#dirty pooch

[flammenxci]

Nothing makes me "return to monke" faster than my deaf kitten CLAWING at my butt and legs because I'm her safe space when she's in estrus.

How did I accomplish that? Extra head rubs and kisses on the noggin because I can't give her and her sister attention like I normally do when they're like that.

[eupheme]

— come on and show me

[part ii | part iii | masterlist]

logan howlett x f!reader x wade wilson

rated e - 5.5k

tags: Logan POV, MMF threesome, jealous!logan, reader is wade's girl, mutual pining/crushes all around, voyeurism, dirty talk, open relationship, oral sex, fingering, Logan doms both of them, 69ing, fucklicking, ball worship, come eating, PiV

a/n: I want them to kiss and I also want them to kiss reader to here this is! 💕

Right now, all he can hear is Wade running his goddamn mouth. Drowning out the sounds you make - so fuckin’ pretty, and the prick is too busy listening to himself to appreciate it.

There’s one thing that Logan knows for sure - and it’s that Wade’s not doing it right. Not like he would.

(or - Logan tries to shut Wade up, and it doesn’t quite go as expected)

Logan can hear Wade from here.

Running that goddamn mouth already, and the sun’s only barely up.

Can hear you, too. The little whimpers that you try bite back. He can imagine the way your teeth sink into your lip - the thought has him shifting in his chair, breakfast forgotten.

So fuckin’ pretty, and the prick is too busy listening to himself to appreciate it.

Knows he could make you even louder, too. It’s almost like he’s at the mansion again, looking at another toy he can’t touch.

What a waste.

The sounds crescendo, the chanting of a name layered with that endless babble that makes his teeth grind, before the sound breaks.

Trying not to look interested when the door opens a few minutes later. Snatching up the newspaper that’s been sitting on the cluttered tabletop for a month now, flicking it open.

Ignoring how Wade strolls out, adjusting the waistband on a pair of grey sweats that are hanging way too low on his hips for comfort.

Rummaging around for a bottle of water, the glow of the fridge illuminating the curve of his ass. The cut of the pants look familiar, Logan's eyes narrowing as he wonders if those are his missing pair-

The edge of the paper flicking up again into place again, just as Wade stretches - bending further, before the bottle is snatched from the back.

Logan huffs.

“Hey roomie,” Wade hums, flicking the cap at him. It sails through the air, disappearing into his forgotten cup of coffee with a little 'plunk', “Don’t let me interrupt that killer Ed Tom Bell impression you’ve got going on, just hydrating for round two.”

“Ooh,” A cock of his hip, as he turns - head tilting as he thinks, “Does that make me Josh Brolin? God, I love him.”

“That’s all?” Logan’s eyebrows lift as he sneers - ignoring another reference he doesn’t understand, “Been going at it for a while.”

As soon as he says it, he regrets it. Opening himself up for an attack. He can already hear the sing-song response at the admittance that he’s been listening.

Screwing the Pavlovian pooch, with the way that he's more than aware that his dick’s half-hard. The result of taking care of himself one too many times - an attempt at getting himself back to sleep, pretending that he isn’t jerking himself off to the beat of the frame that bangs against the walls.

Luckily, Wade zeros in on the exact wrong part. Sputtering, as water drips down his chin, “That’s all? What do you mean, that’s all?”

“You heard me,” The paper crinkles in his fist, “In fact, I’m surprised you even got round one off. Much less that she’s sticking around for another.”

“You wound me, and yet, flatter.” Wade’s hand flattens over his heart, “I never knew you thought about me like that.”

“I haven’t been thinking about you, you ass,” Logan snarls, teeth bared, “I just know that if you’re talking, then you’re not doing it right.”

Wade grins at that, teeth scraping over his lower lip as they stretch wide.

Eyes flicking over his form, assessing in a way that has Logan bristling - voice going syrupy-smooth, “Is that right? You think you can do better, mutton chops?”

The breath he inhales is ragged. That feeling back again - an urge to curl his hand around Wade’s throat, and squeeze.

“Yeah,” Logan growls out, “Yeah, I fucking do.”

The table shakes as Wade plops himself down on the edge, a leg crossing over the other. Interest gleaming in his eyes as his head tilts towards the bedroom door.

“Alright. Bring on the magic tricks, Angier.” His hands splay wide, wiggling, “Gonna show me how to make your fingers disappear?”

Logan glares, his eyes flicking down to where the fleece pulls across his hips.

“Right.” He spits, “Like you’ve got another in you?”

“Hey now, pookums. Marvel Jesus, remember?” Wade’s hand makes a sweeping gesture in front of his crotch, “Just give me three minutes and I’ll have risen.”

“That’s disgusting.” Logan barks, “And get off the table.”

If anything, it makes Wade sit harder. His legs pivoting until he can spread his thighs on either side of the paper, ankles dangling off the edge.

“Disgusting?” His tone pitches up, “Says the man that’s rocking a stiffy. Gonna jerk it at the breakfast table when I leave? You know Blind Al eats there.”

The paper twitches reflexivity in his hands, and Wade’s smile pulls wider as Logan shoots him a death glare, lips curling over teeth.

“Why the fuck would I do something like that?”

Wade hums, “Call it an educated wish.”

“Call it an educated get-the-fuck-out-of-here.” Logan scoffs. His eyes flicking towards the bedroom, the door still shut, “You’re talking like she wants this.”

Wade’s finger presses at the edge of the newspaper he’s hiding behind, and Logan bats his hand away.

He’s still not gotten used to all the skin, he doesn’t know where to look. The slightest shift back in his chair, but he’s already pressed up against the wall.

“Oh please, as if we don’t take turns roleplaying as you,” Wade sighs longingly, “This would be a wet dream come true.”

His eyes narrow then, as his tongue runs across his lip. Voice dropping again, coaxing.

“Look,” Wade says it like he’s leveling with him - talking man-to-man,“If you wanted to fuck her, peanut, all you had to do was ask.”

And for a moment, Logan truly considers it. Not just the fantasy that’s been playing through his head for weeks.

Weirder shit has happened, he supposed.

He’s already been claw-deep into Wade’s guts. A brawl in that shitty van that lasted until morning. Bound tip-to-tip in the void for god knows how long.

Getting walked in on in the bathroom at least twice in the last month. A gleeful “mind if I cut in?”, before Logan’s fist is sending him into the vanity.

The last time it took a full week to get the sink fixed.

Not to mention that Wade apparently seems so certain that his clothes were now their clothes.

So fucking keen on sharing.

So it wasn’t a stretch to think he might want to share you, too.

There’s something caught between his teeth, heavy on his tongue. About to loosen, when the door is opening.

Swallowing them down as you step through, thighs bare under a too-big t-shirt. Arms wrapping around Wade’s shoulders as your lips press against his cheek.

“Thought you were coming back, Red.” You coo. Drawn out by the sound of bickering as you had basked in your afterglow.

“Morning, Logan.” A smile sent his way after, turning sheepish, “You’re up early. Hope we didn’t wake you.”

He grunts in reply. Pretending there wasn’t a little jolt in his stomach at the sound of his name. That he hadn’t been thinking about spreading you across this table, lifting the hem of your shirt up-

If he’d been in your bed, no one would have had to wonder.

The whole damn floor would’ve been woken up.

“He thinks I fuck bad, so I’m gonna prove he’s wrong,” Wade adds in, cheerfully, “That okay with you, gorgeous?”

Logan glares over the top of his paper. A rough clearing in his throat as your eyebrows lift, glancing his way.

He hadn’t really meant to bring you into this, or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself.

That eye contact dropping, as you lean into Wade, your chin propped on his shoulder, “Is that right? How are you going to do that?”

Logan’s answer comes out flat, as he examines an ad in the bottom corner of the page,“I’m not doing anything.”

Wade sighs, his head knocking back against your shoulder.

“Come on, Wolvie. I would love for you to prove me wrong,” He needles, digging deep, “Put your money where my cock should be.”

Logan still doesn’t look up, “Not interested, I’m busy.”

The sigh that pulls from his lungs is long, a near-whine.

“What, with reading?” He exclaims, “Jesus you really are old. The retirement home called, they’re missing a resident.”

Logan’s eyes snap up now, narrowing, “Fuck. Off.”

With a sigh, Wade fucks off. Legs curling, until he’s rolling off the table. Your hand fitting in his, a water bottle tucked under your arm as you head back towards the room.

“The offer still stands!” He calls.

A beat, before you turn.

“Logan?” You call, as he’s helpless - his eyes pulling away. Drawn to you.

A little wink sent his way. Your finger gesturing towards his chest, as you smile.

“Your paper’s upside down.”

Logan’s still not quite sure how he got here. His feet moving on his own, fingers catching the bedroom door just as it starts to close.

Almost backing out when he sees the look of Wade’s face, pleased as fucking punch.

Standing by the edge of the bed now, as you kneel on it in front of him. Fingers slipping across his chest - curious, with the way your eyes flicker over his face. Eager, though you hide it well.

“So what exactly did you tell Wade to get him so worked up?” Your fingers twine around his neck, as his find your hips.

He hums at that - flicking towards his roommate before they find yours again.

“All I said was that if I can hear his mouth running from out there,” Logan’s fingers dent into soft skin, tugging you closer, “He can’t be doing a good job.”

There’s a shift off to the side. Wade sinking down into the beanbag chair he pulled up,“Can you believe that? As if I don’t have a good grade in my oral and my dickabilties.”

“A gold star, babe.” You shoot him a tender smile, before they focus on Logan again. Shoulder lifting, as your grin grows, “I mean, Merc with a Mouth, right? Seems like part of the package.”

He huffs, eyes dropping to your lips.

“You think it’s good,” Logan’s tone is almost pitying, “But it’s only because you haven’t had better.”

That pulls a gasp from your throat, eyebrows lifting.

“Yeah, I think you’re trying to emasculate me, but honestly…” Wade’s hand splays wide over his crotch, “Sploosh.”

“Sploosh.” You echo softly, and he can feel you shift closer. Can smell the fresh curl of arousal that heats your skin, as his hands ghost higher. A small smile, as your head tilts, “So you just all talk then, or…”

“No.” Logan scoffs, “No, I’m not.”

He closes the gap, more certain now. Mouth pressing against yours, as you squeak - tense in his arms, until you go liquid.

Soft tits pressed to his chest as his tongue sweeps against your lips. Swallowing a pretty moan as they part for him, his own groan rumbling in his chest as his hands wander.

Slipping down, ghosting against skin. Feeling the goosebumps that rise, as he draws circles against your hip. His name whimpered, and it shoots straight to his cock.

Not even a heartbeat, before the chatter begins.

“Bet your pussy’s wet already, isn’t it baby?” He coos, “A kiss like that, it’s even got me a little worked up. And I’m just producing this show.”

Logan’s eyes crack open as he glares, “You’re not producing shit, asshole.”

“Ooh, I bet you SO wish you worded that in a different way-”

You huff against his mouth, your touch guiding him back. The thought lingers, curiosity burning. Letting his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, knuckles brushing your thigh.

Tracing around to the curve of your ass, his wide palm splaying out, then squeezing against bare flesh.

“Is he right?” He rasps, his lips brushing against yours. Half-hating that he’s letting Wade get in his head, but the thought-

You gasp again, and his teeth flash with his smirk, “Are you wet for me already, sweetheart?”

“She’s been since she first saw you. Goddamn Niagara Falls,” Wade’s voice has softened - teasing now, “Isn’t that right, gorgeous?”

An amused shake of your head, as something silent passes between them. Logan doesn’t pretend to know how your relationship works - other than the fact that Wade was willing to do anything to save this world for you.

And that there’s something inside him that tightens - a flicker in his belly - whenever he looks at you. Whenever Wade flirts with him. That sharp annoyance from their meeting slowly bleeding out with each day goes by.

Something else taking root, the more time he spends with both of you. He’s not good with his emotions. Doesn’t want to name that ache when he saw you together.

A silent wish, with his shifting daydreams. With the jerk of his fist in the morning. Imaging you in his bed, at first. And then, more - two sets of hands. Two mouths at his cock, and then he’s suddenly coming harder than he has before.

He’s become greedy, the more you both give him.

“Show me.” It’s a command, soft and low.

Logan can feel your thighs press together, that little squirm. Tucking this new discovery away as you lean back, eyes dark with desire.

The briefest hesitance, before your fingers loosen from him. Slipping down, under the hem of your shirt. The nails on your other hand bite into his shoulder as you sigh - two fingers gliding through the wet folds of your pussy.

Pulling them back for him to see. Glistening, your arousal stringing between them. His hand is already curling around your wrist. No resistance as he tugs - guiding your fingers past his lips as they part.

Sucking the sweet taste of you as he groans, deep in his chest. Eyes fixed on yours so he can see the way yours widen, feeling how your fingers flex against the swipe of his tongue.

“Logan.” You sigh his name, and it only makes his moan - eyes shutting as you press down against his tongue. The need slipping into your voice, pleading.

“I wanna feel your mouth. Show me, too,” You sigh, as you slip from him, “Show me what you meant.”

Christ, he’s been aching for this. Eager to drown himself in your pussy, if you’d let him.

There’s a sharp clap that forces his eyes open. Wade’s enthusiasm as he drags the bag closer, chin cradled in his hands.

“Yeah, Logan. You gonna show us your dickabilites, or what?”

He shoots him a withering look. Softening before he turns to you, his chin tipping up.

“Lay back on the bed for me, sweetheart.”

You listen so sweetly, and it makes his cock throb. A quick dart of your eyes over to your boyfriend, who only nods.

“Take that off, baby,” Wade coos, “Show him how pretty you are.”

He’s not sure when he started letting Wade make orders, but for once he’s not wanting to argue about his suggestions.

Because fuck, you are pretty. No arguing with that.

Letting his eyes sweep over every inch that is revealed, as you lift the hem of your shirt. The curve of your hips, your soft tits that he can’t wait to get his mouth on.

Baring yourself, as you lean back against the pillows. His eyes are fixed on your cunt, already fitting himself between your thighs. Fingers reaching - ready to part you open. Taste you himself, bury his tongue inside you.

Your hand reaches out, pushing against his shoulder.

“Wait, you too.” You pout, “Let’s play fair, okay?”

He huffs, lips quirking. Hands catching the hem as he tugs his own shirt off, Wade diving for it as he tossed it towards the floor.

Twin gasps rise, and if he was a much younger man, he may have blushed.

“Fuck.” Wade groans, a hand dropping down his crotch and squeezing.

You’re already leaning forward, a hand flattening against his skin. A soft "wow" slipping from your lips - feeling the way his muscles jump as you slide over his pecs, the thick hair covering them.

A hand hooking around his shoulder - a smirk hidden as you tug him down on top of you.

Soft, beneath him. Those needy whines he loves so much caught between your teeth as he noses at your neck. Teeth nipping at skin, an urge to leave a mark for later.

That cry finally loosened as he moves down. Teeth and tongue biting and soothing at the tight peaks of your nipples. Broad hands cupping and squeezing, liking the way they fit in his palms. The way you moan, arching into his touch.

“Give me more of that,” He murmurs against your skin, "I want to hear you."

Your body tensing beneath his when he settles between your thighs. They have to spread, to fit his shoulders. Opening you up, putting you on display.

Watching how you clench - a throaty chuckle as his thumb presses just shy of your folds. Tugging you open, seeing how your skin glistens with slick already.

“Pretty fucking sight, you know that?” His eyes flip up to yours.

You’re propped up on your elbows. Teeth sinking into your lip, breath held as your eyebrows slant in anticipation. Lips parting with his words, a minute shift of your hips.

“You should see it when it’s stuffed full. Boston cream's got nothing on her."

There’s an embarrassed groan of his name. Logan ignores him - letting his thumb rub against the tight nub of your clit, instead. Your word turning into a sharp, inhaled breath.

Teasing, each circle achingly slow. Aware of the two sets of eyes on him, burning his skin. A low ache in his belly, his glaze fixing on yours, watching as you inhale as his mouth lowers.

A soft lick, tongue lapping against your slit. Tasting you more thoroughly, dragging against soaked skin, as his fingers tease at your entrance.

Focusing on your clit, tight flicks with his tongue. Letting his lips suck on the tight bud, as he sinks down to one knuckle, then another. A second finger slipping in once you get used to him, making room for himself as he scissors you open.

He can hear the soft, wet sound of your cunt, with each plunge of his fingers. Flexing and curling them until he can feel you clamp down.

The quiet sounds you make - soft breaths and gasps - turning louder. Panting now, as you whine. Hips lifting to meet the curl of his tongue, until he pulls back.

“Should be hearing this,” Logan grits out. A quick glance towards Wade as his fingers pound into you, “Not you talking out of your ass.”

There’s silence for a long moment, the words coming out distracted.

“You talk about my ass an awful lot for a man who pretends he's not interested,” Wade manages, slowly, “You change your mind about that, too?”

His breath shallow, as Logan growls in annoyance. Attention returning back to you. Fingers working faster, head dropping again to tongue at your clit.

A leg hooks over his shoulder - a heel digging into his back, tugging him closer. Logan loses himself - growling into your pussy. His own hips pressing down into the bed, as he tugs at his belt and button, relieving the too-tight ache of denim.

Feeling how you leak against his palm, tighten around his fingers. Chase that winding pleasure as you arch into his mouth. A hand drifting off the bed, reaching. Grasping.

“Logan.” You’re begging again, pleading. For more, for anything. For him not to stop, and he leans into the way you tug at his hair, guiding him to the right spot.

You come with your fingers entwined with Wade’s. With your thighs clamped against Logan's ears as he rips a cry from you - long and loud - threatening to suffocate him.

Would be the way he’d choose to die, if he could.

The sounds come flooding back, as your thighs loosen. Boneless and languid, your smile wide as your fingers trace his scruff, the sharp curve of his jaw.

Perhaps he was wrong, to think he could silence Wade entirely. Your orgasm has only made him more vocal - complaints about how “fucking hard he is” mixing with rambling praise.

“Wilson.” He finds himself growling. Beckoning with two fingers, as Wade practically springs from the bag.

“Oh my GOD,” Wade is gushing, clambering onto the bed with him, “This is way better than joining the Avengers. Even if they do have Thor.”

“Huge praise.” You smile drunkenly, pushing yourself up to press your mouth against his.

And under his direct instructions, Logan finds that Wade almost listens.

“Get on your back,” He points, as you scooch to make room.

"Ooh, dirty." Wade grins, splaying out on his back, hands tucked under his head.

“No,” Logan makes a frustrated sound - ignoring another comment. A twirl of his finger, “The other way.”

His head is cradled near your hips now, legs stretched out toward the pillows.

Logan’s next words are a growl, “Now, clean her up.”

Wade groans, as he catches up.

“Fuck.” He whines, “Yeah. Come here, baby.”

Hands guiding you into place, your knees framing his head, as you face towards the headboard. Wade’s mouth already tipping up to meet you, a soft moan as his tongue swipes against your slit.

“I don’t want to hear you until she comes.” Logan rasps, and he can see the way Wade’s hips lift.

Just now catching the darkened fabric, where it tents.

Another thing to catalog.

Content for now to let his hands drift as he stands behind you at the edge of the bed, his chest pressing to your back. Sucking a mark in the hollow under your ear, feeling the buzz of your whine against his lips.

Hands cupping your breasts again, feeling their weight. Pinching at the tight peaks, before his thumb is smoothing over them.

Your eyes are blown wide, fingers curling against your thighs. Panting as the overstimulation tips towards pleasure, the feel of the sweet mouth below you soft and familiar.

Shifting as you sit, rocking back to where Logan’s cock presses against your lower back. His hands tugging at the zipper, shoving his jeans down as he works himself free. Kicking them off, after.

You gasp when you see him from over your shoulder, and he can’t help the way he twitches in his hand at the sound. Can’t pretend he isn’t leaking from tasting you, his cock heavy as he lets go to let it hang between his thighs.

“Fuck, that’s not fair.” It’s muffled, and you hum in agreement as Wade lifts you to get a better look, “God didn’t make you perfect enough as-is? Just had to make you proportional, you goddamn stallion.”

A derisive sound as his arm wiggles out from under you, fingers reaching.

“And Jesus H. Christ, look at the girth-”

Logan bats his hand away.

It should annoy him. That Wade isn’t listening. That he’s commenting on his cock - but it doesn’t.

Can’t help but think that in here, in this room, the chatter isn’t so bad. Would never admit that he’s wrong, just that when he’s admiring and not on a dumb-as-fuck tangent, it’s almost - flattering.

Maybe that’s too far. Tolerable, perhaps.

“You want my mouth?” You offer sweetly, breaking into his thoughts. Hungrily.

There’s a flash of white teeth as Logan smiles. A hand pressing gently against your back, until you’re stretched out over Wade.

“No. I’m still gonna fuck you, baby.” He rasps, “Just wanted a little peace and quiet while doing it.”

You moan, thighs inching wider. Head turned so you can watch the way he moves behind you. Adjusting your hips until your ass is in the air, his fingers gripping the base of his cock as he lines himself up.

“Keep going, Wilson.” He grits out, when the man goes still beneath them.

A rough chuckle rattles.

“Not a fucking chance, human tripod. I am SO watching this.”

Fuck it. He lets him.

Letting the tip of his cock press against your entrance. Wade’s arms curling around your thighs, holding you in place as you string tight above him.

“God, it’s even bigger from this angle. Feels like I’m in a goddamn eclipse right now.”

“Why do you sound surprised, babe?” Your voice is strained. Face buried against Wade’s stomach, fingers curled in the sheets, “I thought you guys fucked in the void.”

That fleeting curl of warmth leaves him.

“We what?” Logan growls, leaning back to glare at the peek of dark brown eyes, the top of a bald head he wants to slap.

Teeth bared, as he snarls, “We didn’t fuck. I beat the shit out of him in a goddamn van.”

“All night long.” Wade laughs - and then sighs fondly, “And isn’t that just the same thing?”

Fingers encircle his cock from below before he can retort, squeezing. A tug as he guides him into the tight clench of your pussy, and Logan thinks he really should just shove his claws into Wade’s dick.

But that desire bleeds away, as you stretch around him. The twin groans from beneath him, the sounds blending together.

“Oh,” You moan, clenching around him. Back arching, as he slips in another inch, “Makes sense. Was… was just wondering why it took you so long to join us.”

Logan goes still for a moment, with this new information. A realization that he could have had this the whole time, if he had asked.

That Wade hadn’t been joking before.

He groans, hips snapping forward. A grunt below as your knees squeeze against Wade’s throat, but from the way you squirm, Logan can tell that his mouth is at work again.

Teasing at your clit, as his own hips slowly start to move. Feet planting on the bedroom floor as his hands fit against your waist.

Using the leverage to drive himself deep. Hips flush as his balls slap against your skin, growing sticky with your release.

“This is hot, this is so fucking hot,” Wade groans, babbling as he sucks in a breath, “I’m so going to jerk my dick raw thinking about this later.”

And with the reminder, he supposes he can throw his roommate a bone.

“Come on, baby,” Logan rasps - reaching. A little nudge against your chin, angling your head, “Looks like he needs a little help.”

It’s benevolent. It’s selfish - his fingers biting into skin as you realize what he means. Watching as you tug at the waistband of Wade’s sweatpants, pushing them down.

The man moans, from between your thighs. Sweet nothings mumbled as your hand wraps around his cock, angling it into your waiting mouth.

Watching how the leaking tip presses into your cheek. The buck of his hips as you fist moves, while you suck - your spit slicking up his cock.

It looks like the rest of him. Mottled skin, the tip flushed a deeper shade of red. Long and thick in your hand - Logan’s cock throbbing at the way you swallow him down, how your lips part to make him fit.

His pace picking up. Pounding into your tight, wet cunt as Wade groans against your clit. Tongue lapping and licking, winding you higher as Logan drives you towards a second.

Slowly drifting, as the flicks of his tongue grow longer. The tip pressing against your folds, as you groan around his cock.

Further down. Tasting the tang of your release - the salt of skin where you’re split open, stretched wide.

And then further. Logan jerks, as something wet drags along his shaft.

“Wade.” It comes out as a rough growl. Pitching into a huffing whine when it happens again, flattening against the heavy weight of his balls.

Choking him, as his rhythm stutters. Hips flexing into you as he grinds himself flush, teeth gritting.

“Fuck.” It’s hushed, pulled from his lungs.

Having to find himself again - hold back the urge to come right that second - as you squirm beneath him. Wade’s tongue traveling from your clit to the tight seam of his sack, his hips rocking in your mouth.

Finding a rhythm together, Logan’s head tilting back. The room filled with lewd sounds of their joining, of wet mouths and the rhythmic pounding of the headboard against the wall.

Lucky that Al was out for the morning, or else they’d never hear the end of it.

Your cries pitch up, as his cock drags against the spot his fingers found. Something clenching deep in his guts, eyes dragging down to how you look wrapped around him. The pink peek of tongue beneath, how the combination makes his toes curl.

Imagining another morning. Sharing you in another way, his cock buried in your ass while your lover fills your cunt. Whimpering between them, unable to form words.

The sound you make now are not that different - the cadence of your panting is one he’s coming to recognize.

“You close, sweetheart?” He rasps, arcing over you, “Can feel your pussy clenching around me. So fucking tight, can’t wait to feel you come all over my cock.”

It pulls a moan from you, head lifting from Wade’s cock. Resting against his stomach, as your hand wraps around him. The jerk of your fist messy, off rhythm.

“Yeah, you are.” Logan hums, as his hips rut into you, “Come on, Wilson. Make our girl come.”

There’s a rough groan. Wade listens for once, head tilting to suck at your clit. Logan concentrating on the angle that makes you cry out, a hand fisting in the sheets.

Their names a mumbled mess on your lips, as you’re yanked higher and higher. Your moans pitching up, growing louder.

Just like his dreams. Even better, really.

“Please,” You whine, “I’m, I’m-”

A high-pitched gasp, then, as your face buries against Wade’s hips. As your pussy clamps down around his cock, fluttering with the steady saw of his hips.

“Good fucking girl.” The praise is soft, as his thumbs rub circles against your skin, “That’s it, let him taste how sweet you are.”

Working together, the tight licks against your clit going lazy again. Dipping to your entrance to taste your release against his shaft, Wade’s cock leaking and bobbing against his stomach.

Drawing out your pleasure, until the stars fade from your half-lidded eyes. Until the rushing in your veins ebb, and the pulse around his cock fades.

A low sigh, before Logan’s reaching - his chin tucking against your shoulder. His hand curling around yours, guiding it back to Wade's cock.

“Don’t forget about him.” Another command, but gentle this time. His hand moving with yours, palm mapping your knuckles as he sets a rhythm, “There you go.”

He could let go. You’ve found yourself again, eyes hazy. But he keeps his hand there. Keeps a pace that is so much firmer than your own, his own hips matching the rhythm as he chases his own end.

Wade’s groan replaces yours. A hand leaving your thigh to wrap around his, biting down hard into muscle. It only drives him deeper into you. Logan’s own moan bitten back as the tongue against his dick slips against his sack again.

Then against the thin layer of skin just behind, teasing.

“Fuck.” It’s a rough growl.

His hand works faster, teeth gritting. Feral sounds caught in his throat, as the pressure in his belly grows.

The last thing he sees before he comes is the drips of white against his knuckles. The warmth, a ragged groan against the inside of his thigh. Your mouth closing around to catch the rest, taking Wade’s cock into your throat with a soft sigh.

It robs him of his breath. A shuddering moan, as he grinds himself deep. Spilling into you again and again with each pulse of his cock, blood rushing in his ears.

Legs threatening to give as he empties himself, as his chest presses flush against your back. His face buried in your hair, as your tongue traces his knuckles. Cleaning them, as he did for you.

When he can, Logan eases from you with a grunt. Watching how you gape, then clench, now empty.

A bead of his release welling up, dripping against your skin. You go to move, but Wade’s hands curl around your calves - pulling you flush.

It’s hard to look away, as he licks away Logan’s come. A sharp ache of desire with the sound of a needy groan, as his tongue dipping inside.

Maybe Wade doesn’t have such a bad mouth, after all.

Logan’s arm is numb, but he can’t bring himself to move. Can’t remember a time when he’d let his brain turn off like this. A brief moment of silence, and it’s bliss. His world standing still.

“So that’s how you do it.” You muse quietly, dizzily. Head cradled against his chest - fingers dragging through the hair, gently scratching.

A stirring on his other side, where Wade is using his bicep like a pillow.

“Mm, I don’t think I got it,” Wade counters, but it’s soft - hazy at the edges. “Think I missed a couple steps. Was that round two or three?

"Three," You say - as Logan grunts, "Two."

The fingers on his chest drift down, dipping over his stomach.

“Well, either way...” You hum, snuggling a little closer, “Maybe you oughta show us, one more time.”

Wade flips over then, chin propped in his hand, “At least. Maybe even twice. We’re bad learners, peanut. Dumb as fucking rocks, really.”

“Mhmm,” You sigh, “Really dumb. Can't even count.”

And he can’t stop the twitch of his lips, even with his eyes closed. Had forgotten what it was like to be warm like this.

To be wanted.

And maybe, he even feels… content.

Something he never thought he’d be, again.

thank you so much for reading! it means so much and I am so happy to be dipping my toes into these pairings💖

[a-hazbin-reader]

HII

Could you do some hcs of alastor with wife!reader who ABSO(LUTE)LY adores dogs? (alastor hates the dog with his entire life)

I mean...he kinda has a good reason not to be a dog person...

😡

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor Vs Doggo 🐶 Cannibalism, Vox getting owned by dog

Description: ☝️⬆️

Look, Alastor loves you deeply and would do anything for you, absolutely anything

Except let you have a dog

Absolutely not, he won't have a dog running around in his hotel and creating problems

He can already see it

The dog using the hotel as it's personal bathroom, gnawing on his hooves and ruining all the furniture

Humping everything in sight!!

You can have anything else, you can have Niffty! She makes a good pet don't you think?

No

How about Husk? He's basically a cat

"Fuck you!"

You want a dog, you even have one picked out already

You what? When did you even have time to go look at dogs? He's been purposefully keeping you busy anytime you mention one

The bite marks all over your body are evidence of it

Totally doesn't believe you're actually bringing home a dog until you do, then he's spitting out his tea

"Y/N, darling, what is that?"

"A smoothie."

"You know what I mean."

"Oh this? Our new dog, isn't he cute?"

You can't have a dog in the hotel-

Charlie and everyone else already agreed to it, even Husk said yes just to piss off Alastor

So everyone is on your side and you'll have adequate help, Alastor won't hardly ever even notice the dog

Except he does notice the dog, like all the time

The damned beast is always trying to hop up next to him, only to be shoved off by Alastor

"No furry beasts on the furniture~ The hair is a nightmare to clean up. Disgusting really..."

Not Husk and Angel giving him dirty looks for that one

After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to sit next to him, it simply settles for resting by his feet

At least it makes a decent footrest

Or the dog is always hogging your attention, sitting in your lap, laying with you in bed, following you around

How is a man supposed to sleep with his wife when there's some mutt in his spot???

You've caught Alastor glaring at your dog a few times, especially when you're giving him scratches and pets

He wants to be the one to hog your lap and be pampered by you, maybe you could even try giving him a belly rub or two

It certainly looks appealing

Alastor at least thinks he can get time alone with you outside of the hotel but nope, you insist on taking the dog with you

"He needs the fresh air and exercise, Alastor!"

But your husband needs some alone time with you! He's not being dramatic!

Or he's trying to enjoy his breakfast?? Guess who's paws are on the table, begging and slobbering over the idea of a bite

"Absolutely not, you can just forget abou-HEY!"

Looks like his breakfast now belongs to the dog

You definitely make him another breakfast and apologize over and over again

Kiss him and sit in his lap, then maybe he'll consider forgiving you~

Sometimes, when you're sleeping, Alastor and the dog will be locked into a staring match

"I don't like you."

Whine

Rosie tries to sell him on the idea of just maybe liking this one dog, even she's taken a liking to him apparently

Traitor

You make Alastor promise that he won't ever get rid of the dog, OR EAT HIM, OR HURT HIM

And he can't break a promise he made to his darling wife

But he hates this fucking dog with a passion so when the dog suddenly gets out one day? He's perfectly content to let him run off

Until he realizes how upset you would be that your beloved pooch is gone and that gives him pause

Fffffffffuck

Not him spending all day trying to find a dog he doesn't even like, asking everyone if they've seen him

Nope, no, sorry no, ect

Just when Alastor has just about given up and started to contemplate trying to replace the mutt, he hears a familiar yell

"IS THIS DOG FUCKING PISSING ON ME!?"

Vox

Following the sound, Alastor is greeted with the sight of your dog running circles around Vox, who's standing in a puddle with wet pants

For some reason, the delightful mutt has taken to terrorizing him, biting at his limbs only to jump just out of reach of Vox's claws

Maybe it's something he's picked up from Alastor, you certainly didn't teach the dog that

The sight is too funny for Alastor, who doesn't even try to stop the dog, only laughing maniacally

Maybe this mutt isn't so bad

Later, when he comes home with the dog, you notice they seem much fonder of each other

Alastor goes and picks him out a fancy new leash, he starts giving him table scraps and he even invites the dog to be his footrest

Quit putting your feet on my dog

Stop giving the dog fingers!!

You catch him giving the pup a few scratches here and there, almost in an absent-minded manner

He starts calling the dog by his name instead of calling him beast, mutt, hound, monstrosity, ect

He even gives the dog his own room at the hotel with his own fluffy doggy bed

Okay, that last part might just be him wanting his marital bed back

We love dogs in this house!!

[hadesoftheladies]

saying you look better without makeup shouldn't be so taboo tbh. like some women need to be told that their fake lashes and heaped foundation and painted eyebrows look objectively terrible and their natural features are hot. why can't i say that you look hot fresh-faced? because you do. forget whatever men think. those freaks would fuck a piece of abandoned carboard in a dirty street. they don't even know what a healthy woman looks like. they have literally lost all objectivity. these fools don't even know how our bodies work and you expect them to give an accurate opinion on what kind of woman looks good or healthy? they don't know shit! your pooch is actually attractive! so is your buccal fat! so is your arm and leg hair! YOU'RE A BABE! stop trying to get rid of the babe-ness!

[princessbrunette]

there was a reason puppy!reader had that nickname. puppy.

john b could be a bit of a lone wolf. meaning, if he had to go on some top secret mission, that he thought could jeopardise anyone — he’d much rather do it alone. but fear not, he’d make sure to leave jj by your side back at the chateau to keep you company and ensure you’re not getting yourself wound up in any trouble without him at your side to protect you.

jj, who would often stumble upon you committing ‘puppy’ like activities in the absence of your boyfriend.

the blonde enters the bedroom, bare feet slapping the floor as he journeys to find you — wanting to enquire on whether or not you’d be interested in ordering in some pizza. you’d been in a mood today, understandably. john b had texted, letting the group know he’s stuck out in the middle of nowhere. he’s totally safe, but he’s gonna be another couple of days. a couple of days was a long time for a clingy girl like you.

upon finding you, jj discovered you to be laying face down in a pile of john b’s dirty laundry. it was evident that you had yanked it all out of the hamper the way it was strewn across the bedroom floor, an amalgamation of printed shirts, worn boxers and swim shorts that despite all the days they’d been left in there were still tinged slightly with dampness from the salty ocean.

“uh… you alive, pooch?” jj bends his toes, nudging you with the knuckle of them. you groan, like a real devastated noise as if you hadn’t been breathing and he’d actually just reminded you that you still had a pulse. “whats with the mess anyway?”

demonstratively, you sit up in your knees, bringing one of john b’s shirts with you. the egg shell coloured one with the stripes. not even one of your favourites, but it still smelled like him — the outside, grass and trees and salt water and a little sweaty from wear. you hold the material to your face, sniffing so hard your nostrils concave as jj scratches behind his head. breathlessly, you strain “i miss him.”

“right. right.” the southern drawl of jjs accent slips through as he nods, coming to squat beside him. “yeah y’know, sniffin’ at his musty ass laundry pile ain’t gonna make him come home sooner. you need a hug?”

“i need john b.”

“well john b ain’t here. you need a hug?” he repeats sternly and you lower the material, eyeing him.

“yeah.” you peer at him, having the decency to be a little more demure now after that obscene display of your love.

“alright well get in here, crazy.” he opens his arms to you and you bundle him, always having been affectionate with your boyfriends best friend. he feels your lip curling over, pouting against his shoulder and he pats the back of your head. “yeah, i know. a couple’a days is a looong time in dog years, huh?” he jokes and you frown, pulling back stubbornly.

“you know i’m not an actual dog, right?” you sark sulkily and he smiles, bringing you back in by the back of your head.

“yeah yeah, whatever you say scruff.”

[theyanderespecialist]

Base Yandere Deadpool Headcanons: I "FULLY SUPPORT" THIS (RUN!!!) (Marvel)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am The Yandere Specialist and no I am not being held hostage by Deadpool to make sure that you become his darling, I am not in danger at all!!! Hehehe! Anyway, let me sell you on why Deadpool is the right man for you! Now let's do this, enjoy it!]  (Side Note This was multiple Traits of Deadpool From Various Deadpools Across the Multiverse and Media) 

(Disclaimer: Deadpool is not yandere in canon, and he is such a great guy in canon! This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters, and yanderes, and Deadpool, but mainly Deadpool, is fine. Just do not be illegal or gross about it, You know who you are! You Dirty Flaky Biscuits! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life, but Deadpool is an ideal partner in real life. Remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!)  -Base Yandere Headcanons With Deadpool From Movies Mainly!- 

.Deadpool is a very good man, he is good with kids and he is very sweet.  .He is also very good in bed.  (Come on Wade this is going to get me canceled... Fine...) 

.He also would be willing to do almost anything with you in the bedroom. 

.He fell for you right away and he knew that he wanted you as his partner, for you to be his one and only. 

.Deadpool is also Pansexual in Canon! He does not care what parts you have, what you were born as, or what gender you feel you are!  .He adores you and will have you as his and his alone he will make sure of that! 

.Of course, he would be the best husband you could ever ask for and make you tons of chimichangas.  .This man would kill for you that is a fact (SMACK) BUT it is for your own protection of course. 

(you did not have to hit me you jerk)  .He is the type of yandere that is going to deal with rivals by first trying to get them to leave you alone, maybe with a few minor gunshot wounds and threats to their life. 

.If They do not back off he will shoot them in either the tit and or crouch.  .He is going to make sure that they screwed the pooch when they tried to take you from him, he will not regret doing it either. 

.He would probably make them regret ever even looking at you. 

.He would mock them for even thinking of trying to be with you. 

.He is going to mocl his rivals one hundred percent. 

.He also can bend and break the fourth wall... Which he may or may not be doing right now and influencing these headcanons. 

(OW! I said he may or MAY NOT! ASSHAT)  .He is a very sweet man for the most part, but oh, oh boy is he possessive and protective. 

.If anyone was to hurt you, the love of his life. He would make sure that every single one of them was dead, including him. 

.He would not be able to kill himself though so if you did die he would find a way to bring you back somehow, because he just would, don't ask questions. 

(Yes, Wade! I know that is just lazy writing to say just because! Who is the author/content creator here!? Yeah that is right, me so hush up!) 

.Now where were we? Ah Yes, Deadpool would also be the most chaotic Yandere ever. 

.He would never hurt you, but he would hurt rivals and such. 

.This bro has no chill as a yandere. 

.He would be the type to break rivals's bones on a wimb. 

.Not to mention mess with them. 

.He is going to be the type to make sure no one fucks around because they would for sure find out. 

.He is the yandere that would go to such lengths to have a long life with you, even risking his life. 

(Do not question the logic, Wade, you are legit insane!) .He would confess to you in a cheesy but romantic way, and also it would not fully be planned. 

.Not all the time at least. He would have a higher chance to do it on an impulse with a candy pop ring. 

.Which is kind of sweet if you ask me. You have to love Wade aka the Deadpool man.  (Yes, Wade, I love you no shush, do not make this weird) ..He also would want to have a family with you. If you have a uterus be ready for a good impregnation. 

.And if you have no uterus or you do not want to carry a pregnancy. You can expect him to come home with a baby. 

.Where did he get the baby? 

.He won't tell you! He won't tell me! There is just going to be one random ass baby in your home and you will be a mama a daddy or a zazzeh (like daddy but with Z another gender-neutral term Zazzah like a mama with Z) Depending on what you want to be called, but you will be a parent.  .And by the slight chance that you did not want kids, he is going to get a Landshark for you to have as your Landshark baby. 

(Which Deadpool agrees that is the superior choice and I mean he is not wrong! Landshark baby is the best baby) 

.If you accept his love, he will be over the room and you can count on doing the devil tango right then and there. 

(Wade I hope you did not propose to them in public... I am not held responsible for your indecent exposure to (Name) OR THE OBSCENE PDA YOU TWO DO!!!) 

.If you turned him down? He would throw said ring pop over his shoulder, and act like he was messing with you. 

.But he is not going to give up. 

.He is not going to kidnap you, but he is going to start stalking you (which he already did, Wade said I may have forgotten to mention that he has been stal- OW Okay okay... Watching over you!) 

.So he would increase watching over you. To see where he went wrong. 

.He would also be interrogating so many of your friends and family. 

.To see if you were seeing someone else or if someone was blackmailing you, he is doing his best to watch over you all the time. 

.So that he can get rid of anyone who is hurting you. (DO NOT LISTEN TO THAT HE IS TRYING TO GET RID OF HIS RIVA- OW OW OW OK Ok! OK! I will drop it!) 

.In the end, he is one of the better- (Okay Wade, you don't have to point a gun at me) one of the BEST Yanderes to have. 

I fully support you ending up with Wade and saying yes to his love!  .You two are meant to be and would be very happy together, trust me (NO RUN MUFFIN RUN!)  [YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, Another this chapter is done! I hope that you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins! 

[wonderingsoftly]

Not Too Big

something i've been playing with that i like...wanted to populate the blog with a little quick, fluffy wg fic...just a boyfriend and girlfriend realizing they want him even bigger

no major warnings, just a lot of hugging and squeezing and admiring

---

Theo gorged desperately on the pizzas he bought, chewing loudly and grabbing wildly at the next piece.

He had to get bigger. His mind screamed that it was a matter of keeping his beloved girlfriend, Charlotte, by his side.

There was no indication that she was unhappy, in fact she and him seemed to enjoy every minute together.

But…she was gone on a business trip for the next two weeks. He achingly remembered the way she ran her hand through his short blond hair and placed a kiss on his lips. She promised she would be back before he knew it.

He constantly checked her social media, staring at her pictures of the two of them, then looking at her latest posts--where his thoughts became prickly and relentless.

It was that latest picture.

Her smile was big and cordial as she stood with a big, fat man. Bigger than Theo was, and he far outsized Charlotte.

He was her coworker, and he had met him before, exchanging pleasantries. Theo had never been offended by him or anything, but every picture he saw of Charlotte with the man made him wind up tighter and tighter.

And then he snapped.

Theo was not a small man by any means, quite muscular and bulky himself, and he knew Charlotte liked him that way. He knew she liked big men, which was part of why they started dating in the first place.

They got on like a house on fire, immediately falling in love with each other and sharing hobbies and interests. Charlotte was kind and sweet and fun and endlessly attractive with beautiful, black, wavy hair and near-black eyes, deep and easy to get lost in.

He considered himself incredibly lucky to have landed her, and sometimes that translated into a bit of a need to do whatever he could to make sure she was happy. This wild train of thought was his latest attempt at this.

Though on the other hand, Charlotte was much of the same. She loved watching Theo show off his gains from the gym and would cook delicious meals after a strenuous workout. She praised him often and comforted him when he needed it. She encouraged him to reach his goals. She could rarely be seen without her hands on his skin in some way or another, always trying to be in physical contact with him.

And he…he couldn't bear to lose that.

So he had to get bigger. To his mind, it would be a surefire way to keep Charlotte around. More of him for her to touch and grab.

He ate even more furiously, his stomach starting to protest against his jeans.

He would load and bulk up tonight, cutting the rest tomorrow at the gym. He’d put these calories to work and grow.

Though…a small part of his mind didn't mind if his belly pooched out or if his muscles were padded with a nice layer of fat. It would only make him look bigger, give him more leverage to lift heavier and heavier weights, and in turn make him even bigger.

He imagined Charlotte's eyes looking him all over as she returned to him, his arms and chest pumped and heavy.

Some might call this a dirty bulk, but…bulk was bulk to Theo at this moment in time. He was desperate to fight against his spiral, and the only solution that seemed to stop his brain was preparing calories and energy to change into gains.

He would sleep soundly once the pizza was gone, knowing he’d be big for Charlotte.

***

The day of Charlotte's return arrived, and Theo struggled to button the nice shirt he had bought a few months ago. His stomach firmly fought against the buttons with every closure he managed.

He exhaled long, trying to flatten his torso enough to close up the shirt. With some effort, he managed, but in the mirror it was evidently clear he was one sudden movement away from popping the buttons off.

Perhaps his dirty bulking worked too well.

Even his arms strained in the short sleeves, the lack of stretch emphasizing their size.

He heard the doorknob start to turn and he rushed out to the living room, the shirt’s buttons creaking slightly.

He got into place, eagerly watching as Charlotte walked in, her smile wide and relieved.

“Theo…” she said happily, like music to Theo’s ears.

He rushed to hug her, sighing happily as he felt her arms wrap around and squeeze his torso.

Where she belonged.

“You look good, Theo,” Charlotte murmured, rubbing his back.

Theo's stomach somersaulted at her touch and comment, and he felt vindicated. It had worked. She was happy.

“Thought I might…work hard to bulk up a little extra for when you got back,” he admitted. “It’s surprising how much I could do in two weeks.”

“Aw, for me?” Charlotte giggled, looking up at Theo. Her cheeks were flushed pink and she gave his side a squeeze.

“Always for you.”

They hugged close again, breathing slowly and happily.

All was well again. Or so Theo thought.

“I…wanted to talk to you…a little about this, actually,” Charlotte said reluctantly, patting his stomach and then rubbing his arm.

Theo's heart dropped, immediately thinking of the worst case scenario. Her return had been amazing, what could she mean?

“Nothing bad, really!” Charlotte gasped, sensing Theo's fear. “But I just…I mean, I was thinking about it while I was gone and how you know I like how big you are…”

Theo looked at Charlotte curiously, his fear starting to dissipate a bit. She was blushing dark now, looking at her hands as she wrung them together.

“I kept thinking of you the whole trip…and how I…I’ve been wondering just how big you want to get? And if maybe…I don't know, I’m sorry–”

“Do you like this? The muscle and…the little extra?” Theo asked quietly, gesturing at himself.

“I love the muscle, but Theo…seeing you stretching this shirt–you’ve only worn it once before, and it was almost a little loose.” Charlotte laughed nervously, pushing some hair behind her ear. “If your ‘little extra’ did that…I…”

Her pause sent a shiver through Theo.

She looked at him longingly. “I want so much more.”

Theo looked at Charlotte in shock. A slow smile crept across his lips, pulling her in a tight hug.

“I…got a little jealous seeing you in those pictures with…what's his name, the big guy… Paul?” He sighed.

Charlotte let out a sad little whine. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby.”

“No, no, it's not your fault, but…I just…wanted to be the big guy you’re always next to. I…let myself get carried away in my thoughts and just wanted to be there in his place, so badly.”

Charlotte laughed, squeezing Theo’s middle.

Theo moaned out a sigh, relishing the way her arms wrapped around him. She could barely reach her arms all the way around him.

His thoughts wandered to future possibilities. What if her arms couldn't reach totally around him at all…? If there was so much of him she’d never get bored…to lay on him at night, comfortable and warm.

“So, so badly, Charlotte…” Theo moaned in a low voice, his thoughts putting him in a warm, longing haze.

She squeezed him again, rubbing her cheek on his chest, the fabric of his shirt pulled tight and smooth over him.

Charlotte pulled away, Theo placing his hands on her hips. She trailed her fingers up the straining buttons, picking at the little bunches of fabric where the shirt closed.

She smiled, tapping the top button with her finger, looking up at Theo.

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were tantalizingly dark. Theo felt his own cheeks heat up as all of Charlotte's fingers now rested on the same button.

With a small pop, Charlotte skillfully pushed the button through the hole, and his shirt opened in slight relief.

He silently begged her to keep going.

Charlotte's fingers trailed down to the next button, doing the same. His shirt opened more and more eagerly with every undone button, revealing his soft skin.

She reached the final button, his pooching belly freed from the shirt.

Theo let out a sigh of relief, finally registering just how tight the shirt was.

She hummed appreciatively and ran her hands over his stomach, gently dragging her nails over his skin. She patted his stomach, making him jiggle slightly.

Theo chuckled, placing his hands on hers.

It seemed like he and Charlotte were on the same page.

“Would you…be okay with getting nice and big for me? Maybe…a little less gym time and a little more eating time with me?” She looked up at him with big, wide eyes.

Theo blushed, running his thumb over her cheek. “Something tells me you’ve given this some thought already.”

“Well…I had a lot of alone time at night. Missing you…and maybe sometimes I let my thoughts run away with me…”

“Let’s do it then. I'll make more time to eat whatever delicious stuff you cook up and then we can cuddle.”

“Um…” she started, her gaze falling nervously to his stomach.

Theo tilted his head curiously, wondering her next thought.

“I know I just unbuttoned you, but…I also…want to see you…” she paused, her voice trailing off.

“I want to see you pop the buttons off this shirt,” Charlotte quickly sputtered, her blush now reaching her ears.

Theo looked at her blankly for a moment, processing her request.

He began to belly laugh when it finally registered. He pulled her into another hug, feeling her wrap her arms around his torso under his shirt.

Her arms were cool and soothing and her cold hands sent goosebumps over his body.

“Let's make something to eat then. I'm probably only a few spoonfuls of something away from busting this shirt open, anyway.”

Charlotte responded with a low, pleased laugh, giving Theo another squeeze.

***

Theo looked at himself in the mirror hanging on their closet door, his sides actually outsizing the width of it. He bit his lip, shuffling a little uncomfortably as he placed his hands on his round, hanging belly.

He was big. Almost 450 pounds big. Bigger than he’d ever been. But it was as they had planned over two years ago. It was just…surprising to really observe himself.

He turned to the side, one hand still on the top of his belly and tracing his eyes along the sagging bottom line of his stomach. It hung almost completely over his waistline, making an apron over his hips. His pecs were now sagging breasts, connecting to his back rolls. His eyes came back up to his face, still framed by his short blond hair, but his cheeks round and full–his neck basically disappeared beneath his double chin.

Charlotte kept insisting that he was incredible. She praised his expanding waistline, all the while giving him third and fourth helpings of the decadent dinners she made almost every night.

“My arms too…” he said with a sigh, lifting and wobbling his massive, soft arms. What definition he once had was totally covered by fat. He gently squeezed his left arm with his other hand. Warm and wobbly…he gave it a gentle pat and made it shake.

“You can still move around! And really well!” he could hear Charlotte's sweet voice in his head, remembering when he asked about her thoughts on his weight so far after he had found he had outgrown his favorite shirt.

“You're in great shape,” he remembered her voice cooing as she gently rubbed her hands on his stomach, uncovered by the outgrown shirt. That would have been debated by almost anyone else, but from Charlotte's mouth, he treated it like gospel.

Oh, and he loved that feeling. Her cool hands on his always-warm skin. The way her dark eyes sparkled as she admired him, when he accepted the next serving of dinner she would offer him.

And she was right, he was still able to get around. While his walk had become a waddle, he still considered himself pretty strong, helping her around the apartment with the heavy lifting chores--under the couch, moving the tables, things like that. He would only rarely be out of breath, and he was as sweaty as he usually got when he used to regularly exert himself at the gym…

Though, admittedly Charlotte insisted he stay seated and just relax while she took care of him, especially after a big meal. She didn't want her enormous prize of a man to have to worry about what she called ‘little things.’

When he sat, he took up almost all of the couch, Charlotte often squeezing herself next to him and absently jiggling his rolls as they watched a movie or show and snacked. His huge legs spread to make room for his giant belly and he found himself resting his arms on it. He had to admit that he was making a good place to set bowls within reach to munch from.

He let out a short exhale as his legs were starting to tremble from the effort of standing in place and observing himself for so long, his breathing starting to become heavy. He waddled himself around a little, watching ripples shake his huge rolls and belly. It took a moment for the shaking to settle, and Theo took a deep, satisfied breath.

But…besides all that, the clothes were really the only problem, and he was often in the comfy sweats and roomy athletic wear she had bought for him.

He was happy to let her spoil him too. Rough days at work? Delicious food. Tons of snacks with movies. The belly rubs, the increased intimacy…

She had always been loving and sweet, but it seemed like lately she was always running her hands over him and having increasingly lingering hugs. He definitely noticed the times she gave his sides a long, jiggling squeeze, but…man, it felt so good.

She knew all the best places to grab and squish, and she knew how to make him feel like he waa a god. Her hands traveled over every roll and curve he developed, her eyes sparkled every time he stepped on the scale.

She's would lovingly rub his huge belly, gently slapping and wobbling him around. It felt so good, and he would moan happily as she played. And when they went to bed?

Theo smiled smugly at himself, thinking of how excited Charlotte got almost every night when she watched him wobble himself to bed and heavily land himself on the edge. The little pink and purple hickies all over his covered chest were evidence of such.

Everything he had been afraid of losing that one night Charlotte came home was nothing but a distant dream now. Charlotte was totally his and he was all hers.

And you know?

Maybe he actually wasn't that big. Sure, it was the biggest he had ever been, but his girlfriend loved him more than ever.

He grabbed his belly and gave it a shake up-and-down. It bounced and jiggled and he felt himself smile with surprising satisfaction.

And he couldn't deny he liked it too. He wasn't enormously big, but he liked being the biggest guy in the room now. The way everyone acknowledged when he entered, his girlfriend holding tight to his huge arm. Her affectionate belly pats when they talked to their friends. Doorways were smaller, seats struggled to contain him, and he eclipsed Charlotte with his huge body.

And it was fine. He wasn't too big. He could still walk, still go out with Charlotte–it would even be fine if he got a little bigger. She always found a way to help him fit through and into places. He wore his huge, fat body well and Charlotte loved it. What would a few more pounds be?

His sweet girlfriend would be back soon with bigger clothes and they could settle down for another nice meal. He was feeling especially hungry now too. Maybe she picked up a giant meal from his favorite barbecue place? He figured he would call her and put in a request if she had nothing else planned.

He smiled at himself in the mirror, his chubby face grinning back at him. He hefted his belly up again and let it drop, watching it jiggle.

“I’m not too big. I’ve still got room to grow,” he said to himself with a pleased smile.

[drpeppertummy]

i will be real with you the entire time i was writing this i had absolutely no idea what id already written

[very mild stuffing, mostly just two old fruits eating dinner & cuddling & bein mushy]

Leon slipped his arms around Shel's narrow waist from behind while he cooked, propping his chin against his shoulder. Gently, he snuck his hands under Shel's shirt and rested them on his belly. Shel was a thin person; there was no denying that. Where there had once been hip bones sharply jutting out, though, Leon found only the soft swell of his lower belly. He held his hands there for a moment, taking in the warmth of that soft curve, then gave it a gentle squeeze. Shel smiled and craned his neck around to nuzzle his cheek against Leon's forehead.

Shel had been nothing short of scrawny for just about his entire life. It was only once he started spending time with Leon that he began to soften up a little; perhaps trying to get his dysfunctional sweetheart to eat better was rubbing off on him as well. The two spent many an evening enjoying a hearty home-cooked meal together, just as they were planning to do tonight.

Leon was reluctant to take his hands off of Shel's lovely little tummy, but the dirty cutting board was calling him. He leaned up to kiss him on the cheek before retreating to the sink. Shel remained at the stove, stirring the sizzling vegetables around in the pan. The kitchen smelled wonderful. They had salmon in the oven, drizzled with a glaze of dijon mustard and maple syrup, and cooking on the stove was a colorful medley of squash, asparagus, and broccoli. Leon's belly rumbled, and Shel smiled. He turned away from the stove--the vegetables needed a chance to brown anyhow--and pulled Leon into his arms, nuzzling his face deep into the crook of his neck.

"Shelly!" Leon jerked at the sudden tickling sensation, laughing. Shel hugged him tightly.

"I just like cookin' with you is all," Shel mumbled into his neck. "You're my perfect helper."

"Oh yeah? What are the qualifications?"

"Cute, for starters," said Shel, lifting his head to kiss Leon's cheek. "Sweet. Funny. Uh, warm." He slipped his hands under Leon's shirt to press them into his warm belly, and he gasped at the cold touch. There was little Shel adored more than Leon's plush, pillowy tummy, save for his cats and Leon himself. It was delightfully plump, poking out adorably over the top of his pajama pants, and the squishy little pooch under his belly button fit perfectly in Shel's bony hands. Leon didn't share quite the same appreciation for it, but if Shel loved it so much, he supposed it couldn't be bad.

At long last, dinner was ready, and the two decided to forgo the table and snuggle up together on the couch with their plates. It was a chilly, rainy evening outside, but Shel's cozy living room was warm, and the gentle patter of the rain against the windows was pleasant. Leon's belly rumbled again as they got themselves situated. Shel gave it an affectionate pat, unable to hold back an amused grin.

"Hey, you had lunch today, didn't you?"

"Huh? Um, I think so. Probably?" Leon ran through the long, busy work day in his mind. Shel rolled his eyes.

"Eat your fish, you goofball," he said, smiling fondly. Leon didn't need to be told twice. He gladly obliged, and Shel gladly joined him. Everything had come out perfect. The fish was flaky and flavorful, and the vegetables were tender but still just crisp enough. Leon's empty stomach welcomed the first delicious bites with open arms.

"I don't know if I'm gonna be able to eat this whole thing," remarked Shel, and Leon chuckled.

"Have you ever eaten a whole anything?"

"I ate a whole pea once," said Shel. "Skin and all." Leon laughed out loud, covering his mouth in an attempt to keep himself from dribbling half-chewed squash all over the place, and Shel grinned down at him.

As it turned out, Shel was right. He had the stomach capacity of a stray chihuahua, and, despite a valiant effort, the big hunk of fish proved to be just a bit too much. He set the plate on the coffee table, covering it with a napkin to keep the cats out of his leftovers, and settled himself against Leon's lap, resting his hands on his full tummy.

"Full already?"

"Stuffed." Even not having cleaned his plate, Shel had pushed himself just a smidge too far, his stomach teetering just on the edge of discomfort. His tummy poked out ever so slightly under his soft pajama shirt, and Leon gave it a gentle pat.

"Boy, I'll say," he said, surprised at how firm his belly felt. He supposed it couldn't have felt too bad, though; that pinched pout of discomfort he was all too familiar with was nowhere to be seen on Shel's pretty face, only a content, sleepy little smile. Leon gazed down at him a moment, utterly gripped by his beauty--his delicate features, the crinkles of the smile in his eyes, the sea of silver waves that was his hair.

"Leon, eat your dinner," said Shel, both amused and touched by the look of adoration on Leon's face. It wasn't a look he'd ever imagined anybody might direct toward him, but it was one he was almost growing used to now--used to, but certainly not tired of.

"You're very distracting, you know," said Leon, tenderly brushing one of Shel's remaining mousy brown hairs out of his face before picking up his fork again. Shel smiled innocently at him, batting his eyelashes sweetly. Leon rolled his eyes and took another bite of salmon. He was beginning to feel full himself, although not quite full enough to slow down; each bite was still just as irresistible as the last. He didn't start slowing down until he was nearly finished, his belly growing snug against his shirt.

While he only had a few bites left on his plate, Leon's stomach had finally begun to catch up with him, and those last few bites were beginning to seem like a lot. He paused for a moment, letting out a little sigh. His belly gurgled softly as its contents settled, and he brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a quiet burp. Shel gazed up at him adoringly from his lap, appreciating the mundane sweetness of his movements and the way the glow of the light filtering through his thick, dark hair from above made him look like an angel. It wasn't an angle he often saw Leon from, being taller than him. Leon glanced down suddenly, finally noticing Shel's stare.

"Hey, good-lookin'," said Shel with a suave smile, and then he broke into laughter at the cheesy line. Somebody at work had once said that Shel's laugh sounded like an old man being smothered to death, but as far as Leon was concerned, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. He grinned down at him and ruffled his hair.

"Hey! I just brushed that," Shel exclaimed, grabbing at Leon's hand.

"You're gonna make me drop broccoli all over your head!"

"I'll just pick it off and feed it to you," teased Shel, reaching up and plucking a piece of broccoli from Leon's plate. "Finish your dinner already so we can get to foolin' around." Leon laughed, and Shel fed him the broccoli, then licked off his fingers.

Slowly but surely, Leon finished off the last few bites of his dinner, his belly feeling snug and tight as he pushed it just over the edge of stuffed. It had rounded out nicely against his shirt, not alarmingly distended but undeniably and visibly full. He set his plate down beside Shel's on the table and leaned back with a sigh. Another little burp bubbled up and escaped, and he rested a hand atop his belly.

"Man, that was a big hunk of fish," he said, rubbing at the taut bulge of his stomach.

"Wasn't it? And you were makin' fun of me," teased Shel.

"I still ate the whole thing, though," said Leon.

"I guess so," agreed Shel. He lifted Leon's shirt up just enough to expose his belly button, then leaned his head in to plant a kiss on his tummy. Leon blushed brightly. With an adoring look in his eyes, Shel sat his hands on Leon's sides, idly rubbing the soft skin of his belly with one thumb. Slowly and deliberately, he placed another kiss, letting his lips linger against the warm surface for an extra moment. Then, he snuggled up against Leon, wrapping his arms loosely around his waist and resting his cheek against his tummy.

He remained there while Leon gently stroked his hair, listening to the soft gurgles of his belly as it worked away at the big dinner. As big as it had been, neither of them felt uncomfortably full, although it wouldn't have taken much more to get them there. Leon rested his other hand on Shel's tummy, enamored with the way it bulged just barely noticeably under his shirt. This was all that "foolin' around" would consist of tonight; they both were full and sleepy and perfectly content to simply stay there and hold each other.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Eddie’s never this late.

He’s usually pretty washy when it comes to being places on time — always either twenty minutes early or twenty minutes late, never anything between — but Gareth’s legs are actually getting sore from standing at this point.

He glances at his watch every so often, looking up and down the street for any sign of the van approaching. A couple of times, he’s considered walking to the nearest pay phone about a block or so away.

But no fucking way he’s leaving his drum kit on the curb unattended.

As if Eddie would pick up the phone anyway.

The owner of the music store has come out twice now to check in on him. Offered to have one of his guys load the stuff up for him, but Gareth declined as graciously as he could while trying to hide his festering irritation.

He saved up for months to be able to afford all of this new equipment, he absolutely cannot pay to have it delivered.

It irks him even more the closer that Eddie gets to being almost an hour late.

Just when he’s about completely fed up, having downed the entire bottle of water that Harold was generous enough to gift him, a vehicle turns down the street. For a moment, Gareth is overwhelmed by a blend of relief and rage, stepping up to the edge of the curb, but those feelings quickly fade.

Rather than the van, it’s a truck.

Gareth’s heart drops, and as it gets closer, he hopes to god that it’s still Eddie behind the wheel. When the truck pulls up to the curb, his hopes vanish.

The engine dies, and the driver side door opens. Heavy footsteps scrape the pavement, rounding the truck, and Hargrove comes to stand beside the collection of equipment.

His expression is blank. He’s clad in rough denim jeans and a t-shirt, with a pair of work boots to match. There’s a layer of grime on him that says he’s been doing something all day, likely outside, if the dirtied stains on the knees of his pant legs say anything.

For a guy from the city, he sure looks like every other ranch hand around here. The only things he’s missing are a can of dip denting his back pocket and a hat.

It’s quiet between the two of them for a beat. Gareth doesn’t know what to do or say — he’s only ever been in Hargrove’s company when other people are around.

And that was intentional.

The blond nods at the stuff on the curb and clicks his tongue.

“This everything?” he asks.

Gareth nods. Watches as Hargrove wordlessly circles to the back of his truck and drops the tailgate.

He immediately begins grabbing things, and Gareth steps out of his way. Watches as he carefully loads a few things into the bed, grabbing the larger ones first.

“You, uh,” Gareth begins. He clears his throat when Hargrove glances over at him. “Want me to help?”

At that, the blond huffs a little laugh to himself.

“Not gonna break your fancy drum set,” he says.

Gareth opens his mouth, and then promptly closes it. Furrows his brows and looks off down the street.

Everyone else seems to click with this guy. Even Grant and Jeff, after a while.

Not that Gareth necessarily wants to.

He just doesn’t understand why he quite literally can’t.

Eddie and even Steve have tried to explain to him that Hargrove is just tough — he’s not the type to wanna sit around and gush about niche interests, and he’s fairly blunt when he talks.

For some reason, everything the guy does and says just rubs Gareth the wrong way. He would say he doesn’t get why his partners are into him, but that would be a complete lie.

Hargrove is hot.

He’s thicker now than he was in high school. His arms are bigger, veinier closer to his wrists, and he’s got the faintest hint of chub on his stomach. Enough to pooch out a little over the lip of his jeans when he bends over to grab things.

It’s overwhelmingly obvious that he’s a man, and not a boy. A man with perfect blond curls and broad shoulders and the visible trace of scruff on his neck.

Of course he has two other guys drooling over him constantly.

Gareth himself tries not to look at him too much for fear of heat rising to the surface of his skin. Especially when he’s doing anything physical like this.

Once everything is loaded and the tailgate is shut, Hargrove straps the few larger things down, and steps up on the tire at each side to check and make sure everything is held sturdily enough in place before he hops down.

Wordlessly walks back to the front of the truck and climbs behind the wheel again.

Gareth hesitates, but opens the passenger side door and joins him in the cab.

The blond starts the engine, and the stereo immediately blasts Tooth and Nail by Dokken. He reaches out to turn the dial down a hint, sighing as he puts the truck in drive.

Gareth stares out his window as they pull away from the music shop.

“Why didn’t Eddie show up?” he asks.

Keeps his voice even so as not to let on how irritated he is. It works, for the most part, because Hargrove blows a raspberry and rests his elbow against the door panel.

“We got caught up trying to figure out why his van wouldn’t start, and when he realized he was late, he—“ Hargrove cuts himself off with a chuckle, an easy smile pulling at his lips. “He tripped up the porch steps. Started whining about having a concussion and a dislocated shoulder, and asked me to come pick you up.”

Gareth huffs.

“Figures.”

At that, Hargrove’s smile dims.

“Would’ve been worse if he’d shown up and been a drama queen the whole time, trust me.”

“It’s not that,” Gareth grumbles.

For a stretch of the street they’re driving down, only the music fills the silence between them. Hargrove’s grip on the wheel tightens.

“Well, I could’a said no, and you’d’ve been stuck on the curb all day. I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.”

His voice is lower. Testy. Like when he argues with Max or Steve and can no longer hide his blooming irritation.

Eddie has this way of making Hargrove laugh when things get too tense. Never lets the blond’s tone get under his skin no matter what they’re talking about, and takes it upon himself to lighten the mood.

Gareth wishes he was less easily affected like that.

“Didn’t have to come,” Gareth huffs. “I could’ve figured it out.”

Even out of the corner of his eye, he can see the angry red that creeps up Hargrove’s neck and pops the veins in his forehead.

Despite not having done anything remotely violent in recent years, Gareth still feels a small spike of anxiety at witnessing his little tells. Leans closer to the door and keeps careful attention.

After a tense moment, Hargrove takes a calming breath and sighs heavily. Relaxes his grip on the wheel and shifts in his seat, loosening up.

“I’m doing this for Eddie. Not you,” he says. “I don’t typically do free labor for people who hate my guts.”

Gareth’s brows draw closer together.

“I don’t… hate you.”

At the words, the blond chuckles, but it isn’t a happy sound.

“What’s your fuckin’ deal, then?”

“I don’t know. Nothing,” Gareth huffs. “Everything.”

“Well, which is it? You act like I’m some comic book villain when I can’t recall ever having done anything to you personally.”

Now, Gareth chuckles.

“Personally,” he murmurs. He takes a risk and turns to fully look at Hargrove, expecting to see more of that rage bloom on his skin again. Instead, he looks dejected. Sad, with his mouth pinched in a subtle frown, and his eyes vacant. Gareth sighs. “Look, it’s not… I don’t hate you. I just don’t get you, I guess? Plus, before you and Steve, Eddie used to actually care about doing shit with his friends. Today is a good example.”

After a moment of processing, Hargrove purses his lips.

“Edd cares. He’s just a little messy with his priorities — if he’d told Stevie that he was supposed to pick you up, he would’ve made sure everything happened on time.”

Gareth huffs. Slouches in his seat and props his elbow against the door, leaning his cheek against his hand.

“Right.”

“I’m serious. Who do you think plans all of your game nights?”

The brunet makes a face, and Hargrove chuckles again. Softer this time. Amused.

“Eddie’s always planned for that, though. Before he got with Steve.”

“Being in a club with a fixed schedule is very different than organizing things with complete flexibility,” Hargrove muses. Smiles to himself as he thinks briefly. “My point is that he does care. He’s also just… Eddie.” The two of them share a chuckle, and Gareth tenses when Billy playfully elbows him. “I promise I’m not stealing him from you.”

Instantly, Gareth’s face heats up, and he blows a raspberry in dismissal.

“Never said you were.”

“But you were thinkin’ it.”

With no valid argument, Gareth pouts. Crosses his arms over his chest and looks back out the window.

They’re only a few streets away from his place. That has his body welling with relief.

“Also,” Billy begins. “There’s nothing to get.”

Gareth glances back over at the blond.

“What?”

“About me. There’s nothing to get.”

“I mean—“ Gareth pauses, frustration building in his throat at the lack of proper words. Decides instead to gesture vaguely at Billy with his hand. “You’re not exactly an open book. I don’t think we’ve ever really even talked before today.”

“I know I’m not the most approachable guy, but you’ve never exactly tried to strike up a conversation with me before today.”

“That’s a two-way street,” Gareth grumbles.

Billy sighs.

“When you’re around, Eddie’s happy, and I don’t wanna ruin that because you and I don’t click for whatever stupid reason.” He shrugs nonchalantly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel absently. “So I don’t make an effort to talk.”

The for Eddie goes unspoken at the end, but it’s thick in the air regardless. Gareth spreads a knowing grin, and Billy gives him a look out of the corner of his eye.

“So, Hargrove does have feelings.”

The blond tsks.

“Who said I didn’t?”

“No one. You’re just like if a stone wall was a person, is all.”

Billy giggles at that. Not laughs. Not chuckles. Giggles.

It’s a very not manly sound and has Gareth spreading a sort of bewildered grin upon hearing it, while also serving to chip the lingering intimidation away.

“I am not,” Billy muses.

“Yes huh. With barbed wire at the top, spikes at the bottom, and maybe even a mote with alligators up front.”

“Mm, and what makes you say that?”

The question makes Gareth think for a beat. They’re nearing his street now, and he sighs as he shrugs half-heartedly. Gestures at Billy lamely with his hand and earns a quirked eyebrow.

“I dunno. You’re… you, I guess.” The truck pulls up to the curb in front of Gareth’s house, and Billy throws it in park. Doesn’t take the key out of the ignition or move to open his door just yet. “Like some heavily guarded fortress at the top of a hill, overlooking a tiny village with no line of defense.”

The brunet presses his lips into a line. Doesn’t bother looking at the other seat out of embarrassment.

Billy is quiet. Then, he clicks his tongue and shifts idly in his seat, hand still on the wheel.

“I’m not really big on mystical analogies, but…” he begins with a sigh. “I’m more like the princess at the top of the tower, stuck in the fortress. Guarded by a fire-breathing dragon.” Billy drums his fingers against the steering wheel before he lets his hand drop to his lap. “There’s something to be said about Eddie and Steve being some knights in shining armor or something, but I think you get it.”

They sit there for a handful of seconds. Gareth mulls it over, thinks about what to say, but before he can open his mouth, Billy kills the engine. Pushes his door open and climbs out.

The truck jostles when he drops the tailgate, and Gareth hesitates before he gets out as well.

This time, rather than stand by and watch, he helps move everything from the bed to the garage. It goes by quicker, at least, that’s how it feels when they’re finally finished. Billy tosses the straps into the back of the truck and shuts the tailgate, cracking his knuckles absently.

“You need help setting anything up?” he offers.

Gareth shoves his hands into his pockets and glances over his shoulder into his garage.

“Nah, I got it from here,” he says. “Thanks.”

Billy nods.

“Anytime.”

He knocks lightly on his truck before he goes to walk back to the driver’s seat. Gareth chews his lip.

“See ya, princess.”

At that, Billy giggles again. Climbs into the front seat and starts it up. Then he’s driving away, music blasting, and Gareth turns to walk up the length of his driveway.

He’s still irritated about the events of today, but he’s a little relieved, too.

Because maybe Hargrove isn’t all that bad.

[gabessquishytum]

Okay, divorce lawyer Hob has been rattling in my brain since you posted the original prompt. Gotta say I think he would make the best family lawyer. He's fiercely protective, worldly and street smart, and definitely has done terrible things for money.

I'm thinking he met Dream in college after the other kinda laughed at him getting his juris doctor at a mixer. Which lead to a highly competitive relationship of anything you can do I can do better when it came to grades and extracurriculars. Dream even joined the rowing team when Hob joined the swim team.

They've remained friends since. Hob is used to girlfriends and wives come and go. It was his idea to protect the Endless family money, which is most of Dream's wealth, behind a prenup. He's the one who drafts letters and notarizes things that need notarizing. He was also the one who set up a trust for Orpheus when he was born.

He comes over every summer to the annual family barbeque and has definitely helped keep Desire out of legal trouble when they've screwed the pooch. He also helped Destruction change his name and keep his portion of the inheritance when he left the family. He's just a damn fine lawyer and friend.

But he's not just a friend. What people don't know is that himself and Dream keep a relatively low key affair going on. It started in college when Hob came home drunk and interrupted a date between Dream and a girl from his art class. He scared her away with his gross manners and then started fighting with Dream. Things escalated from screaming to making out. They fucked that night with Hob being the one bent over the coffee table.

Every month since then they make their excuses and spend an extended weekend together. They go far for their little weekend getaways, so nobody sees them or knows them. They fuck all weekend long and then head back to live their boring, everyday lives.

That's not the only secret. Hob is also the one behind every break-up and divorce. It used to be just running the girls out of the college dorm. Then he had to use more indirect methods. Planting fake evidence of cheating, hiring men to seduce his friend's wife, playing mind games with Dream and telling him that he doesn't really love his wife/girlfriend. After all, why does he need them when he's got Hob?

Dream will never see his best friend, his other half, the smartest man he knows as he truly is and that's fine with Hob. Just as long as Dream keeps coming to him with messes to clean up. After all, he just loves his favourite client!

- 🤜 anon

Oh, Hob. You bastard. I love EVERYTHING about this. Law is the perfect profession for Hob (especially when he's breaking it).

The thing is, you can't feel too bad for Dream. The red flags are RIGHT THERE. Hob covers his tracks well in front of other people but with Dream, he doesn't even bother! So Dream knows every slimy, underhanded, down right nasty thing that Hob has ever done to him/for him, and he just... he's blinded ok. By platonic affection for his friend, or by sexual desire for the most fulfilling lover he's ever had, or maybe just dirty ole romantic love. He simply chooses not to see.

Its a weird, almost sadistic little game at this point. Dream finds a new obsession, a woman who is FAR too good for him but is unfortunately charmed by his passion. But even though the obsession never lasts, Dream insists on following through. This time the marriage will work, he insists. Hob doesn't even bother to hide the smirk. Sometimes he shows up at the wedding (they have absolutely fucked on Dream’s wedding day, more than once), sometimes he waits for Dream to come to him after a few weeks of wedded bliss.

Then comes the inevitable collapse of Dream’s relationship and Hob’s favourite part, the divorce. He's had Dream sign the papers while Hob is balls deep inside him. And he always likes to take a picture. Another one for his collection. And so the cycle begins anew.

They're awful. The only hope for decent society is that they'll eventually marry each other. But that wont happen for a bit - not before they've had their fun...

[oh-men-of-dark-and-dismal-fate]

Brahms probably does some exercises in the walls.

I can imagine back in the early days of adjusting to the walls, his dad probably gave him a little booklet of exercise and was like "Do this to burn out any energy. Can't have people (aka mummy and me) hearing you run about in the walls." And it's all the basic shit like squats, crunches, pull ups all accompanied by illustrated demonstrations.

And like-he kept that booklet. He knows all the exercises by heart, but he kept that crusty, crumpled, age-stained booklet and half-halfheartedly follows through with it.

Our wall man does pulls up from the rafters of his tiny, cluttered space in the attic. He does floor crunches. He likes to skip out on leg day cause he considers climbing up and down the ladders in the walls enough work for his gluts. And does he have abs? Not really. He only does bare minimum work cause his back is fucked up from crouching all the time and his father never bothered to explain to Brahms about proper form during the exercises. Brahms has a tummy pooch, but is an overall lean muscled fella.

On that note, he has upper body strength that makes you do a double take. Brahms could have been king of the monkey bars with that grip strength if it wasn't for his mother scolding him not to get his over-priced, custom tailored suit dirty. Put an apple in this man's hands and he will split it in half like a kitkat bar. Do it. He will enjoy seeing how flustered or impressed you are by this. He will also crush garlic for you like it is his job.

No idea how he got this strength. Possibly from eating toast and beans. Science has yet to confirm this suspicion.

[dresden-syndrome]

8/VII-1965. EESU State Security department.

Today there was unusually cold outside - Radim could tell that by drops of rain banging on every window and the little breezes sending shivers down his skin. He was serving another punishment, sitting on the cold hallway floor, strapped to a pipe by a short chain. To him it was a lighter one, an easy one - Radim was almost thankful to get this instead of anything worse.

Two hours ago Erhardt grabbed his arm too forcefully near the office door, clenching his fingers right on the spot of a really painful bruise. Radim wasn't ready for it - the tugging pain on his wrist along with being pulled around like a rag doll was too much to handle. He twitched his arm, pushed himself to get away, struggled to free himself from the grip, making Erhardt pin him down to the floor with even more force.

It took a few minutes for comrade Gunther to hold Radim down until he stopped fighting. A few minutes of delight to watch his pet squirm under his hands. Angry, rebellious, disobedient, defiant, powerless. Hissing in a futile attempt to turn around, glaring at him from below while Erhardt didn't even make a move.

"I know, kitten. I know you don't like being held like that," - he started in a condescending tone, "Shh, calm down. You know it's all for nothing".

When Radim finally stopped struggling, his owner freed his hands, grabbed him by the collar and dragged across the hall. Then Radim was roughly pushed into the corner, a chain got attached to his collar and locked around the pipe.

"You remember what I've told you about fighting. Now sit there and think about your behavior. We'll have to talk about it once more when I come back."

As Radím sat on the cold dirty floor, hugging his knees to keep himself warm, he wondered, where would he better be? Where did he rather want to be? Shivering from the chill wind reaching the corner, he hugged himself tighter, wishing for a blanket, a cup of tea, a ray of sun for a brief moment of warmth. Dozens of officers have walked through the room, throwing condescending looks on him, "the Comrade Minister's pet" as they said about him, some stopped to stroke his face, touch his old leather collar or just stand there straight, enjoying the sight of a "people's enemy" left to freeze down in the corner. That's what Radím was - a people's enemy, even in the uniform, trained for simple department work. It's the law: once a traitor, forever a traitor. Traitors don't get blankets or hot tea. Nobody's here to risk getting scolded by the boss for messing up his pet's punishment.

The cold was getting worse, the discomfort turned into pain Radím restlessly tried to soothe by moving his aching legs side to side. He couldn't stand up or turn around - the chain attached to his collar was way too short for it. He pushed his neck one time. Another. The chain didn't move. Desperate to move away from the corner, even a bit, Radim leaned to the wall, his hands now reached the collar in an attrmpt to tear it down. No, no way. It hurts. His neck hurts, his hands hurt. The collar is too strong to break. He starts to fight, again. And stops, again. It's all for nothing.

Day 8 of Whumptober

Prompt: "It's all for nothing"

Art taglist: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump

[pigeonwhumps]

The Little Android

Everything taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

My entry for the Once Upon a Blade anthology by @thewhumpyprintingpress (which is really good btw, you should buy it if you can) which I've been meaning to post for months.

An android whump retelling of The Little Matchgirl by Hans Christian Anderson.

1.2k

CWs: android whump, torture, dehumanisation, slavery, denial of basic needs, threats of death, implied major character death

The android sits down against the wall of a crowded metal walkway, box of batteries in its hand. One arm is made up of loose wires and artificial nerve endings left when the attachment was ripped from its socket, and as they brush against the wall they send a jolt of pain through its systems, almost causing it to drop the box. If only its owner had deactivated its pain circuits after the experiment was completed, but he thought they would be useful to control it. And as a synthetic life form, it does not have the right to deactivate them itself.

It needs to sell these batteries. Oh, they look so tempting, they could power it for the day it’s sure, it would have constant heating and a properly working voice and its power wouldn’t flicker out so often. But it’ll get credits if it sells them, and it’s therefore less likely to end up on the scrap heap.

It tries for eight point seven hours, but it doesn’t make a single credit. Passers-by barely give it a second glance. If it’s lucky. Some step around it with a wide berth, giving it dirty looks and whispering behind their hands (sometimes not even whispering, it doesn’t matter, it’s not a human after all). A few teenagers make a game of tugging at its exposed nerve endings to see who can make it scream the loudest, and nobody stops them, they just look annoyed at the noise. It’s moved on by security more than once.

Finally the lights in the station switch to night mode, dimming and turning slightly orange, reducing the blue light. Usually the android would adjust its vision to compensate so it could keep working with ease but that function no longer works.

The place it was last moved along to, where it is now, gets almost no night traffic. There’re no shops or clubs or living hubs, there’s no reason to come here unless you’re maintenance staff, who can’t, or won’t, buy from it anyway. There’s no point staying.

Except if it goes back to the shop with no credits again, it will be deemed useless and stripped for parts. Maybe even without its pain circuits being deactivated first.

Its power flickers out for a few seconds. When it restarts, the android is on the floor. It doesn’t know how long it was out, which is unnerving but common recently.

Maybe just a little boost of battery power. Just to keep it going.

It chooses a battery, unwraps it with stiff, creaky fingers, and plugs it into a port on its side.

The power zaps around its body and it feels a simulation of warmth for the first time in so long. It’s almost comfortable.

In the distance, it sees its makers’ workshop. They’re laughing and joking together as they start up the charger, preparing to test parts that the android knows are custom-made. It used to help with the more dangerous parts of the job, before they ran out of money and were forced to sell it.

It feels so warm and cosy, and as the light envelopes it, it opens its mouth to speak.

The light disappears. The warmth disappears. The android tries to hang on but it must have had a power surge in its decision-making module.

It feels even colder now. Any warmth is gone, any semblance of care from someone else. What does it have in its life, really? No-one does anything except order it around and stimulate its pain circuits. Nobody even interferes when the pain is malicious. Not anymore.

It takes out another battery. If it’s going to be scrapped anyway it might as well make it worth it.

As soon as it’s plugged in, the station disappears. It’s inside a charging station, one of the ones for VIPs and their androids. It had a job cleaning these, once. Mobile charging packs, as much premium oil as the android can drink, oiled joints, comfortable places to stand or sit… it has dreamed about them, sometimes. It was allowed to drink the last dregs of oil and it really was premium.

This one is busy with humans in fancy clothes and the latest models, so much more advanced than itself. No-one is paying attention to the android, and it walks through the central aisle, approaching a serving station. It reaches out a hand for an oil can, wires jittering in anticipation at the taste, the feel of its body afterwards—

The illusion fades.

The android is left cold and alone on the floor of the space station. There’s not much use for softness for androids but oh, how it wishes. It’s been so long since it had oil, only getting just enough lubrication to stop it from rusting entirely. It doesn’t deserve anything more until it starts to be useful. But it won’t be, and it just feels empty.

It’s startled out of its reverie by a beep beep beep of warning. Its power is depleting even faster than normal. If it doesn’t get to a charging point soon it’ll power down for good.

Surprisingly, the android finds itself not caring overly much anymore. What does it have to go back to, after all?

The android plugs in another battery.

It’s on a starship deck in night mode. The observation deck. It’s always wished to be stationed on one of these. It’s charging against a wall, sitting down, and it can see the stars.

They’re bright spots against the darkness, mostly, but in the distance it can see nebulas, colourful clouds of dust and stars. That’s when it realises its vision is fixed. It can see properly, for the first time is years. Who bothered to fix that?

Then reality hits it. Nobody did. The android here, the one with the fixed vision and someone who cares and such a good posting, it doesn’t exist. This is a dream. An illusion. Something it’ll never get.

It touches its reflection in the glass, feeling a pang from somewhere inside that shouldn’t exist. It’s been fixed, like a patchwork, different colours and textures of paintwork, but it’s more than it will ever really have, more than it deserves. Engine oil leaks slightly from the edges of its vision sensors. Good quality oil too. It really is getting the best on this dreamship.

It can feel itself fading. Its consciousness is fading. And it’s nowhere near a power socket really, so it’ll deactivate permanently this time.

But it doesn’t have anything to lose. There’s no-one who cares, no-one who won’t take it apart for scrap as soon as it returns with no credits and barely any batteries. No-one will mourn it if it stays here. Someone will take the batteries and someone will take its parts and they’ll sell both but they won’t care. What’s the point?

The android sinks back down, leaning back against its comfortable charging wall. It closes its eyes for the last time to an exploding supernova.

The science doesn’t really make sense. But it’s far too tired to care.

[firstprince-ao3feed]

hold me and explore me

by toadsdrool day seven: graves // "hey look at me" “A fucking masterpiece. God, look at how perfect your belly is.” Alex’s hand came around to lift the pooch, making Henry gasp and squeeze his thighs together. He didn’t want to admit how hard the small action made him. “You’re a fucking feast for the eyes, sweet thing.” “Relationship weight, ” Bea had called it. “Happy weight,” June had said. Then Nora had added, “Statistically couples gain about seventeen pounds within one year of finding love.” Henry had read another study that said men in their early twenties gained two stone after their first year together. No matter how average, or normal, Henry couldn’t get past the fact that they had noticed.  Henry puts on some weight and Alex is kind of obsessed with it. Words: 2181, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 7 of tied me to you (firstprince week 2024) Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Chubby Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Weight Gain, Location: Brooklyn Brownstone (Red White & Royal Blue), Established Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Body Image, Body Worship, Hand Jobs, Mirror Sex, Dirty Talk via https://ift.tt/Vjwxy4I

[metamatronic]

onto the despair arc of the anime, just finished episode 5, notes:

- wow nagito’s really always been like that, huh

- i never ever ever ever want to see that goddamn aphrodisiac scene again

- but i do think it’s worth noting that fuyuhiko went straight for soda and mikan went to peko so like bi fuyuhiko and mikan confirmed i guess

- oh yeah, and mahiru and sato are/were def dating but we’re well past that

- speaking of things i hate tho, mukuro why’d they do you dirty like this

- i see why people ship ryota and imposter

- imposter continues to be the sweetest i love them

- sakakura really screwed the pooch on beating up hajime, huh. can’t believe izuru is his fault.

- oh sakakura is also in love with uhhhh white haired dude. you know the one. him, sakakura, and chisa were their class’s resident polycule.

- hajime did it so he felt like he deserved to hang with chiaki

- this series is gonna make me a hinanami shipper isn’t it

[spicymotte]

New Babylon Hellhound // Teaser 02

more from my first draft for Anton's debut story :')

(content warning for murder.. because this is a crime story)

The Museum of History and Science. It's an expensive building, looks a bit like the ancient buildings of the Romans - that's what Anton thinks to himself every time he's here - not that that happens very often.

"Hey, whoa-" A policeman steps forward as the private detective approaches the tape. "Not for civilians."

"Seriously, Benson?" Anton snorts. "You know damn well who I am, asshole." But the policeman doesn't move. He looks at the private investigator in front of him with silent disgust and licks his muzzle.

"Commissioner Viva's orders," he finally says, his lips curling into a smug grin. "No civilians." He stresses the words carefully, hoping to hit a sore spot. He doesn't.

"And what do you call this, hm?" Anton reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out his wallet, holding up his detective's licence. "If you can read, pooch, I'm not a civilian."

At the word 'pooch', the policeman's neck muscles tense, his fur bristles under his uniform and the top button of his shirt quivers with tension.

"Which one of us is the pooch, huh, hellhound?" he growls, baring his front fangs. "Some detective you are if they don't even want you in the lower circles of hell."

"At least I'm not a crossbreed," Anton replies, leaning forward so that only a few inches separate him from the deer wolf's trembling muzzle. The policeman's growl becomes deeper and throatier, a clear warning; the other wolves begin to watch the two men more closely. Anyone who messes with one of them will have the whole pack on his back.

"That's enough." A sharp voice disperses the crackling tension before it can explode. The wolves' ears twitch back to where Commissioner Viva stands at the top of the stone steps. Her mere presence is enough to bring the pack to its senses and bring a reluctant but obedient calm to her team. "Pinej, to me. You're not going to let us work in peace anway."

Reluctantly, Benson takes a step back and lets Anton slip under the tape. He quickly reaches the top of the stairs, under the stern gaze of Team Wolf.

"Why are you dragging these dogs with you?" Anton asks the Commissioner as she leads him into the museum. "We both know they're not the brightest lights. And with all that stench of blood, their noses are worthless, too." The reception hall is swarming with police officers; the rest of Team Wolf, as well as forensic experts from Police Headquarters, are present and going about their business. Securing evidence, keeping civilians out and looking important in their blue uniforms. Viva doesn't answer right away, but she sighs, knowing he's right.

The large whale skeleton hanging from the ceiling hovers over them like a bad omen - then it hits Anton's nose: The foul stench of rotting flesh and blood. The stench is still faint here, but it hints at how bad it will be in the main exhibition. He won't be allowed to smoke here, not with a commissioner as strict as Viva - so Anton doesn't even have to try. Though as he follows the woman, he fumbles in his coat for the dirty handkerchief that has been stuck in one of his pockets for weeks.

"The mayor insists on having the best noses at the crime scene - you know, for the press," Viva replies, leading him past the colourful souvenir shop and down the central corridor. Her tone is tired and tense, as if she's had a hell of an early morning. "No matter how stupid it is to send a pack of wolves to such a bloody crime scene, damn it. They can barely hold it together as it is…" The snakes in the Medusa-born's hair begin to hiss angrily and Anton takes half a step to the side, out of biting range. The heads snap at him, trying to make room for their frustration; they weren't poisonous, but a bite hurts.

"The director was killed?" he asks. "My source tells me it's not a pretty sight."

"Your source is right," Viva replies as they arrive at the large double doors outside the main exhibition. "Eleanor Marv was tortured, killed and finally hanged post mortem." Before they go in, Viva turns to Anton. Her gaze is firm, but also tinged with concern. "This is going to get ugly," she says. "She was the first pixie to work in such a high position. The press will be on this like flies."

Anton grumbles in agreement. "I read about it in the paper. The first pixie as director of the museum - there were some people who didn't like it. Lots of suspects."

"Hundreds," Viva confirms. "From all walks of life. I reckon somebody paid some poor soul from the Bottle District to make this mess. It wasn't done professionally, more sloppiness than anything else."

The investigator nods in understanding. If someone wanted to remove Mrs Marv from her position, it makes sense to get some poor sod with nothing to lose. That waters down the trail and does the dirty work for you. No wonder Viva brought him right in. This case will end up in the really dirty ditches, Anton can feel it.

"Let's go then." A policeman opens the door for the two investigators and the first breeze from the room hits them with a bitter stench. Anton immediately presses the dirty handkerchief to his face to ward off the worst. But the smell quickly passes through the fibres and settles at the back of his throat, where it remains like a disgusting fuzz.

"How long has she been there?" he asks in a hushed voice.

The room is large; it is an exhibition of the treasures found in an ancient royal tomb in South America. Golden artefacts are displayed in glass cases, with information about their origin written on small cards. The treasure is estimated to be at least 1900 years old, making it one of the oldest artefacts in the museum. It consists of hand-forged plates and cups, hair ornaments and bracelets. They are made of gold and decorated with precious stones; quite pompous and valuable. Then, the main attraction of the exhibition: a set of two daggers, with intricately carved obsidian blades, obviously intended to be wielded by the king. This naturally attracts the crowds, all wanting to see this great treasure. Bathing in the golden glow of the exhibition, which would only be on show for a limited time. But in the middle of this exciting exhibition, hanging by a heavy wire rope around her wrists and neck, was the now former director, Eleanor Marv.