed persona and stab everyone in sight.

They won't say a word when they walk into whatever room you're in, storming up to you at great speed. He stops right in front of you and stares at you for a bit, then after a beat of silence, he opens his arms and makes the grabby hand motion. Tips of their ears are bright red. He'll hush you really dramatically if you make a comment, but he melts when you pick him up. Just kinda chills there until the annoyance of everyday life finally settles back down. This one instance turns into a habit, for sure.

���Bo Sinclair❀

Did someone say FRAGILE MASCULINITY?! Yeah, Bo's gonna be real fuckin' huffy for a while. Like Michael, he doesn't like the idea of being vulnerable, nor does he like the idea of his significant other being stronger than him. He's been conditioned into a traditional headspace. He's the provider! He's the stronger one! That's the rule!

It'll take a long time before he's completely comfortable with the fact he finds how easily you lift heavy things attractive. Given that's essentially the complete opposite of his usual "type". Weak, submissive, someone easy to assert power over. He was raised in a circumstance where he was always weaker, so as a result, he tries to pursue the other role. Being the strong and imposing figure.

It'll probably be like two years before you can lift him up without Bo getting genuinely upset. Doing it before then will probably lead to a fight that he'll brood over for a few days.

Man still bitches when you do it though, he just won't insist on screaming at you for hours. The best case scenario to do this is probably when a visitor goes rogue and hurts him enough to where he needs help walking. Complaining the whole time, he'll let you carry him back to the couch, as long as you ensure his brothers don't see.

Like with Jason, if you're on the shorter side, it'll confuse him. Wondering where you keep all that strength in your little body. He'll get a bit competitive, but he won't inform you that you two are competing. It makes him frustratingly turned on when he sees you toss a body like it's nothing, or lift a giant truck tire without breaking a sweat. Bo will deny it up until he literally can't anymore. He'll spill it to you but if you make a single teasing comment, he's kickin' you in the shin and storming off.

Oh, and bonus? You have a secret advantage at tapping into that well-guarded sub-space portion of Bo's brain. Just be gentle cause he is EXTREMELY fragile, a lot more than he lets on.

❀Vincent Sinclair❀

Well, you probably started as a visitor, which means they have to kill you. So in that situation, he finds your strength extremely aggravating. It's very annoying. But! You're not a victim anymore and so now he has no trouble admitting they find it incredibly attractive.

Between both of his brothers, he ranks second in physical strength to Bo, but that doesn't mean he's weak at all. We all saw how easily he can cut off a fuckin' head with two knives. Or impale a skull with a broken pipe. They're extremely dangerous and strong. Now that being said, you being stronger than them makes them feel...well, it makes them feel something for sure.

Lifting Vincent up isn't that hard. He's not light necessarily, but he's not that heavy either. No, it's the fact you can carry him around that makes them all flustered. It's one thing to lift someone, but to continuously support their weight whilst walking around like it's nothing? It's something Vincent hyperfixates on every time you do it.

Vincent's very touch-starved. Like, extremely. Though it makes his face burn when you throw them over your shoulder, he melts all the same. He won't actively encourage it like Danny, but he will try to subtly hint when he wants to be picked up. Hoping you'll notice the signs and do it on your own to save them the embarrassment of actually asking.

If Bo isn't around, Vincent loves nothing more than to cling to you while you do household chores. Admittedly, he gets a little too into it if you switch his weight onto your hip and hold him up with one arm. As if they needed any more confirmation that you're buff as hell. You'll probably hear them squeak and quickly try to force down the embarrassment. He's never considered himself the submissive type, somewhere in the middle instead, but you DEFINITELY MAKE THEM QUESTION.

When doing maintenance on the House of Wax, sometimes you'll lift them on your shoulders so they don't have to break out the ladder. He'll struggle to lose himself in the art of wax with your hands holding his thighs steady. And Bo never lets him live it down if the man notices just how much Vincent likes you showing off how strong you are

[isthemedia]

Poolverine-Yoink! (2/2)

Part 2 is now done.

Here's Part 1. And here's the Ao3 link.

@manicpixxiedreambitch

@ineffablestardust

@saspas-corner

@angelbonezs

Since ya'll wanted to be tagged when part 2 was done.

=============================================

‘Not today…not tomorrow…not now,’ Wade’s groggy mind repeated. His joints ached. He could hear a ringing that wasn’t typical tinnitus. He grabbed at the back of his neck, the skin feeling too tight. ‘Really laying it on thick there ain’tcha madam/sir author? Is this whump? I feel like this can be classified as whump.’

(Whump is more hurt than comfort. So no, not really.)

‘Well I’m calling it whump, even if it’s not tagged that.’

(You can go ahead and do that, even though it’s wrong.)

Wade sighed as he curled up a bit tighter. Skin felt like it was prickling if exposed to air. That staticky feeling of just too many eyes watching. He could hear the door of Al’s room creak open. The shuffling of her feet…

“Yer too damn quiet right now,” Al complained. “An’ I know yer still here,” she added, her cane smacking alongside the bed. She stopped when she hit the pile of blankets. “Oh lord this again?”

She didn’t get an answer. No witty reply or snide retort. Heaving a sigh, Al continued on. “I’m headin’ ta bingo, and I’m gonna call Vanessa-she can explain this nonsense ta Logan.” It may have sounded like complaining, but the tone in her voice was clear. It was that ‘don’t worry, help is gonna be on the way deary’ tone. 

And really? Bingo at what…this early in the morning?

‘What time is it even?’

(Early enough.)

‘Lazy establishing setup.’

Wade shifted somewhat, the bed frame of the pull-out creaking as he did. Right, how was Logan going to take this? He should handle this. Maybe? 

Well, Vanessa should be able to handle it, she had no fear with the somewhat feral wolverine he brought home. She did tease him about how he went full ‘White Woman’ and took a wild animal home under the guise of ‘you’re mine now’. He guessed she wasn’t entirely wrong. 

But he also wasn’t expecting Logan to stay as long as he did. He’s read the comics-and sure even though this Logan is from a different universe it almost seemed ingrained in all of them to just-leave some day.  

It wasn’t a bad thing that he stayed. Hell no! If he could he would strap Logan down and make sure he’d never leave. He loved having him around. Al did too. And how could he deprive dearest little miss Mary-Puppins from her other papa? 

The frame of the pull-out creaked again. Oh, speak of the devil. Wade could feel how the pull-out shifted, the weight of the other occupant being removed. But made sense when they’re-what 200-300 plus pounds thanks to a metal skeleton. 

Really no logical way for a shitty pull-out to hold the both of them without collapsing or even warping the frame, yet it still stood.

He wondered if they could use that as sort of a marketing ploy, maybe convince Logan into some centerfold-esque poses just for added effect. Well, effect and future spank-bank material, but he wouldn’t need to know the latter. 

“Come on!” Wade felt the kick given to the pull-out, it jostled the whole thing. Welp, good luck with the Peanut, cause he wasn’t moving. Threaten him with a good time all you want. 

Snikt.

‘And out comes the steak knives. Would stabbing me reset this? Haven’t been stabbed during any of these moods.’

(Pretty sure stabbing would just make you feel worse.)

‘So gonna be a fic with no stabby-stab? And am I even gonna talk? How can you have a Deadpool fanfic where I don’t talk?’

(It’s character introspection.)

‘Sounds like you just don’t wanna come up with quips for me.’

The mattress creaked slightly. Oh, that’s Vanessa. Al really did call her. Such a sweet old blind bat she is. 

Wade could hear them-somewhat over the ringing in his ears that changed to something more akin to the old dial-up sound of the internet. Logan sounded less growly now too.

 Ah Vanessa, the one who can soothe the savage Logan.  

It was weird what his ears would pick up when he was like this. Full conversations happening just outside his makeshift fort of blankets? Nah, that wasn’t important enough. The sound of something being slid across the sheets though? Yeah, could hear that. 

‘And yoink!’ Wade snatched whatever Vanessa slid over to him. Hey! He didn’t have this one! Of course she’d know that. ‘And another for the collection. Ya know I don’t think anyone is gonna get the reference. You’re dating yourself.’

(At least someone is dating me.)

‘Ooof self burn. Ya sure you don’t need the hurt/comfort tag?’

Vanessa just knew what to get-she still remembered. Sure it didn’t work out between them. It stung for a long time. Longer than Wade wanted to admit, but it wasn’t like Vanessa wanted him out of her life. She had to drill it into his head that even if they weren’t romantically involved anymore, didn’t mean she didn’t love him. It was just a different love. 

He sorta got that. He was feeling that too. Feeling it during the Time Ripper thing. During the time in the Void. 

Felt it when he came across Logan. Oh, that was something he still needed to unpack…too bad he was a lazy asshole after a vacation. Eh, it’ll eventually get unpacked-granted, he’ll probably wait until the last minute…like always. 

Vanessa was always going to be special. He would drop everything if she needed him, and vice versa it seemed. But Logan…Logan was something else. He wasn’t sure what he was yet. Sure, he knew what he wanted Logan to be-at least he was pretty sure what he wanted him to be. But that wasn’t gonna fly with Disney and Marvel-or the legion of dudebros who think he and Logan are total and complete masculine heterosexuals. They really need to pick up a comic.

Ah, something else was being pushed towards him. ‘And yoink again!’ Hey, weren't these things discontinued? Sheets were gonna need to be changed after this. At least this time around it would be a more common reason than needing to change them cause they tried to reenact the bed scene from ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’. Maybe they should just buy red sheets. Same logic should apply to them like his suit.

Almost on instinct, Wade felt something shift in the bed. ‘Yoink!’

Only this time, there came a high pitched, noticeable yelp. Oh! Oh sweet baby little angel Mary-Puppins! 

“Shhh shhh. Oh baby girl I’m sorry,” he cooed as he cuddled the shaking pup. He could hear Logan laughing-the asshole! Some other papa he was! Frightening their little baby. His free hand sneaking out of the mess of blankets to flip him off. 

OH! And THAT just made him laugh more? Asshole! When this whole mood thing is done he’s demanding a divorce and child support!

--

Everything was quiet in the apartment. Slowly Wade peaked out from the blankets. Logan was asleep. Al’s door was closed. Mary-Puppins was having little Dogpool dreams.

The apartment was dark, saved for the stray glow of the streetlights filtering in through the busted blinds. 

Carefully, silently Wade slipped out from the mound. Not the worst start to this, though he was tempted to give Logan a smack for making him scare poor, sweet, little Mary-Puppins earlier. The prick-and he laughed the whole time! The super mega prick! 

Wade sighed as he looked over. Logan looked peaceful, or well as peaceful as he could be. Brows were still furrowed, muscles twitching as if ready to go all fight-or-flight. But he wasn’t having a nightmare, so to Wade it meant it was peaceful.

He could save the smacking for another time. He’ll even drop the divorce threat. Cuddles and kisses from Mary were always a plus for him anyway-so it kinda worked out.

Right, he got up for a reason. Treading with light footsteps across the apartment, as to not make a single floorboard creak, he made his way to the bathroom. Hey maybe the merc with the mouth, but he knew how to move quietly . Kinda needed too in that line of work. 

He brushed his teeth, and washed his face. “Ya know, the static feeling from being watched, doesn’t help when there’s like actual readers for this.”

(Semantics, se-mahn-tics. Sides, like you’d let me just keep you as an unmoving lump of blankets for another 3k words.)

“Eh true.”

Wade made his way back, trying to figure out what was the best way to climb back in without waking Logan. He didn’t need to wake him by accident. Even if he wasn’t having a nightmare, it was a bad idea ta just wake up a sleeping wolverine. 

He didn’t wanna get a gut full of adamantium claws again, thank you very much. It wasn’t like Logan meant to do it on purpose. Logan’s mind is always somewhere else when he’s suddenly and rudely woken up like that. So Wade couldn’t blame the guy. Hell, he WOULDN’T blame the guy. 

‘I’ll just blame you.’

(Again no stabbing is happening in this one.)

‘But you are making allusions to it happening before.’

(Oh just go back to your musings and pining.)

‘Fine, I will,’ Wade huffed before looking back over to the sleeping form taking up the other half of the pull-out.

Logan looked better these days-not that he didn’t look good ‘cause goddamn Hugh was still working it even after all this time. It was more of how relaxed he was now. Had a bit of weight put back on him too-‘happy weight’, that was the term right? Or something like that. 

Urban dictionary would help him. Just needed to steer clear of the raunchy side of it. At least this time around.

Wade took it as a sign that Logan was happy here. Maybe if he stayed happy enough he wouldn’t want to leave. He really didn’t want Logan to leave. 

Logan matched his crazy in a way Vanessa did and in ways she didn’t. In ways she just couldn’t. 

Logan didn’t need to change anything about himself. Didn’t need to be a ‘good guy’-he was plenty good enough so shut up Jean. 

Al loved him too. She might not have said it aloud, but Wade can tell she does. 

Sure he was a little feral. Sure he would rather have booze than an actual meal some days. Sure there were times Wade would wake up with a set or two of claws in his chest. But that was fine. Normalcy was for losers anyway. 

What was normal about two slightly fucked up mutants with regenerative powers, a coke addicted blind elderly woman, and the world’s ugliest yet sweetest dog? Who needed normal in a home like this?

Logan didn’t need to be tamed. All Wade wanted was for Logan to just, feel like he belonged. That Logan had his own little Logan-shaped hole carved out here, Junji Ito style but without the horrific implications.

He was certain if Logan did try to leave, he would follow him-funny sitcom stalker style, and drag him back home. Cause even though Logan wouldn’t want to admit it, this shitty little one bedroom apartment was his home now. Al, Mary-Puppins, and him were family now. 

How Logan has his own toothbrush, coffee mug, he got a cupboard just for his booze, and everything. 

There was definitely some codependency between them. Wade was pretty sure of that. That time in the Void-being almost torn apart by the Time Ripper-the fact that he turned around when Wade called him.

But hey, a little codependency never hurt anyone. Besides,  that would just be another thing to add to the ever growing list of things wrong with one Wade W. Wilson.. He’s pretty sure Logan doesn’t mind it either.

The pull-out didn’t even creak as Wade climbed back in. Not a single sound when he settled back under the blankets.

‘That is some lazy writing there.’

(Hey, be thankful I decided to be nice and not wake the sleeping Logan.)

Wade peaked out again, just to make sure Logan was still sound asleep. Fingers itched to just trace down his sleeping face, through the coarse facial hair and sideburns. Though last time he tried that Logan literally bit off two fingers off. Really didn’t wanna go through that again either. 

Hopefully Logan doesn’t get fed up with this whole thing. Just walk out and leave. To be fair it is kind of a golden opportunity for him if he decided too. Wade hoped this wasn’t going to last much longer. 

--

So, Logan did leave. Well not leave-leave. Jerk decided to head out and restock since they managed to empty the bag Vanessa brought. Dammit, he could be a sweet guy. Why does nobody pay attention to that? Honestly. 

Logan said Al was off to the laundromat-they both knew what that was code for. He also warned Wade that he was setting Mary by him so there wasn’t a repeat from yesterday. Alright, all is forgiven now. 

He didn’t pull Mary under the blankets this time, but he did reach out to give her pets. She seemed content with the arrangement as well, licking all along his hand to his wrist. Seemed she forgave or just forgot the scare from before. 

He slipped his hand back under the blankets. He was thinking-dangerous thing he knows-but he was trying to come up with an idea. A plan to convince Logan that there was no reason to leave. He had a few brewing, but was pretty sure he would end up skewered, or beaten down, or torn apart if he tried any of those.

So his new plan? Well it was a bit crazy. Crazy and yet so simple. Simply just tell Logan. It worked before. It worked quite a few times before. 

So his chances were pretty high about it working again. Just a simple ‘you can stay here as long as you like’. Hmm but that made it seem like he could still leave. 

Maybe a ‘hey, surprise I think I love you…so don’t leave.’ Nah that kinda sounded desperate.

‘You got everything you need right here, besides the housing market is shit right now.’ Eh, that made it sound like this thing was an obligation. 

Wade’s thoughts were cut off when he heard the sound of something being slid across the sheets. ‘And yoink,’ he snatched the offering. ‘Awww Peanut went all the way to that corner store that sold the weird flavor chips. He spoils me.’

Another sound. 

Oh…

Wade felt himself smile as he reached out again, and placed his hand over Logan’s. Damn the guy was hot. Well, not just hot like that, but like he was a furnace. Wade’s thumb rubbed small circles over Logan’s knuckles, feeling the lone scars his body had-where those claws would poke out from. He could feel a knot just behind those knuckles. 

Maybe a good ole massage was in order for him. Would be the least Wade could do as a thanks for him. 

“Yer gonna need to let go or I’m gonna need ta stop pettin’ Mary if you need somethin’ else,” Logan’s voice rumbled. Well, Wade couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let the attention Mary was getting from her other papa just stop. He gave Logan’s hand a pat before giving an ‘okay’ gesture, before slipping back under the blankets. “You get so damn spoiled,” he heard Logan say under his breath.

Yeah, maybe just telling him was the best plan. He just needed to find the right words now. 

--

‘Captain’s log, Star date….I dunno the author didn’t give me one.’

(Dates are pointless for fanfics.)

‘It appears the author wishes to deflect from criticism of their laziness in doing a proper establishing setup.’

It’s been four days into this little funk of Wade’s. He was pretty sure he was ready for it to be over. The only issue was that once this was done, then he’d need to figure the next thing. The asking Logan to stay thing.

He wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for that yet. That familiar sound broke his train of thoughts again. ‘Aaaaand yoink!’

“Jesus!” 

Oh Laura came by too. Awww he didn’t mean to startle the baby wolverine. Logan and Vanessa were laughing-they could be real assholes sometimes. Loving assholes but still assholes all the same.  

The creaking of the bed frame, the dip in the mattress. Logan was potentially putting himself into yoinking-range. If that happened, well, there would be no way Wade could resist if he did. 

“You miss him talking, don’t you?” Wade could hear the smirk in Laura’s voice. She’s such a cheeky kid. He’ll take blame for that. Bad influence and all.

“Dunno what yer talkin’ about,” Logan grumbled. 

“Suuuure you don’t.” 

Logan huffed and shifted slightly. Oh? Just a bit more Wolvie. He felt the mattress dip a bit more-BINGO! “SHIT! I forgot!” 

Both hands shot out and grabbed an arm. Logan absolutely let his guard down, cause there was no way Wade could have pulled this off if he didn’t.

And if Logan had his guard down, that meant he was truly relaxed here. More than that, he felt safe here. And why wouldn’t he? He had the one and only Deadpool here to keep an eye on him. Well okay, the one and only that mattered. None of those variants to worry about. 

Man, that shocked look on his face was definitely doing things. Wondered if he could see it more. He felt himself smiling. He knew it was that dumb lovestruck smile he’d give Vanessa when they were together-only slightly different. Cause this one wasn’t for her, this smile was for Logan. “Got too close there Peanut.” Dear fuck was that his voice? ‘Hey next time, write something where I’m not nearly silent for four days. It’s murder on the vocal cords.’

“Yeah, figured,” Logan said softly. “Better?”

“Hmm…a bit,” Wade murmured. Fuck it, he’s in for it now. “Gonna talk your ear off, cause I had a lotta thoughts goin’ through my head during all this.” Wade dragged two fingers along Logan’s jaw, carding through the cause hair of his beard. This time without worrying about losing them this time.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Wade leaned down. Not exactly the Spider-man kiss, but it was close enough. He felt Logan’s breath hitch.  ‘Please, stay here? Don’t feel like you need to run away. There’s space just for you.’

“...ready ta come out? Say hi ta Laura and Vanessa?” Logan asked as they pulled apart. Wade almost wanted to say no. He wanted to kiss him again. 

But he’d be lying if said he didn’t want to see them. Four days of next to no social interaction was killer. He was gonna need to call Peter and Dopinder too. Maybe make Logan walk with him to the X-Mansion so he could see Yukio and bother Ellie. Maybe watch an episode or two of the Great British Bake-off with Colossus.  “Yeah, ‘m pretty sure I’m good,” Wade nodded. 

Logan shifted and pulled the blankets back and off of himself as he sat up right. Wade pulled them back just enough to uncover his head. He shifted and shimmied across the mattress till he could comfortably lean against Logan-and he wasn’t pushed off. Score!

“Hey,” Vanessa greeted softly. 

“Hey,” Wade gave her a soft smile. Definitely a different smile than before. He could feel it, and she could definitely see it. 

“Missed ya. Seems like Logan did a good job at taking care of ya.” 

“Hmmm he did,” he laid his head on his shoulder. “Thanks Peanut, I owe ya.” 

“Nah,” Logan shrugged slightly, jostling Wade slightly-almost like he was teasing him. Or maybe Wade was getting his hopes up. “ Deal enough with my shit, the least I can do.” 

Wade hummed, then straightened up some when he felt something shift under the blankets. No way, was Logan…okay yeah-yeah maybe this was gonna work out. “yoink,” Wade said softly as he took Logan’s hand, threading their fingers together. 

Logan had a perfect spot, right next to Wade. 

[cybercl0ne]

can you please do brat taming with two masked men

Brat taming (200 follower special) // Ghost + Soap x NB!Reader // 18+

I gotchu my sweet, sweet anon 😇 (They/Them pronouns used)

Summary: For the last few weeks Ghost has been acting strange and finally shows you why and how to behave with a little bit of help.

TW: Anal, oral, giving/receiving, DP, Slapping, pounding, edging, minor degradation

A/N at the bottom!!!

You sat at the bar, sipping your smooth yet hard liquor, pondering on your last mission with your lieutenant.

Ghost was already acting off when you sat on the plane, talking to soap. His banter halted when Ghost grunted obnoxiously loud. “Focus on the mission Johnny.” He spat, shifting his stance to gaze at you. You scoffed, thinking Ghost just lived to ruin everything fun. He’d gruff and rumble when you and Soap would announce quietly that you were going out for drinks, or if Price would pay your shoulder just a little too long, his calloused fingers fathered on your vest. He’d talk your ear off if you’d walk out of your quarters to go to Farah‘s room. When Ghost walked into the bar, locking eyes with you, you assumed tonight would be no different. You watched from the side of your eyes as Ghost approached, sitting down a couple seats away, yet making his bearing presence known by penetrating his gaze into your face. You sigh, deciding to get to the bottom of his ruthless judgement over you. You’d never see the smirk on Ghost’s face when you travel over to him, his eyes stuck on your tempered face, agitated yet confused. He loved that look the most. “Soldier?” He grudged. You rolled your eyes, your hips swaying to one side.

“I assume you’re here to bombard me about drinking to?” You sass, looking at how he held himself, swinging his bourbon around, his devious mask still glued to his face. He didn’t respond, only grunting deeply like usual. You chuckle, sitting down next to him. “Why drink this stuff? It’s disgusting.” You claimed, tapping the table as you stared his drink. He lifted it to his jaw, unfolding his mask just enough to sip the drink. You watched in awe at the chiseled jawline, his stubble beard and his bulging hands. He catches your blunt eyes and laughs, showing his oddly sharp teeth.

“Bourbons the good stuff. Tells you about your age by how well you take it.” He jokes, taking pricks at you. You scoff. “Har, Har.” You jokingly smile, resting your arms on the table, nearly forgetting why you came over to him in the first place. You decide to pay your tab, tipping your lieutenant a goodnight, stepping out of the packed bar. You stand outside, grabbing a cigarette, deciding that if you didn’t use one now, Price would catch you using one again at the quarters.

Before you’re able to light it, a force snatched your cancer stick from your lips. You snarl, looking at the perpetrator. When you see its Ghost, you smack your tongue, putting the lighter away. “Not a smoker, huh?” You cough, looking up at the looming eyes of parental disappointment. You chuckle at the memory of that glare, seeing him place the cigarette on the muddy floor, squeezing it under his heavy-duty boots. “I know you’re aware it’s not good for you kid. Also not supposed to be doin’ it here anyway.” Ghost grunts. You scoff, feeling put on the spot. Soap pops up out of the bar, stumbling lightly until he spots the both of you.

“Hey LT, you and y/n taking a peek at Prices new ride to?” He says oblivious. You cross your arms, tempered. Ghost visibly looks at Soap confused. “No, I was just highlighting on how big of a dick someone’s being right now.” You slyly slip in, moving past the both of them. You stomp your way back to your room, still visioning Ghost’s eyes on you as you storm off.

As you get ready for bed you hear your door knock with ominous. You go to answer it, cooled down and clean with a warm shower, the steam flowing off of you. “Soap? What are you doing out of your quarters?” You asked, opening the door for him, casually looking at him as he sat on your bed, his eyes staring at you in a different light that you couldn’t see. For the moment he ignored that you were in just a towel. “Y/n what’s your deal with LT?” He questioned, his voice neutral and curious. You were taken aback by his sudden question, blinking. “What do you mean? Are you talking about the fact that he treats me like an insignificant child, or that he can’t stand to be around me without taunting me?” You clap back, crossing your arms, the remembrance of what happened just a few minutes ago, bubbling up irritation. Your ranting is broken by Soap’s sudden movement. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Y/n from what I hear you’ve been out of line.” He says, approaching you slowly. Before you could react with a sassy retort Ghost busts through the door, closing it behind him, focusing his pure attention on his small little lamb in front of him. Tonight, he had a mission.

As you get ready for bed you hear your door knock with ominous. You go to answer it, cooled down and clean with a warm shower, the steam flowing off of you.

“Soap? What are you doing out of your quarters?” You asked, opening the door for him, casually looking at him as he sat on your bed, his eyes staring at you in a different light that you couldn’t see. For the moment he ignored that you were in just a towel. “Y/n what’s your deal with LT?” He questioned, his voice neutral and curious. You were taken aback by his sudden question, blinking. “What do you mean? Are you talking about the fact that he treats me like an insignificant child, or that he can’t stand to be around me without taunting me?” You clap back, crossing your arms, the remembrance of what happened just a few minutes ago, bubbling up irritation. Your ranting is broken by Soap’s sudden movement. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Y/n from what I hear you’ve been out of line.” He says, approaching you slowly. Before you could react with a sassy retort Ghost busts through the door, closing it behind him, focusing his pure attention on his small little lamb in front of him. Tonight, he had a mission.

“Oh y/n, see me and Johnny had a little chat. You’re not easy to work with, but now. Now I know how to fix that.” Ghost says, the boys closing in on you as you back up into a wall, confused and nervous. You could feel your mind drifting, your body feeling warmer.

“W-What are you two up to? Is this some kind of pr-“before you could finish Soap smashed into your lip, guiding you out of your comforting wall. Ghost follows closely behind, groping your ass, smirking at you. “W-What the hell guys! S-stop this!” You shout, sitting up on the bed after Ghost pushes you down on it. They look at each other and laugh. Your mouth sits open, gritting your teeth, before you speak, your face gets met with a hardy slap, the laugh, watching as you react. “You’re not in control anymore, pet.” Soap expressed, watching Ghost lay you back down, straddling your waist. Soap goes beside you, unzipping his pants eagerly.

“I found a great solution to get you to behave love, figured what you need is a good dick to fuck you into submission.” Ghost gruffly smirked, pulling off your towel roughly. You started screaming empty threats, trying to cover yourself. Soap and Ghost’s hungry eyes trailed all around your body, Soap pinning your hands above you as he tapped his cock on your lips. You grunted, shoving your mouth away from his twitching member. Ghost tsk’d loudly, sending a surging slap to your face again, you could feel the burning warmth of the slap, looking at ghost with fiery eyes. “That ought to bruise nicely. Now baby, get to sucking.” Soap chastised, tapping his heavy cock on your lips, you muttered a curse under your breath before taking the giant meat into your mouth, stretching to adjust to his size.

Ghost laughed, shifting his pants from his dick as it got uncomfortable in his boxers. “I can tell you want the same treatment~ don’t worry, I can be fair doll.” Ghost implied, kissing down your body, taking at your nipples, watching you squirm and groan at the touch. “Don’t talk with your mouth full darlin’ you’ll choke.” Ghost said deeply, sending your stomach into flips. You moan at his gaze, while flipping your attention to soap, watching him moan and bob your head as he loosely shoved his cock further down.

Ghost continued his journey down your body, stopping at your crotch. He wasted no time in slurping at you, not waiting to dig his tongue deep onto you. You wriggled under his mouth, closing your eyes, with your body being ravened. “Our little bunny’s getting overwhelmed by getting eaten and being stuffed.” Soap concludes, pumping in your mouth faster. You moan loudly, vibrating his vigorous cock, causing it to twitch.

“Are you gonna cum?” Ghost questions, stopping his motions to look at you, your eyes hazy and hanging low, while your lower half is damn near demolished in your own slick. “Naughty, I didn’t say you could cum yet.” Ghost monologues, you shift your hips, trying to tempt him back to permitting you his service. “They might not cum, but I’m about to-“ Soap interrupts, spraying his cum inside your mouth. You choke on his squirting cock, feeling your mouth get stuffed with his hot semen. Soap slowly pulls out his cock, tapping his overstimulated tip on your nose to open your mouth. “Open wide for me.” Soap demands, grabbing your face with minor force.

You still had a fiery glint in your eyes, still heating with lust. Soap raises his hand, scaling over you as a threat. You reluctantly open your mouth, displaying the load that he’d packed into your mouth. “Good..now I think you know what I want you to do darlin.” Soap slaps your chin, closing your mouth again, staring at you until he sees your throat bob, taking his cum down like a shot. Ghost watches intently, occasionally petting your bits. You swallow instinctively, pulling your attention to Ghost who smiled, his mask nearly off, yet you couldn’t depict him. “Beg me to cum. Beg for it.” Ghost smiled, playing with you, arising a heated moan from you. You shook your head, your glow of defiance, ever present. “Drop dead.” You explain, still embarrassingly wriggling to create some movement. 

Ghost grunts, a scowl forming on his face. Soap chuckles along. “Uh oh. A little worldly advice, if you want to make it out of here in one piece, I’d beg.” You scoffed at his passive threat, watching Ghost closely and unsure. Ghost came to where Soap was, exchanging a single glance at each other before bluntly shoving his cock inside your mouth. Your eyes grew big, your mouth suddenly intruded. Your muffled protest were received with a hard laugh from the boys, Soap following behind ghost in action, rubbing his bare cock on your hole.

Your eyes trained on Soap's watching as he cooed his lips, clicking his tongue at your expression. "W-wait!-" Before you could even gurgle the sentence, Soap shoved into you with force, the instant clenching around him making him wriggle deeper into you. You arched our back, tears foaming into your eyes. Ghost tsk'd, his gaze never leaving your pearly eyes, glossed with pleasure and minor pain.

"Should've just been a good pet and begged." Ghost grunted, matching Soap's thrusting pattern. Soap chuckles, slapping his balls harder against your ass, his hands finding your chest, leaning on them for stability as he lifts your leg up, finding a better position to rock his cock inside you. You roll your eyes back, moaning into Ghost girthy cock, feeling each vein that twitched harder with each thrust through your pretty mouth. Overstuffed in both holes, you feel yourself drawing closer. You rock your hips as Soap starts pounding you harder, Ghost going along and full-on grabbing your head and bobbing you, thrashing your throat.

As you saw white small clouds you hear a sudden 'pop' from your lower half, feeling the rush of cold air instead of a full, steamed cock plowing you. Ghost smirks, pulling out of your mouth, his cock dribbled in precum and your precious spit.

"You missed your chance to cum before, best not to repeat love." Ghost grunted, slapping his moist cock on your cheek, your lips quivered with the hefty decision. You felt your face heat from sexual frustration and the need to release the tension that was inches away from exploding. "Go on, beg little one. Unless you want this to keep going...edging you each time, pulling out of you and watching your mind fight itself on an easy problem." Soap pestered, leaning into your face, licking up your cheek, meeting your eyes. He softly kisses your lips, Ghost gripping your breast, coming up the other side of your face, peppering it in hot kisses. You felt him leave massive hickeys on your neck, licking it after he'd tortured that part of your neck.

"F-fine! P-please..." You mumble. The boys shared a glance at each other, not satisfied. "What?! I begged, n-now keep going!" You demanded, rubbing your hips into their crotch, pacing your head back and forth from them.

"That's not good enough, and you know it love. Tell us what you want. Say it so me and Soap can fuck you stupid." Ghost inquired, whispering in your ear, gripping your chin, protruding your lips to mimic you. "Say it with those pretty, slutty lips." Soap adds, slapping your chest.

"God please! Please stick your cock inside my holes! Stuff me full of your warm cum!" You shout, humping your hips into Soap's twitching cock. Ghost smiles darkly, instantly kissing your lips before burring his cock back where it belongs, inside your mouth. Ghost groans upon reentering. His hot flesh meeting your acute mouth. Soap leads close behind, backing his rock-hard dick inside you. He seethes at your hole inviting him in, begging for him to pound you harder.

"Just like that~ Your so good y/n, takin' us so well." Soap says, rubbing your stomach as he pounds harder. You grip onto the sheets under you, feeling the current of the thrusting from both of the men, feeling yourself feeling drunk on cock. You sucked and prodded at Ghost member, hearing him moan over you. Soap grips your hips, slamming into your hips lustfully, like a dog in heat.

"Oh shit- I-I'm gonna cum! What do you say LT? Should we fill this brat up?" Soap banters, grunting in between. Ghost groans, rolling his head. He doesn't respond, only grunting in approval.

"Cum. Cum you little slut!" Ghost demanded, giving his final shove before unloading his cock full of warm milk inside your mouth, Soap peering behind, shoving his cock deep inside you, unleashing his sticky load. You arched your back, the feeling of both of their cum dripping down your stuffed holes driving you over the edge and sending you into a much-needed climax. You held your mouth open, showing Ghost his mess in your mouth, your eyes peeled to his reaction. You swallowed, cum drunk.

"Good fucking pet." Ghost soothed, kissing your lips, tasting himself and the mixing flavors of you on his tongue. The rushing feeling traveling through your head, and down your shaking legs. Ghost walks around the bed, grabbing water. Soap lifts you up, peppering your sweat, fucked out face in kisses. When Ghost came back, he gave you the water, Soap sitting up and taking out a cigarette.

"Hey! how come it's ok for him to smoke?!" You shouted, Soap continuing as he lit his stick. "Cause I'm not into Johnny." Ghost grumbled, caressing your cheek. You stared at him, lightly fuming. "Ouch LT, guess I shouldn't confess." Soap laughs, slipping his pants and military shirt on before getting up. Ghost grunts toward Soap, not verbally thanking him. Soap sighs content. "Glad I could help LT. See ya' tomorrow Y/n." Soap says, closing the door behind him.

Ghost slides into bed, clutching you and dragging you to him, his boxer fabric rubbing against you, his limb dick, pricking your ass. "Never knew you could be so docile and submissive when you beg." Ghost smugly complimented. You jabbed him in the abdomen, hearing him let out a dry laugh. "Just don't fucking do it again!" You pouted lightly, nuzzling into the big rock.

"We'll see love."

{------------------------}

AN:) I wanted to just thank you all for getting me this far and I promise I'll have a better follower special when we reach that milestone! <3!

[endofradio]

FRAGMENTS OF FEAR — CHAPTER 7: TREASON

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6

WARNINGS: gore mentions

NOTES: i lowkey locked in with this chapter WHY IS IT SO LONG. i also decided to spice things up a bit by having sylvie talk to abigail instead of joey doing it (when abigail says that frank is valdez). i am VERY excited to write the scene where abigail exposes everybody because the drama is going to be REAL.

SUMMARY: now that everyone’s locked inside, sylvie decides to make the decision to talk to abigail herself, something that she regrets. after rickles dies next, sylvie confronts frank, which only leaves her feeling more confused and frightened than she already is.

WORD COUNT: 3,290

TAGLIST: @reclaimedbythesea @creelmalfoylaufeyson69 @that-one-gay-aew-enthusiast @evildarliing @maggotmommys @maggotssmichael @13th-floor-in-moonstone @vampireheist @xashleyo03x @blackwolfstabs @atcarpenter

shoot me a message if you’d like to be added to my taglist! and… seriously — reblogs and comments are heavily appreciated. don’t just leave a like! it helps keep me motivated. 🙏

“Come on, Rickles. Hey!”

Rickles was storming straight for the front door, adamant on his decision to leave. Even with Joey calling for him and following after him, he didn’t change his mind one bit. Once he reached the door, he attempted to open it.

Well, unfortunately for him, the door was completely locked. There was no way to get out. In fact, as Rickles attempted to open the door, some sort of silver gate rose up, blocking the door from any sort of access. It was completely shielded by the gate. Everyone stared at the door in confusion. How the hell did that happen?

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Peter asked. He figured that since he was the strongest of the entire group, he probably had a chance at unlocking the door. It was worth a try, at least.

Turns out, being 6’5” and over 200 pounds doesn’t always make somebody the strongest. No matter how hard Peter strained as he tried to break the door free, nothing happened.

Confused, Peter looked up at the door. “What the fuck?”

He turned around to look at Rickles. “Rickles, stand back.”

Rickles took a few steps back, and then Peter threw himself at the gate, trying to use all of his strength in an attempt to successfully break through it. Still, nothing happened. It only resulted in some physical pain that definitely hadn’t been worth it.

“It’s locked,” Peter announced, disappointed.

Frank rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Peter. It’s obviously fuckin’ locked.”

Sylvie and the others watched as Peter still tried to unlock the door. Great, so now everyone was stuck here. Dean had mysteriously been killed, and now the front door was completely unusable. It almost seemed like this entire place was just one big trap.

Frank sauntered over to Sylvie with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, then.”

Sylvie looked up at Frank, a half-annoyed expression on her face. Seeing that infuriatingly smug grin on his face made her want to just smack him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Maybe she was a coward, maybe it was something else. Either way, the fact she couldn’t make herself do anything about it was bothering her. It was as though her feelings toward Frank were slowly beginning to do a complete 180° in the span of just a few hours.

“And I bet you’re just happy about that, aren’t you?” She asked, trying to sound like a total smart-ass. A snarky response was the most Sylvie could do.

Frank’s smirk grew at Sylvie’s response. He only looked cockier. “Well, I’m certainly not complaining.”

“This whole thing is a trap.”

Frank and Sylvie looked to see Rickles walking away in an obvious hurry. If the front door wasn’t going to be any use, then he figured he’d keep looking. He was determined to get out of this place somehow.

Peter watched as Rickles disappeared. “Rickles! Where’s… hey. Where’s Rickles going?”

“Goddamnit.” Frank hissed under his breath. “Don’t worry about it, Peter. I’ll go after him.”

Peter sighed. “Alright.”

Joey then had an idea. “If Valdez is here, perhaps he checked on the girl and left her there to throw us off…” she speculated.

“I’ll go talk to her.” Sylvie then offered. Right as Joey was about to speak, she was already making her way back up the stairs to the kid’s room.

“Wait—”

Sylvie paused, turning around to look at Joey, who was trying to catch up with her.

“You can’t go in there, Ava.”

“She’s already seen my face. It doesn’t matter.”

Before Joey could say anything else to try and stop Sylvie, she continued on her way.

When Sylvie carefully opened the door, Abigail looked up at her, fearfully clutching a blanket. The sight made Sylvie’s heart clench. She felt really, really bad for the kid. None of this was right at all. She should be at home right now, not locked up in some mansion in the middle of nowhere in Massachusetts.

“What do you… want?” The girl croaked, her voice trembling. “Where’s Joey?”

Sylvie sighed, carefully taking a seat on the edge of the bed, making sure to keep her distance. The last thing she wanted was to make the kid even more afraid than she already was.

“I just need to ask you something,” Sylvie explained, trying to sound as gentle as possible. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need to talk to you, okay?”

Reluctantly, the girl slowly nodded. She still seemed wary of Sylvie, but not as much. Well, that was a good sign at least.

“Has anyone else been in this room?” Sylvie then asked.

Abigail paused, then shook her head. “N-no… just you and… Joey… and the man with the glasses…”

Sylvie slowly nodded. Only her, Joey, and Frank had been in the room, apparently. Just to make sure that Abigail was being honest, she decided to press a little more. She knew how scared kids could lie, speaking from her own experience. Sylvie had personally lied a lot as a child to protect herself. If Valdez had come in here, there was the possibility that he could’ve threatened Abigail into keeping his name out of her mouth. Hopefully, that wasn’t the case.

“Are you sure?” Sylvie asked, slowly raising an eyebrow.

Abigail gave a quick nod.

Sylvie sighed. “Nobody else has been in this room, is that correct? By the way, you can be honest. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Abigail shook her head. Sylvie tried to search her expression for any sign of hesitation, but… she appeared to be telling the truth. Sylvie couldn’t detect a single sign of dishonesty.

She was about to get up and leave the room when Abigail suddenly spoke up.

“He’s gonna hurt me.”

Sylvie turned around to look at her, noticing how the girl seemed to be completely frightened again. She paused, feeling her chest begin to tighten with concern.

“What do you mean? Who’s gonna hurt you?”

“The man with the glasses.” Abigail continued, her voice growing more panicked. “He said he’s gonna hurt me.”

Sylvie could feel her chest start to tighten even more. “Wait, hold on. Are you telling me the truth?”

Abigail frantically nodded. “Yes! I’m serious… I’m serious. Please… please believe me. I’m really scared. He said I need to keep a secret, or… or he’d hurt me.”

“What secret?”

What she said next made Sylvie’s heart just about drop to her stomach.

“He said he works for my father… he said his name’s… Valdez.”

Fuck.

Sylvie didn’t know what to believe. Sure, Frank was a cold-hearted bastard in all honesty… but a ruthless murderer? Maybe she was just in denial, but she couldn’t picture him doing what had been done to Dean. She wasn’t sure if he was that sadistic, that cruel. The idea of Frank working for Lazar and being a brutal killer was enough to make Sylvie sick to her stomach.

If it was all true… then what else did Sylvie not know about Frank?

“You’re not just saying that, right?” She carefully asked.

Abigail looked so afraid that she seemed as though she was about to break down in tears. She fervently nodded again. “I’m telling the truth, I promise!”

Sylvie had to get out of there. She couldn’t bring herself to hear anything else. She didn’t want to hear anything else.

But, as she started to head for the door, Abigail spoke up again.

“Why are you surprised?”

Sylvie was starting to feel increasingly agitated. She turned around again, suddenly sick of hearing the child’s voice. “What the hell do you mean?” She asked, sounding almost irritated. She instantly regretted it.

“He’s a very bad man. I think you know that.”

Sylvie had enough. Quickly, she rushed out of the room and shut the door, her mind struggling to process everything she had just heard. None of it made sense. None of it seemed… real. She leaned against the door, trying to steady her breathing.

What am I supposed to do now?

As Sylvie remained there, her back pressed against the door, she tried to think. As she reflected on Abigail’s words, she thought about what she said about Frank working for Lazar. As she thought about it… she reluctantly realized that it made sense. She remembered back to when she and Frank were talking earlier, how he had admitted to leaving his old life behind.

What if he had been referring to working for Lazar?

The more Sylvie thought about it, the more sick she felt. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. Maybe the kid’s just lying because she’s scared.

But… why would she say something like that?

Why are you surprised? He’s a very bad man. Those words kept repeating in Sylvie’s brain. But… what confused her the most was Abigail’s next words after that, “I think you know that.” What the hell had she meant by that? I think you know that? Sylvie didn’t even know who the fuck the girl was.

What was even worse was that she was right — Sylvie knew that Frank wasn’t a good person. But… “a very bad man?” What the fuck— nevermind. She was done thinking about this bullshit. The more she thought, the more confused she became.

As Sylvie continued to lean against the door, she heard voices coming from one of the rooms down the hall — Joey and Rickles. Quickly, she hurried down the hall and into the room, clearly interrupting a conversation. Upon seeing the worry on Sylvie’s face, though, Joey and Rickles both became concerned.

“What is it?” She asked.

Sylvie drew in a shaky breath. “Something is really fucking wrong.”

Joey narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Sylvie couldn’t bring herself to explain. “If you want to know, go talk to the girl yourself. I don’t… I don’t know if she’s being serious or not.”

Joey and Rickles exchanged a disconcerted glance before looking back at Sylvie. Joey slowly nodded. “Alright. I’ll… be right back.”

Once Joey disappeared, Rickles glanced at Sylvie again. “You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.” He commented. “The hell happened?”

Sylvie shook her head. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it. If she tells Joey the same thing she told me, I swear to God…”

Now, Rickles just seemed confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Look. Are you sure there’s no other way out of here? I need to get out of here. I… I want to go home.”

Rickles sighed, crossing his arms. “Trust me, I wish there was. As far as I know, we’re all locked up in here for who knows how much goddamn longer. I’m not buying the ‘twenty-four hours’ bullshit. I guarantee this is a trap.”

Sylvie nervously tapped her foot against the floor, her eyes darting around anxiously as she waited for Joey to return, anticipating what she would say. Seconds ticked by, and they were starting to seem like hours at this point.

“You believe Valdez is real, right?” Sylvie then asked.

Rickles slowly nodded. “I’ve heard too much shit about him for him not to be.” He answered, his voice taking on a grave tone.

“Do you really think it’s possible he’s here right now? Like, one of us is actually him?”

“Dean’s head was ripped clean off. That’s some bullshit that only Valdez is capable of,” Rickles explained, “and if the girl’s Lazar’s daughter… gives him more of a reason to be here.”

“Have you two seen Frank?”

Sylvie and Rickles turned around to see Joey briskly walking towards them. Her expression was difficult to read, but she did seem rather pissed. At least, that’s what her tone of voice suggested.

“I can go look for him.” Rickles then offered. “Why? He the next victim?”

Joey scoffed. “No. Actually, he might be the killer.”

Rickles’ eyes narrowed in a mixture of confusion and shock. “Wait, what?”

Sylvie felt like she was going to vomit right then and there.

“Frank is Valdez.” Joey continued, her voice cold. “He told the girl.”

Rickles wasn’t exactly buying it. “He wanted to leave. That doesn’t make any sense.”

He had a good point, Sylvie thought. If Frank was really Valdez, then why the hell did he seem so adamant about leaving after talking to Abigail?

“He acted like he wanted to leave.” Joey then said.

“If he’s Valdez and Lazar’s his boss, then why kidnap his kid?” Rickles questioned.

Sylvie was relieved that at least Rickles was skeptical… but at the same time, if Frank wasn’t Valdez, then who was? Jesus Christ… none of this was making any sense.

“Maybe he and Lambert are planning a power play.” Joey suggested.

Rickles let out a sigh. “You’re telling me that skinny motherfucker rips people apart?” He scoffed. “Something doesn’t add up.”

Sylvie decided that she might as well offer her opinion. “I know he’s an asshole, but I can’t picture him doing some gruesome shit like that, y’know?”

Joey seemed reluctant to believe Rickles and Sylvie, her expression wary. “All I know is that Frank definitely isn’t an amateur. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me.” She spoke. “If Frank really is Valdez, then he definitely knows how to get out of here, which means so would I if I spend about six minutes with him.”

“So… what’s the plan?” Sylvie asked.

Joey sighed, clicking her tongue as she tried to think of something. “You two split up and take the main staircase. I’ll go south. We’ll meet in the middle.”

Reluctantly, Sylvie slowly nodded. “Alright.”

Rickles tried to offer a small, reassuring smile. “We gonna get through this.”

“I have to.”

“You have a kid?” He asked.

Joey nodded. Sylvie felt a pang in her chest. God… she definitely did not belong here. Silently, Sylvie hoped that Joey’s son was safe and well back at home.

Rickles placed a comforting hand on Joey’s shoulder. “We’ll make sure you get home.”

As Sylvie wandered through the mansion, she started to feel unsafe now that she had lost sight of Rickles. Now, she was by herself, and suddenly… everything seemed eerily quiet. Where was he, anyway?

Sylvie stood there in the hallway, her eyes anxiously darting around as she tried to see if she could hear or spot any sign of him. Yet, there was nothing.

And then, she heard what sounded like gurgling coming from the distance. Her heart starting to race with worry, Sylvie dashed toward the direction of where the sound was coming from, leading her to another room. As she stood in the doorway, she saw Rickles standing there, his back turned.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Sylvie asked, her voice cautious.

Then, Rickles suddenly collapsed, and that was when Sylvie caught sight of his face — it was horribly mutilated and looked as though a fucking dog had ripped through his face. His cheek was torn open, and she could see his teeth through the gaping, bloody hole. The wound went all the way down his neck, dark blood staining his shirt.

Covering her mouth, Sylvie took a few steps back, desperately fighting the urge to vomit. She immediately wanted to break down and cry right there, just… scream. “What the fuck…? No, no, no…”

Two people had just brutally died in this mansion. Already, two people were gone in only a brief span of time. Sylvie didn’t know how much more she could handle. Who was going to be next? That was all she could think about.

Quickly, Sylvie ran to the nearest bathroom, opening the toilet seat as she retched. Nothing came up, so all she could do was let out painful dry heaves. Once she was done, she closed the seat and staggered to her feet. Suddenly feeling a rush of anger, she slammed her fists against the wall, as though she was trying to knock some sense into herself. Maybe this was just a nightmare, and she’d wake up from it.

“Wake up… fucking WAKE UP!”

She continued to punch the wall, but nothing happened. She only felt pain… which meant this was either real or a hyper-realistic nightmare. Unfortunately, it was beginning to seem like it was… real.

“Hey, what the fuck’s the matter with you?”

Sylvie whipped her head around, her senses on high alert. Any movement, sound, or voice was enough to make her jump out of her skin at this point.

When she turned around, Sylvie saw Frank standing there, looking at her with a mixture of annoyance and… perhaps a bit of concern, which was rather rare to see from him. It seemed more like an annoyed type of concern, whatever the hell that meant.

Upon seeing Frank’s face, Sylvie didn’t know how to react. One thing was for sure — she didn’t feel good.

“Get… get away from me.”

Frank narrowed his eyes, his annoyance growing. Instead of listening to Sylvie and backing away from her, he only stepped closer to her. She flinched as he moved towards her, almost as if she was expecting him to hurt her.

Frank let out an irritated scoff. “Jesus Christ, would you calm the fuck down? I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Why don’t you have any… blood on you?” Sylvie asked, her voice shaking.

Frank looked taken aback by the question, his eyes widening slightly in a genuine expression of shock. “The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“You… you’re Valdez. The girl… the girl told me.”

Frank went from shocked to annoyed in seconds. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You’re seriously listening to her?”

“Rickles just… Rickles just died. Rickles and Dean are both dead. You…”

Frank rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Sylvie, for the love of God. You don’t have a single clue what you’re fuckin’ talking about, do you? I know you’re smarter than this.”

“Well, can you please tell me what the fuck is going on? I just saw two people die. I’m scared. I want to get out of here.”

“What’s going on?” Frank repeated. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Please tell me the truth. The girl said the same thing to me and Joey, that you’re… that you’re Valdez.”

Frank let out an annoyed huff. “Did she, now? Well, I don’t appreciate people trying to tarnish my fuckin’ reputation.”

Sylvie swallowed, trying to steady her breathing. “So… she’s lying?”

Frank chuckled, the sound devoid of any humor. “No fuckin’ shit. Children love to lie… but lying about something like this? I’d say that somebody needs to be put in their goddamn place.”

“But then… who did it? Who’s… killing everybody?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. That’s what we’re all trying to figure out, right?”

Letting out an annoyed grumble, Frank turned around to walk away. Just as he was about to leave, Sylvie spoke.

“You’re not going to let anything happen to me, right? Just… tell me everything’s going to be okay. I don’t… I really don’t want to die. Not here.”

Frank paused, looking back at Sylvie for a moment. His expression was unreadable, but he seemed slightly caught off-guard by her sudden vulnerability. In the time that he knew her, he never once heard her ask him for reassurance. Frank had always known Sylvie as a defiant, feisty little brat… yet, here she was, frightened to death because she didn’t want to die. It was a side of her that he had never seen before.

No, don’t let her get to you.

Frank remained silent for a few moments, trying to think of how he would respond.

“You’re not gonna die.” He simply answered, his voice matter-of-fact. Cold. Emotionless.

And then, he left.

[machabre]

@ wolves-ate-my-heart I promised so here it is, oneshot'ed this thing yesterday and today.. I'm so rusty when it comes to writing fiction (esp fics that aren't horror) so apologies in advance if it sucks! lol

Anyway, yeeah a little sickfic with Dragunov. Slightly xreader but not overly romantic or intimate. ~2500 words

When Dragunov said he was home, you said you were coming over. That was your usual exchange of messages, and Sergei was usually practically waiting at the door for you. Given you hadn't seen the soldier in- how long has it been again? Two weeks, three? His failure to appear was out of character. You wait about a minute more before knocking again.

And silence.

You shift your weight to the other leg, fidgeting with your keyring, the metal stinging softly against your hand that's gone just a bit sweaty at the thought of a specific new addition. The White Angel of Death had entrusted you with access to his space, weeks ago, actually, not long before he'd disappeared like he often did. He'd leave you little aside from the hope of a text upon his return and this time, the key; embellished with a skull. You honestly never dreamed of using it until now.

— —

You tell yourself that you'll just have a look around to see that Sergei is not hurt or— you stop your thoughts there. The man was infamous, if anything, with at least a handful of people who wanted him dead. But Sergei was a force to be reckoned with himself, he could hold his own, you think.

As you let yourself into the White Angel's home, a chill races over your skin. You close the door on the crisp air behind you, and the apartment is still. The air feels markedly unused despite the low drone of a ceiling fan in another room. The place is familiar to you- even the silence. You'd been in here a number of times, but never alone, of course.

Stiffly, you wander into the short alcove, where Dragunov has hung that coat he likes wearing- the wolven grey one. You think he'd have taken it with him on a cool day like this. You follow the emptiness to the kitchen and living room, thinking you'll go no further than that- but with laptop and cup of tea flanking him is Dragunov himself, asleep at the small dining room table. Sergei's in comfortable clothes for once; a broken-in henley and black sweatpants, his hair still tied up and head resting in his folded arms. You sigh in relief, realizing you'd barely breathed after closing that door. He probably had some work to follow up on, or maybe he couldn't sleep until just now— he was always such a light sleeper, you're surprised he your knocking didn't rouse him. You start to back up and leave him undisturbed, but Dragunov moans softly, and lifts his head as if your presence alone was more detectable than your knock.

You hear his back pop when he straightens- and you're not surprised, nothing about that pose looked comfortable. His expression warms slightly upon fully recognizing it's you in front of him, and he stands up abruptly, as happy to see you as a lost puppy upon seeing its owner. You brace yourself for a near bone-crushing hug, or being swept off your feet and carried right out the door. Neither come, because Dragunov quickly sways and grips the edge of the table, looking like he's going to fall over, or puke- or-

   "Hey whoa-" You rush to place a hand at his waist to ensure he doesn't faceplant into the table, or anything else, forgetting Dragunov weighs an upwards of 200 pounds right before he leans into you. "Damn, you are heavy-" He grunts softly at how his shirt hikes up his stomach. "Are you okay?" You ask, brow creased. Dragunov shifts his weight off of you and nods reassuringly. But you're not so sure. It only took one touch to feel how hot and sticky he was where he's usually cool, and you notice the shadows under his eyes are at a ten instead of a three. It's all enough to make you consider that The White Angel of Death, might be sick. You resolve to at least get him to lay down on the couch, if not to bed.

    He's heavy- there's no way you're carrying him, but you do help drag Sergei to the other room while he puts up almost no resistance, aside from little grunts. He stumbles into place when you nudge him in the direction of the sofa, slumping into the couch as if hungry for its upholstered embrace.     "Don't think I'm not happy to see you, Sergei, but you look like shit." The heat radiating off his body when you as much as sit next to him, is intense, no wonder he seemed so woozy. "Maybe it's a good thing I broke in."

Dragunov's lips curl at that. You did not break in. He gave you that key for a reason, and he's considering letting you stay as company. You reach over and brush some of the loose hair out of his face and behind his ear, the strands sticking to his cheekbone as you do so. "Damn. Your Siberian ass should not be this hot. You've got one hell of a fever." He smiles at that comment, a tiny smirk as you place the back of your hand to his cheek and forehead. "You know, with how you overwork yourself, I'm surprised this is the first time I've seen you come down with something like this."

He turns away with a soft sigh, avoiding any more touching. He'd survived far worse things than this, in fact, he'd probably shake it all off by tomorrow. He just.. doesn't want to give it to you, as happy as he is to see you. He makes it a point to scoot further away, just enough so that you're not touching, and makes a small sound to punctuate his decision. "Okay, okay. I get it. I'll live if I catch a cold you know." You chuckle. "Let me get something for that fever at least."

— — —

    You couldn't have been gone for more than the five minutes it took to find his cold and flu medicine, a blanket, and fill a glass of water, but Sergei managed to doze off in that time. He's laying on his side, hands folded across his stomach. He doesn't fit on the couch that way, not even close. His breathing, which had never been audible in your recollection, was heavy and congested.     "Drag-" you whisper. "Drag.." You hold up the glass and blister packs, a light blanket tucked under your arm. "Got some medicine, and a blanket, if you're cold." Dragunov scrunches up his features as if both of those concepts are completely foreign to him. The thought that he might be out of it enough to speak is definitely one on your mind, but he doesn't. He just sits up with a full-bodied groan you recognize as his voice- separate from his usual whispery growls. The sound and sudden motion leads to a cough, which he stifles the best he can, and less than one second later he's having a full blown coughing fit despite his efforts. It's so unlike him- to make any sound above a couple decibels in the first place, never mind like this. It almost worries you.

You can assume he's got a headache on top of it all with the way the spasms leave him wincing. You press the blister-packaged pills and glass into his hands that obviously were reaching for the blanket. "Take this first." you tell him. "Then you'll rest." He complies, puncturing each blister pack and taking the dose with a sip of water. A sip that leads to him chugging the rest of the glass like a man dying of thirst in the desert.  "Hey, hey!" You stop him halfway through the glass with a gentle touch to the arm.

    "Hm?" Dragunov grunts in surprise, licking his lips. He gives you a glare. What? His throat feels like sandpaper, and you're depriving him of the only thing that's felt nice all morning?     "Slow down with that. The last thing we need is you puking it up." You say and tap the glass with the back of a fingernail. He shakes his head subtly, gives a single dry chuckle, and proceeds to completely drain the glass anyway before he hands it back to you with a half-nod, a tiny sound, and a curled lip- with an almost defiant air.

"Yeah, and I'd have known you were that thirsty if you'd just have-" You sigh and take the glass back, but not before giving his bicep a playful flick and dropping the blanket in his lap. "You're kind of insufferable you know." You tease. He smiles a bit more completely at that. "Hold onto this and I'll be right back."

— —

You head to the kitchen with the mind to try bringing juice this time, just to get a little jolt of energy into him. But with the state of his kitchen you quickly realize anything but water is off the menu. His fridge isn't only vacant of juice, but anything ingestible to begin with, the pantry- more dust and shadows than food. You're honestly a little surprised, but it makes sense given how little time he realistically spends living here. You fill the glass again, making a mental note to tidy up for him and get a few essentials later.

— —

Dragunov sips this glass at a slower pace. He's pulled the blanket you gave him around his body, and is shivering now as he swallows the last droplets of water from the glass. "Told you, take it slow." He shakes his head and sets the empty glass on the table beside him. "Now you're just shivering." Dragunov looks at you with a reassuring warmth and a grunt as he shifts positions. He's hiding the achiness he must be feeling behind near silence, but you can see it in his movements- Dragunov is tired, his body is sore, and he's still burning up- only now chills are making him miserable.

"Here, Sergei-" you motion for him to turn around. "I think I might know something that will help, a little." Dragunov does as you ask, not without a raise of an eyebrow though. He's clearly wondering what you have in mind, and more importantly, what you're helping with this exercise. "Just turn around." You say. Dragunov shifts again with a rough vocalization that sounds all kinds of irritated and uncomfortable- and sick. He grabs a handful of tissues from the table in front of him and coughs a couple times. This time unhampered, and phlegmy. He crumples them up to toss out later. "Now, I'm not gonna cure you but-"

He shivers when you push the blanket aside and slide a gentle palm under his shirt, but the shudder quickly gives way to a relaxed sigh when you begin to rub his mid-back in soothing circles. He's so stiff, from fighting no doubt, and fighting this illness.

"Are my hands too cold too?" you ask as your other hand joins in the massage. Dragunov shakes his head. Though your hands do feel cool to him, it's nice on his overheated skin, just like the cold water. He sighs gratefully when your fingertips sink deeper into his thick muscle and he leans into the corner of the couch while you're trying your best not to linger too much on each scar interrupting his pale skin, the little sounds he's making, or the slight arch forming in his back and hips.

He groans again, softly, when you reach his neck, which compared to the rest of his muscle bound form, is especially elegant and trim. Just like the rest of him, it's full of tension and you delicately work out the knots. Dragunov sighs and abruptly flips his head to the side, startling you. "Am I hurting you?" you ask, concerned. Dragunov groans and squirms again, like a little spasm. A more languid shake of his head follows, and you can see his dark lips curled into a pleased smile, his eyes closed. He sighs again through his nose, which sounds a little stuffy, but most of the usual steely tension has melted from his face. You don't think you've ever seen Sergei's forehead without that crease.

You chuckle and wrap your arms around his solid waist so that you're almost on top of him. Then you lean down and give him a gentle kiss, there on the neck- then on the jaw because you know Sergei would never let you kiss him on the lips while he's infected like this. In fact, you're almost surprised he didn't send you off and quarantine himself in his apartment the second he woke up. He sighs as your hand brushes over his solid abs, with your chin on his shoulder and his long hair touching your face. The scent that permeates it is sharp, a little smoky, almost acrid- not a conventionally nice scent but one that's come to remind you of Dragunov all the same.

You can't help but wonder about all the other times Sergei must've fallen ill. Was he always alone? Would he just take something and tough it out, hiding his weakness. You know very well he doesn't realistically require any care for a simple virus, nevermind you waiting on him hand and foot- or at least trying to read his silent language. Because Dragunov is.. Dragunov. He's perfectly capable when it comes to fending for himself, but he's also a master of concealment. His voice is only the tip of it, and pain, well he treats it no differently than everything else he hides. Maybe you want to show him he doesn't always need to do that, at least, not with you. And maybe even more, you want him to know he needs to let his guard down sometimes, and when he does- he'll be safe if you can help it.

The fact that he's willing to trust you on this level out of anyone else makes warmth prick at your face and extremities as you rest against him, especially when you remind yourself how you got in this situation in the first place. Dragunov interrupts the thought by clearing his throat, followed by a low vocalization. "Any better?" You whisper, not expecting much of an answer, but you try anyway. Dragunov offers a humming sigh, which you feel rumble through his chest. "Alright, let's get the rest then." You say.

— —

    By the time you've reached his mid back again for round two, he's fallen fully asleep. You pull the back of his shirt down and replace the blanket to keep his temperature stable. You have to say, he looks just a little better- his complexion is back to it's usual pallid tone, lips rich and dark against it. It's a look you've learned to recognize as "healthy" when it comes to Dragunov, at least. The couch still isn't the most comfortable of things for him to sleep on‐ he's practically pushed you to the very edge with his splaying out, and his head is awkwardly bent so that it'll undo all your work, but dragging Sergei to bed isn't exactly an option for you.

Carefully, you reach over and give his hair tie a slow and gentle tug to free his inky black hair from its usual ponytail. You run the silky lengths through your hands, smoothing out the crease made by sweat and his everyday style. You're not sure, but his skin feels cooler as you readjust his head and sweep his hair down the side of his neck.

You slip away from the couch without waking Sergei, thinking you'll sneak out while he sleeps so you can make some soup for when his fever breaks.

[allfryam]

sub shop

Zach was a junior in college and he was having the time of his life. He was the president of a frat, he had an almost perfect physique, and he was doing great in school. His physique was his defining feature all through high school, but he had gained a couple pounds in college and his abs started to fade. You could still see them when he flexed, but there was just a bit of pudge to his once toned stomach. He assumed this was from all the beer he was drinking at his frat parties, but he didn’t mind the extra weight.

Zach’s only problem was money. He had lost his last job and had been unemployed for a few months. He saw an ad for a local sub shop that was hiring downtown and he decided to apply. They hired him and he was ecstatic. The uniform was a little awkward though. It was a light blue button up polo, with navy blue khakis. Zach thought he looked stupid wearing the outfit, but he wasn’t going to pass up this job opportunity. His first day was a breeze. He learned how to man the register, make bread, sort chips, and most importantly, make subs. All employees got free subs while they worked, and Zach took advantage of this. He had never tried one of their subs so he just got a regular size Italian sub. The second he bit into it, it tasted like heaven. Zach quickly finished the sub and got back to work, but it was all he was thinking about for the rest of the night.

Zach began to get into a routine. He would clock in, work for a bit, make a mouth watering sub, scarf it down, get back to work, and clock out at the end of the night. Most of the time he would stick to a six inch sub, but when he was really hungry, he would go for the foot long. It was like he was in a trance while he was eating. He didn’t even feel full until he was done.

Zach didn’t think this job could get any better until he looked in the mirror one day. His slight paunch has blossomed into a round gut. He looked like he had put on over 15 pounds! Was it really all of the subs he was eating? No way! He had only been there for about a month. Besides, Subs are way healthier than burgers or pizza. Although he was eating a fair share of those things at frat parties too.

Zach continued to eat the fattening subs without realizing he was continuing to grow. One night, Zach decided to try the super sub challenge. He had to eat three footlong subs in under an hour. Zach decided that it would be easy. He sat down after picking his three favorite subs and waited. When his subs were ready, he dug in immediately. He moaned with pleasure as the savory meats reached his tongue. The lettuce, tomato, onion, spices, mayo, and bacon, each with their distinct flavor and purpose. Zach was in heaven. Before he knew it, he was finished with the first sub and on to the second. He gulped it down just as fast, and the third wasn’t any harder. Zach decided this was too easy. “Bring me a fourth sub! I can keep going!” After struggling with the fourth, he finished it and tapped out. He leaned back in his chair and burped loudly. His tight pants and shirt were straining to hold back his gut.

200 POUNDS?! “DUDE WHAT THE HELL!!? I WAS LIKE 170 A COUPLE MONTHS AGO!” Zach stepped off the scale and looked in the mirror. He couldn’t believe it. That small gut he was rocking was no longer small it was round and soft, and it began to roll over his tight belt. Zach grabbed a handful of his pudge and frowned. He hated looking like this. But it didn’t stop him from going to a frat party later that night. There, he ate two entire pizzas, and two six packs of beer.

this story is actually based on a guy I used to work with. When he showed up, he would always flex his abs and brag, but after a while of working at the sub shop, he stopped bragging. It became apparent why, when his shirt started riding up and you would get glimpses of his growing belly. If I continue this story, it won’t be accurate to real life scenarios, but I wouldn’t be against making Zach even fatter. Let me know!