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furioussouls · 18 hours ago

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LADS boys when someone insults you

[with chubby reader]

[chubby reader, don’t like it, don’t read it]

warnings: fatphobia, insults, fluff, protectiveness, references to violence (not towards reader), possibly ooc!lads boys, fem! reader (reader is referred to as girlfriend and with she/ her pronouns), reader drinks an alcoholic beverage

disclaimer: these characters are from the game “love and deepspace“ by InFold.

based on this request :3

ೃ࿔:･⋆ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ

Xavier:

Xavier and you walk hand in hand next to each other. The contrast between your soft hands and his slender and veiny digits is very noticeable as he gently begins swinging your intertwined hands. You snort and gaze at his expression. His face is almost a blank page to the untrained eye. However, you could see the soft expression hiding between his eyes. His blue eye shine brightly as the sides of his soft and plump lips ever so slightly tug upward.

As you both continue your peaceful walk towards the café, you hear the familiar sounds of the native birds chirping as they sing their songs.

Xavier and you are both dressed appropriately for the weather; he wears a white shirt with fitting pants, and you are dressed in a beautiful sundress, which accentuates every delicious curve of yours. Every bit of exposed and emphasised jiggly skin causes Xavier‘s heart to beat faster in his chest. How lucky he is to have you.

When Xavier and you reach the entrance, he smoothly steps ahead of you and opens the door for you. You quickly turn around to make sure that nobody else is watching you both and swiftly pat his butt. “You’re a dear, you know that?“, you ask him innocently after he quickly snaps around with burning cheeks. He looks at you in disbelief and outrage and you grin at his stunned expression. You’re sure he would’ve stomped with his foot like a bunny, if he could have done so. He squints his eyes at you, his expression promising you revenge when you both return home and you wiggle with your brows. Xavier snorts and rolls his eyes. He fights back a smile as he gently puts his warm hand on your lower back.

“I’ll quickly have to go to the restroom. How about you find us some nice seats?“, you ask him and lean over to quickly peck his lips. He nods and scans the room for an appropriate seat after you made your way to the restroom.

While he scans the room for the perfect spot for you two, he overhears an imposing voice from behind.

“Why do some of the most high-value men end up with the ugliest women? I genuinely don’t understand.“

Xavier’s eyebrows furrow in disgust and he snaps around to see the 'high- quality men‘ who spent their precious time insulting random women like pathetic idiots. It’ll still take some time for you to return from the restroom. Maybe he can embarrass the two fools and find out who they’re insulting. Maybe you can both buy her a coffee so she wouldn’t be sad. His eyes trail over and see that two young men whisper among themselves, but to Xavier’s dismay; the two men already seem to look at him.

Realisation sets in and Xavier’s eyebrows raise in disbelief. “Excuse me? Are you talking to me? What did you just say?“, Xavier asks and walks towards the men, who seemed tougher a few seconds ago, when they thought that nobody could hear their bitching.

The man on the left raises his hands in mock surrender and laughs uncomfortably. “Dude, relax. I was just saying.“

Xavier clenches his jaw and looks down at the ground. The men ease up a little. However, said relaxation doesn’t last for long since Xavier chuckles humourlessly and sits down right in front of the men and leans forward. His usual soft voice was replaced with a tight and deeper tone. “Correct. You were “just saying“ demeaning things about my girlfriend to your friend like a coward. So repeat what you just said to me.“

Xavier stares at the man without blinking. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and looks at the men expectantly. A dangerous and humorless soft smile spreads on his lips when the bigmouthed man from earlier speaks up again. His voice was scratchy and his cheeks beet-red.

“Dude, calm down. I was just saying that you’re way too hot for that chick. That’s all. Way to make a big deal out of nothing. It was a compliment.“

The man’s friend winces and softly facepalms his forehead. Xavier snorts inelegantly.

“And who are you? Who gives a damn about your opinion? Your compliments? Do you think I’m that desperate for the validation of some random guy who doesn’t even have the guts to insult somebody right to their face? How despicable men like you are. Let me tell you again, do not ever insult my beautiful girlfriend or any other woman like that. Nobody cares about who you find attractive. Even the so called “high- value“ men find you pathetic.“

Xavier softly clicks with his tongue as he slowly, almost tortuously looks at the man from the top of his hairline, to the state of his shoes. “Especially when you look the way you do, I don’t think you’re in any place to judge beauty.“

Bigmouth blushes in embarrassment and Xavier’s piercing gaze jumps over to the quiet man, who seems to get more and more uncomfortable with each passing second.

“And you? Speak up when your friend acts like a fool. But why would you? Bird of a feather, huh?“

A soft familiar whistle rips Xavier out of his thoughts and he smiles when he sees your soft expression as you walk from the direction of the restroom. You turn and face the two men and smile politely at the two men before you suddenly realise their embarrassed and uncomfortable faces. You raise an eyebrow in concern.“Is everything-“

“Everything’s fine, baby. Come on, let’s sit on the other side of the room.“

Xavier gently grabs your hand and lifts it to his mouth. You chuckle when he kissed the back of it and he tenderly guides you over to the tables.

Zayne:

Zayne fixes his collar for the fifth time in a row. He blinks heavily to keep his yawn at bay. His cold and scarred hands smooth over his perfect button- up and his long fingers gently shove his glasses closer to his face. Zayne sighs sadly. He misses you from the bottom of his heart. Was he being dramatic? No.

Today was a workplace meeting for all the cardiac surgeons of Akso hospital and the surrounding hospitals. Usually, you’re always there when he has to attend these meetings, because he cannot stand to be here without you, but today you were busy. He sighs again, feeling like an abandoned dog at the dog park hoping for his owners return.

“Dr. Li“, a booming voice rings out. Zayne sighs silently and plasters a fake smile on his face. He turns around and extends his hand to the older surgeon and shakes it vehemently. These meetings aren’t just a personal cool- down after a long and exhaustive week at work. Zayne probably wouldn’t mind them as much if they were. They were only there for rich surgeons to keep their reputation and prestige intact through 'building connections'.

A few other surgeons join and surround him. There are perks to being one of the youngest cardiac surgeons in Akso, sure. There’s also a lot of ass- kissing, though. He politely nods along to the boring conversation as his thoughts drift away to you.

What are you doing right now? You’re probably at home, all cozied up in your guys‘ bed. Your round and warm body warming up his side of the bed, or maybe you’re spamming him right now with unnecessary text messages and are cheering him on. He softly smiles into his glass as he takes a big gulp. The circle around him has gotten smaller, but there were still more than 4 surgeons around him.

“So, Dr. Li. Today here without the missus?“, the man from earlier asks with a slight edge to his tone. Zayne hesitates for a split second, unsure about the intentions of the man, but he can’t help himself when it comes to you.

“Yes. She couldn’t attend today.“ Zayne agreed, his voice is gentle and melodic.

“I didn’t expect the famous Dr. Li to be so humble. I thought you would date somebody within your own league, you know. As a young and handsome Doctor.“ The older man says as he sips on his fifth alcoholic beverage. Zayne‘s polite smile drops and his tongue digs into his cheek.

“How may I understand that?“

The man lifts his hand and slurs around. “Oh, no. Don’t get me wrong! She’s extremely kind. But you know what I mean.“

The other surgeons surrounding Zayne freeze and shuffle awkwardly. All the sweetness and warmth has drained from Zayne‘s face as he stares at the man who blatantly disrespected you in front of others. He notices how the man tries to weasel his way out of the conversation, but Zayne insists.

“No, you have not had an issue with insinuating that my partner isn’t attractive in front of the others, so you should not have a problem with explaining what you meant in in front of them in full detail. Tell us what you meant.“

The surgeon laughs uncomfortably and he shakes his head. The others awkwardly excuse themselves from the conversation and leave Zayne and him alone.

The man swallows hesitantly when Zayne leans forward.

“I will forget that this conversation ever happened, but stop projecting your own insecurities onto others, and especially not onto my beautiful partner as some sort of comedic relief. I don’t care who you are. The next time I’ll hear you speak about my wife’s appearance, whether complimentary or derogatory, I will make sure to use my young and handsome reputation to tell other surgeons how inappropriately you behaved. Your stable source of income should not be ruined because you couldn’t stop running your mouth. I assume we understand each other?“

The old man nods quickly and gulps as Zayne keeps on staring at his face for a few seconds. Zayne nods and extends his hand towards him again. The old man hesitates for a second before he grasps Zayne’s cold and harsh hand and holds back a wince when Zayne squeezes his hand a bit firmer than usual.

“Thank you for this delightful conversation. Have a nice day.“

Rafayel:

Soft murmurs echo through the room as waiters and waitresses hurriedly walk through the different crowds people. They hold silver plates filled with expensive drinks and small appetizers. You smiled encouragingly at a young waitress as she holds out the plate for you.

“Thank you so much.“ You smile at her and take one of the drinks and down it quickly. You can’t stand talking to the people here for longer than 5 minutes, you don’t know what you’d do if you had to serve them their drinks for the entire evening.

You sigh and wipe your hands across the silky cloth of your dress. You’re adorned in a beautiful dark blue silk dress, which Rafayel himself picked out for you. 'You look like a goddess in this.‘ he said after looking through at least twenty dresses. Of course, he had to find the perfect one. It emphasises each part of your delicious rounded body and Rafayel had do stop himself from dropping to his knees and ruining you and your pretty new dress.

Today is Rafayel’s art exhibition. A variety of different people outside of your tax bracket have gathered together to talk about how talented Rafayel is and marvel at his art pieces. In actuality, they just came to kiss his ass for some money, and Rafayel is fully aware of that.

You walk through the different groups of people, who glare at you like you’re the gum beneath their shoe, and smirk when you see Rafayel. His flawless face absentmindedly nods along to whatever was said by the people around him. Boredom stretches over every inch of his face and a few strands of his purple hair hang over his forehead. He holds an expensive wine bottle in his hands, probably a gift from the people around him. Rafayel’s eyes trail over the room while he nods along and when his eyes reach your teasing ones, he perks up.

A happy smile spreads on his face, which expose his pearly white teeth. You make your way over to him and he holds out his hand, ignoring the people next to him. You put your soft hand into his bigger and warmer one and he happily kissed the back of your hand.

“Excuse my manners. This is my girlfriend.“ Rafayel says to the people around him and happily extends his free hand toward you, showing you off to the others. You chuckle and gently elbow him in the chest as you introduce yourself.

The rich people around Rafayel include a rich blonde and older lady with a strategic glare in her face. She wears heavy pearls and the two older business men have condescending expressions. You sigh but keep your polite smile eventhough you already know where this is going.

The woman looks at you with a mean smile and her face softens when she looks at Rafayel. “This is your girlfriend?“

He nods, though he picks up on the woman’s tone and raises an eyebrow. She laughs shrilly and plays with her pearls. “Well, it seems like your art style is not the only thing that’s brilliant but confusing. Seems like it extends to physical attraction in relationships as well. But how could I ever understand the mind of an artist?“

Your eyebrows raise as the woman and her two henchmen giggle at the joke. That wasn’t even a well- hidden jab. It was just a plain insult, out in the open. You roll your eyes at their stupidity and glance at Rafayel. His eyebrows are drawn all the way to his hairline and his mouth is slightly ajar.

“What the fuck did you just say?“, Rafayel asks, his voice slow and incredulous.

The rich people stop laughing and you put your hand on his hot shoulder. Whenever his blood starts boiling, so does his body temperature.

“Rafayel, it’s okay-“

“No, it’s not“, Rafayel interrupts you as he throws back the gifted expensive wine bottle to the man who gifted it to him.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but just a few minutes ago you were kissing my ass because you needed somebody to finance your dumb company. And now you’re insulting my girlfriend? Does that seem smart to you?“

The smile drops from their faces and you hold back a giggle. Rafayel walks over to them and lets out an humorless laugh. “How arrogant of you. I hope you enjoyed the richness you had until now. Because all of that money will be history. Every slight bit of hope you had about you being successful in any way is gone now. Do you understand?“

The man and his wife look at him with a terrier expression on his face and shake their heads. “No! I’m so sorry! We‘re both sorry.“

You open your mouth but Rafayel speaks up before you do. “No you’re not. You’re only sorry because you have to live with the consequences of your own stupid actions. Well, too bad.“

Rafayel grabs your hand and leads you outside. When he sees that you’re both alone, he gently cups your face with his warm hands. His chest heaves softly and Rafayel leans forward to press lingering kisses on your face.

“I’m so sorry about those morons, cutie. Are you okay? They didn’t upset you, did they?“

You let him fawn over you for a bit longer and then put your hand on his. Your soft cheeks split into a big grin and his concerned face lights up. The sides of his lips tug upward and he rubs his nose against yours. “Hmm, should’ve known you’d like that. Should I ruin some more lives for you?“

You fan yourself and bite your lips mockingly and he chuckles.

Sylus:

You whistle and hum as the gravel tumbles beneath your feet. The sun had already set a few hours ago and you’re just now returning from work. The past few days had been tough on you. Some coworker made it his personal mission to insult you and your body and act like it was the funniest thing ever. However, today that man was no where to be seen.

You hum as you put the key into the lock and open the slightly creaky door. The refreshing smell of citrus and sandalwood enters your nose. You take off your shoes and stretch your body. Suddenly, your eyebrows raise in alarm. It was too quiet and peaceful. Something was amiss.

You walk through the hallway suspiciously and scan the room for Sylus or Mephisto. Hell, even Kieran and Luke would suffice. Your eyes drift across the room when you finally saw a blur of black on top of the chandelier.

You call out to Mephisto, who caws softly and flies down. You grab his body tenderly caress over his black feathers. Your fake and saccharine smile causes Mephisto to caw in alarm and he tries to wiggle out. You loosen your grip, but made sure he can’t escape. You squint your eyes at him. “Where’s your daddy?“

Your fingers stroke over his body again, this time in sincerity and Mephisto squawks in defeat and you triumphantly let him go. Mephisto flies off into the distance and a few minutes later, Sylus pops out with an innocent smile on his gorgeous face.

“Sweetie! You’re back. How was work?“, Sylus asks and presses his soft lips towards yours. His slight hooked nose gently nuzzles yours and you kiss him back, albeit reluctantly.

“Good.“ You respond with narrowed eyes and scan him from top to bottom. “What did you do?“

Sylus tilts his face and he raises his eyebrows as his mouth slightly drops open. His mouth gently splits into a soft smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetie. What are you accusing me of?“

You put your hands on his shoulders and he smiles at you. You began patting down his body and he chuckles, his voice tumbling out in bassy rumbles.

Sylus extends his arm to you and you rolled up his sleeve and pat his arm. “Is this just an excuse to feel me up? Don’t let me stop you, kitten.“

You say nothing and pat down his muscly stomach. He grins and lifts his shirt for you, which exposed his delicious ridges. You gulp and shake your head. “You’re hiding something. I know it.“

After you finished with his stomach, he extends his other arm to you so you could repeat the process. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I must say that I’m quite hurt. What have I done to warrant such mistrust, sweetie?“

You sigh when you don’t find anything suspicious and Sylus leans over to peck your forehead. You accept his kiss and look down to offer him better access, when you suddenly see it.

“I knew it!“, you exclaimed and Sylus slightly jumps back in confusion. You points to his polished shoes. His usually clean shoes are speckled with little splats of blood and Sylus softly grins at you and rubs the back of his neck and nuzzles the side of your face.

“You caught me. What will you do with me now? Do you have to tie me up? Put me behind bars, maybe? Hmm, I’m excited to see what you’ll do.“ Sylus hums softly and traces your forehead with his nose.

You ignore his dirty fantasy and grab his wrist and pull him along with you into the roomy living room. When you reach the black and expensive material of the couch, you softly shove him down on it. Sylus smiles up at you, his eyes full of heat and he spreads his arm on the top of the couch.

He hums happily. “What are you going to do to me now? Shall I get undressed?“

You walk up to him, his large figure sitting obediently on the couch with a big smile.

“My coworker. What did you do to him?“

Sylus hums thoughtfully and strokes over his chin. “Your coworker? Wasn’t he at work today?“

You stare at him with a deadpan expression. “Sylus. I’m not in the mood. I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself and don’t feel good about you killing people because of me.“

Sylus sighs. “He’s not dead. He‘ll just.. leave the city after remission. I swear on it. I even agreed that he’s allowed to stay unruly he finds a new job. Pretty nice of me, I’d say. And sweetie, I know that you can take care of your own problems. You’re one of the most resilient and strongest person I know. I just…couldn’t bare your sad little face whenever you talked about him or going back to work.“

Since you still stand in front of him, Sylus gently leans forward and wrapped his strong arms around you. He nudged you on top of him. You sit on top of his beefy legs and wrap your thighs around his waist. His large hands grip the fat of your upper thigh and he begins plastering kisses on your soft collarbone.

Your nails scratch his scalp softly and he shudders in delight. You grumble a bit, until you admit: “That’s.. kind of nice. Not the hurting part. The rest of it.“

He smiles at you and nods as he begins rubbing soothing circles on your butt. Soothing for whom? Him or you?

Caleb:

You sigh and rub over your pudgy arms. Goosebumps rise on your arms as the bass of the music echoes through the room you’re hiding in.

Caleb and you went to a party made for people who studied at the same University that he studied in. It was a lighthearted experience, everybody could either show off their success or just get drunk and catch up with some old friends.

When Caleb saw some of his old friends you gently shooed him into their direction. He didn’t want to leave you alone but you insisted. It seems like his other friend waited for the opportunity of you being alone to tell you how he didn’t expect Caleb to date somebody like you. In vivid detail.

You roll your eyes and rub your face before you check your phone and see two missed calls from Caleb. You call him back when the door suddenly opens. Caleb scans through the room and his eyes immediately find you and his shoulders sag in relief. He is dressed in an elegant black suit. Overdone? Yes, but he has a great life and an even more beautiful wife to show off, after all. He has to match your beauty somehow (he can’t).

“I was just about to call you back.“ You say with a soft smile and hang up the phone, and Caleb quickly walks over to you.

“Honey, you scared the shit out of me. I shouldn’t have left you, sorry. What happened?“ Caleb asks and his big puppy eyes stare at you intensely from top to bottom to make sure that you are fine.

“I told you to go, baby. Nothing happened. I just wanted to get away from the crowd.“ You assure him sweetly and Caleb’s eyes trail over every inch of your skin. He can read you like a book. He shakes his head and his warm hands gently cup your face. He forces you to stare into his warm eyes, because he knows damn well you cannot lie to him when he looks at you like this.

“Come on, honey. Tell me. Something must have happened.“

You chuckle and shake your head. “Nothing happened. Just needed a break.“ You smile brightly at him, but he can tell it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Caleb sighs and gently pecks your chubby cheek. He buries his face in your shoulder and afterwards nuzzles your neck. “Tell me the truth, honey. You know you can.“

You smile softly and hold the back of his head. Your nails gently scratch over his scalp and he leans closer into skin. He grins up at you and lifts his hand to stroke over your cheek. “Hm? Tell me, okay?“ you roll your eyes and obnoxiously sigh in defeat.

He smiles softly and leans backwards. His muscles tenses underneath his clothes and he smiles encouragingly at you.

“Well, it wasn’t that big of a deal.“

Caleb raises an eyebrow and motions for you to continue. “One of your.. old friends made an off- hand comment about my appearance and more specifically my body. It was kind of insulting.“

Caleb’s soft smile falls from his face. His nostrils flare in anger and he gulps a few times, which causes his Adam’s apple to bob every single time. He looks down at the ground and clenches his large fist. Caleb smiles at you, but you can tell that it’s extremely fake. You exhale harshly through your nose. You knew Caleb would make it into a big deal.

“Ah, I see. Who was it?“,Caleb asks you while trying to appear cool.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Caleb stop acting nonchalant. You’re the most “chalant“ man I know. Also, it doesn’t matter.“

“Which one was it?“, Caleb repeats with a serious and cold tone. Knowing that he will not let this go, you try and think about the man from earlier.

“I actually don’t know his name. He said he was an old friend of yours.“

“Then describe him and his body. Or let’s look through the crowd and you’ll point to him. Or tell me how he smelled. I’ll sniff him out.“ Caleb says as his mouth tug into a manic smile and you snort and gently pinch his cheek.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. You’ve made it into a big deal when it’s not.“

Caleb furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head persistently with a clenched jaw. “Is is though. Not only did he make you uncomfortable, but you also hid away in an empty room because of him. You telling yourself that you’re not hurt by his actions doesn’t mean that what he did was okay. Now, let’s go back to the dancefloor so you can point towards him.“

Caleb gently grabs your wrist and tugs you along. After you enter the dancefloor, Caleb looks at you expectantly. You groan and roll your eyes in annoyance and look for the man.

Your eyes scan the crowd for a little while, til you find the sleazeball from earlier and you nod into his direction. Since Caleb had been watching your face from the beginning, his eyes immediately follow your nod and he clenches his jaw when he sees him. He grabs your face and kisses you passionately.

“Wait for me. I’ll be right back, then we’ll dance together. You didn’t get all dolled up for no reason, right? Looking like a princess.“

You smile and look down at your pretty dress. His finger tenderly rubs against your cheek and he walks over to the man. Caleb leans down to the man’s ear and starts talking. You see the man’s eyes drift over to you during the conversation and he pales immediately. After a few minutes, the man literally runs out of the room and Caleb returns to you with an innocent expression.

“May I have this dance, honey?“

ೃ࿔:･⋆ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ࿔:･⋆.ೃ

A/N: might be ooc, but I don’t care. You can rip the sly and protective lads boys out of my dead, cold hands

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cod-indulgences · 4 months ago

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Gaz X fat!reader spicy blurb, facesitting, smothering

Gaz was moaning under you- or at least you think he is, you can't actually hear him because he's currently buried face-first into 200 plus of dripping pussy. You can't even see him properly over the curve of your stomach and spread of your thighs, just the top of his head and his hands flexing against your hips.

You try to lift up again and instead those biceps flex and his hands dig in harder, keeping you down over his face and spread open, his nose dragging against your clit as his tongue spears in deeper, curling and twisting against your walls, slick spilling over his and your lips. It's too good, sensitive skin rubbed by his mustache and your clit fucking hurts with how much he's sucked and rubbed it, but he won't let go- won't let you go even for a full breath, seemingly determined to suffocate himself in your cunt.

Gaz peels one hand off your ass and you twist over him to see him grip his own cock- hard on his belly and leaking a little puddle of his own slick, tacky on his fingers as the man strokes his cock with another muffled groan. His lips find your clit again and he sucks hard, a steady beat echoed in your pounding pulse and the rhythm of his own hand. Gaz’s hips stutter up into his clenched fist as he picks up the pace and your legs go to jelly and a new orgasm rolls up from your belly, dragging out moans of your own. You lose the battle to gravity and your own self consciousness, and feel the last little bit of strength holding you up vanish and all your weight settle down onto Gaz’s face.

The man shudders under the fresh onslaught of slick pouring into his mouth, and you feel him jerk wildly and come splatter your ass as he finishes into his fist, his mouth popping off your clit with a gasp as he shoves up and over, lifting your weight to the side. You collapse into a puddle, groaning as the shift in position makes your lower back twinge. Gaz is sucking in huge breaths, his face a mess, smeared from eyebrows to chin with your come.

He props up on his elbows and gives you a wink. “Break for a drink then round two?”

#cod #my blurbs #spicy #gaz #kyle garrick #x reader #gaz x reader #fat reader #an indulgence #cod smut #gaz smut

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corpsypher · 2 days ago

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Training soap to eat you when commanded to.

You're leaning back on the sofa, legs obscenely spread, your pussy wet and plump with arousal.

Johnny is seating -a wrecked mess- on the other side of the living room, gripping tightly to the sides of the armchair you had told him to seat on 30 minutes ago. Where you edged him with his cock in your mouth and your hand squeezing his balls.

You didn't want to wait any longer.

Pointing a single finger between your legs, you command, "Eat."

And he leaps, two short steps and he collapses to his knees in front of you, falling face-first into your center. Tongue out, hands behind his back.

Like the good trained dog he is.

You tell him so, in between moans and sighs.

"Good boy, Johnny. My good boy."

And… he comes, lips wrapped around your clit, pathetic moans vibrating from his throat, his cum dripping from his untouched tip down to the floor.

You run your fingers lovingly through his wild dark locks and give a vicious tug, pulling him away.

His face is covered in slick, spit and sweat. His tongue is out like he's trying to reach your pussy from his position, his blue irises hidden behind hooded eye-lids and blown out pupils.

"You better get hard again, and fast. 'Cause if you don't fuck me after you finish eating this pussy, I'm going to be so very disappointed."

You haven't finished your sentence and he's already wrapped both of his hands around his overstimulated cock. Pumping it back to life.

Letting go of his hair, you watch him get back to it. Moaning and gasping with pleasure, such a desperate creature, eager to please.

You turn your head to the side and lock eyes with the dark figure standing on the corner of the room.

"Thank you for my puppy, Sir."

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fattummyt · 4 days ago

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Logan "Wolverine" Howlett (X-Men)/Plus-Size Female Reader - A Good Kind of Trouble 🌶️

Logan was the winner of my fanfic poll by a landslide so enjoy this oldy but goody smut.

Summary: You reconnect and rekindle an old romance with an old flame.

Tags: sexual tension, flirtation, plus size reader, uniform kink, diners, waitress, cunnilingus, oral, car sex, incomplete fic

Warnings: explicit, fowl language, cigarettes, drinking alcohol, mentions of health, pathologizing food

Author's Notes: Raise your hand if you also grew up watching X-Men and never recovered from Hugh Jackman's Wolverine. 🤚🏾As you can tell by the ending, this is unfinished but I figured I'd post what I have so far and finish it later. Y/N = Your name.

Read the fic on AO3 here!

"The only trouble I get is you." He smirked, pressing a cigarette between his lips. "What kind of trouble is that?"

You squeezed into your diner uniform.

Y'all didn't have the mercy of wearing the black bottoms and mustard yellow polos like some restaurant chains. Instead you wore the button down dress uniform of the last "big" girl who worked there.

It was clear in the fit of the dress that she was a bit shorter than you and smaller in the stomach and the bust, but those kinks would be ironed out once your new uniform arrived, your manager said… one month ago.

The gentle roar of a well burned out engine approached and you watched in quiet judgement as the motorcyclist parked, sloppily taking up two spots before leaning the bike on its kickstand.

The tiny bell dinged at the swing of the door opening.

"Logan!" You gasped, giddy spreading through your belly as you rushed through the swinging paddle door behind the counter, lunging straight into his open armed hug.

"It's been a while." He muttered, arms heavy as he hugged briefly around your shoulders.

"What're you doing here?" You asked.

"What's it look like? I came to eat." He pulled back for a moment, glancing up and down the borderline skimpy uniform dress they had you wearing.

His arched brows and questioning expression said it all.

"It's only part time. Til' I can save up for a place. That's all."

His eyes scanned the diner, no customers unless you count the few gnats that found their way in.

"Men don't give you no trouble here, do they?"

You shook your head, "We got a couple regulars from the butch biker club down the way that treat me real nice. They walk me to my car on the late shifts. And do some bouncing around here, too."

He nodded, convinced.

"Ladies aren't giving you no trouble either, huh?"

"The only trouble I get is you."

He smirked, pressing a cigarette between his lips.

"What kind of trouble is that?"

Your manager stepped from behind the counter, and you bit back your witty response in exchange for a brief smirk.

"Y/N, set the tables for me while I help this man, would ya?"

"Sure thing, Johnny." You squirmed away, Logan's eyes following the hem of your dress as you busied yourself, loading the tables with seasonings and condiments.

Logan turned to face the man, sensing a bit of animosity.

"Y'all serve beer in the AM here?"

Johnny gave the place a once over, whispering. "As long as you're not a cop."

"Gimme whatever pale ale you got."

He nodded, turning through the panel doors into the kitchen. Logan caught your subtle glance across the room, finding himself a seat at the counter.

Your manager returned sliding a sweaty bottle down the counter. "Cheers."

Logan stopped it with his hand, raising his brow as he examined the bottle.

"All we have is stout." Johnny answered.

The two stared each other down briefly before you wedged yourself between, sliding Logan a menu.

"Can I interest you in our special this morning, sir?"

Logan slid the menu back. "Gimme whatever you think's good."

"Well are you allergic to a--." "Y/N." Your manager interrupted, irritation in his voice. "Go get cookin."

You glanced nervously between the two men as you took the menu back, rushing into the kitchen.

"I won't have you bothering my female staff, sir. If you're looking for companionship, I suggest you check out the gentleman's club a couple miles north of here. Seems more your scene."

Logan blinked to the swinging doors, then back to him, a snide look on his face.

"Understand me? Or I'll call the cops and get your clunker out there towed.”

Logan exhaled smoke through his nostrils, holding his grimace until Johnny backed down, leaving and joining you in the back where you were plating a couple pieces of bacon.

"Y/N." Your manager spoke. "You come find me if he starts giving you problems, okay?"

"Don't worry, Johnny. That's just my friend. Logan." You chuckled as you switched spots and he took over manning the stove.

"Your friend makes my ass itch." He called out as you stepped through the door.

Logan, having overhead him, greeted you with a scowl you knew all too well.

"He didn't grill you too hard did he?" You asked.

"Still in one piece ain't he?"

You giggled and slid him a small plate of bacon, drawing him out of his newly soured mood.

"You gonna be here long?"

"No. Just another 15. My coworker had a late shift at the club."

"So no plans, then?"

You leaned over the counter, grabbing a piece of bacon from his plate, your cleavage peeking over the low buttoned collar of your uniform.

"Why? You wanna get me in some more trouble?"

"Only a good kind of trouble."

You smirked as he raised a piece of bacon to his lips before dropping it to the plate.

"Thought you could trick me into eating turkey bacon, huh, missy?"

You sighed, "Logan, you're either drinking and smoking everytime I see you. I just wanted to give you something healthier."

His eyes trickled down to your cleavage then back to your eyes before he reluctantly took a bite, followed by a sip of beer.

"Feeling healthier already." He smirked as you rested your head on your hand, pulling the bottle from his hand in favor of downing the rest of the bottle yourself. Defiantly setting it on the counter.

Were it not for the burp that followed, Logan might've kissed the beer off those lips.

… Let's be real, he'd still kiss you.

"Now you're much healthier."

Now with a some alcohol in your system, you felt no hesitation in uttering your next words.

"Take me for a ride on your bike."

"Hell no." He scoffed, chewing down another piece of bacon. "You hear that thing? Piece of shit barely took me here."

"Not even to take me home?" You asked coyly.

You both sat still for a moment eyeing each other as he mulled over that well dressed invitation in his head, your eyes flickered to his keys again.

As soon as you slapped your hand over them he grabbed your hand, his grip strong and true.

"Gotta work on your poker face."

His palm was warm as it lingered there a moment, suddenly recoiling as the kitchen doors swung open.

"Order up." Your manager called over, setting a shroom and Swiss cheese omelet to the counter in front of Logan.

He eyed you both snidely before continuing. "Can I get you a refill on your uh, drink?"

"I'd like the food to go, if it ain't too much trouble." Logan reached into his back pocket, pulling out a wad of cash and tossing it on the counter. "The drink too."

Logan glanced over to see your disapproving expression.

Johnny slapped his hands over the large bills, sneaking them into his apron pocket faster than you could grab Logan's keys.

"Not a problem."

You reached into your breast pocket, tossing the unsuspecting Logan a ring of keys-- which he caught effortlessly. As expected.

"It's the silver SUV out front. Leave that fixer-upper here."

He didn't speak, but his eyebrow quirk said it all.

He, admittedly, didn't quite know what to do with the thing you just handed him.

There was no key on the damn thing. It's just buttons. He glanced anxiously to the front where a car behind him pulled up and in walked another woman, your coworker probably.

He eyed the fob and pressed the horn button by mistake, almost sending his breakfast falling to the ground.

You walked outside to see Logan sitting in the passenger side seat of your car.

How respectful of him to not assume he was driving. Somebody's trained him well.

"No radio?" You smiled, plopping into the drivers side seat beside him.

His eyes followed the steadily rising hem of your dress as you shifted in your seat.

"Couldn't figure out the damn thing."

You pressed the ignition button, starting a quiet rumble in the car and he blinked dumbly at you.

"Somebody was hungry." You chuckled, glancing at the empty food containers scattered across your dashboard.

"Had to make room in the back."

You held his gaze for a moment, a knowing smirk rising on your lips.

"Where to?"

Your destination was a small piece of brush and trees that made the perfect spot to tuck your car in the shade.

Once there, he promptly unbuckled his seat belt and tugged off his leather jacket, revealing his sculpted hairy arms and a tattered gray wife beater.

His hand slid beneath your dress, tugging your panties down your legs.

Teal. His new favorite color.

"Can I at least change out of my uniform first?"

"Leave it on."

His fingers brushed over your pussy and he swore he'd never felt anything more pleasant.

Logan wasn't a huge fan of cars. He liked the open air that bikes provided and the sounds of nature behind a booming engine, but your moans had good acoustics in the large car, particularly with the middle row of seats lowered and his face pressed between your thighs.

Your hands clutched lovingly in his hair as his lips on your clit drew unsteady breaths from you.

Strong hands held your legs steady as they trembled with the adrenaline of your upcoming climax.

Read the fic on AO3! | Read more of my fics on Tumblr | Patreon | Website

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blushingamethyst · 2 months ago

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Me writing

“Should I be honest and say he couldn’t lift me with one arm, or should I lie for my own amusement…”

#The challenges of being a chubby author #x reader #x chubby reader #x plus size reader #x fat reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #fat reader

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angelchub · 2 days ago

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cw: reader has terrible social anxiety (could also be read as agoraphobia and/or neurodivergence)

gaz is an observer, always has been. the most perceptive man out of every single squad he has been a part of. it’s a skill that played a huge part in getting him to the rank where he stands now in the military, it’s truly only natural that when he’s home and not involved in any potentially deadly mission, the screws in his brain still turn that way. he notices things, every single detail about them, and stashes them in the back for later. you never know when it might come in handy.

so, when he sees you sitting across from him in the tube for more than two days in a row, he does what he does best.

you’re a nervous thing, gaze darting around the subway car like you’ve never seen one before, reading the signs and ads right above his head. your huge bag set in your lap as you hug it in your arms, the strap still hanging from your shoulder, almost like you’re ready to bolt. your movements are repetitive, as you wipe the sweat off your hands on your clothes and check that your necklace is centered on your chest, that the sleeves of your dress aren’t falling down your shoulders, that your mascara hasn’t smudged on your bottom lid. over and over again. he notices how you squeeze your wide thighs together, trying to make yourself as small as possible in detriment of your own comfort, how you get even more twitchy as the men sat on both sides of you not only don’t appreciate your efforts to avoid bothering them, but they double down on their leg-spreading, caging you in in a way that can’t be pleasant for you.

on the first day he ever saw you, he remembers you double-checking your phone a ludicrous amount of times, caught a glimpse of the public transport app on your screen. poor girl, so scared of getting it wrong. he hasn’t seen you do that in a few days, tho, you must have gotten the hang of it. you get on before he does, and leave before he does, on westminster. you look a tiny bit younger than him, maybe fresh off of college, maybe new to such a big city, which could explain the deer-in-headlights expression permanently etched onto your face.

so cute, thinking he doesn’t notice you ogling him back when his head drops down towards the book in his hands. you underestimate his peripheral vision, babes, and it wounds him a little. he loves playing this game with you, this little dance. you stare and then get embarrassed and look away when he catches you. then, he looks at you head on for a few seconds, his eyes on the side of your face and a grin curving the corner of his lip, before he stops and gives you the chance to start the cycle again.

he intimidates you, he can tell. gaz wracks his brain, as he stares at your back when you get up to leave (you were already prepared for it more than three stops ago, slowly making your way to the doors on unsteady legs). thinking of ways to approach you that won’t immediately make you wanna run away from him, although he suspects that’s the default reaction from you.

until he figures it out, maybe he can have some fun with you in the meantime. he will change things up, sit next to you tomorrow instead of across the aisle. maybe search for the book with the most inappropriate scenes that he owns, so if you do manage to catch a glimpse of what he’s reading, you can get a little surprise, a little distraction from the never ending stream that must be your thoughts. god, he can almost see your wide eyes already, the bewildered smile you try hiding.

think of it as you guys’ first inside joke, hm? many more to come.

#painfully anxious reader x gaz will always be my favorite trope #so self indulgent i’m sorry #val writes gaz #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #fat reader

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bunnis-monsters · 3 days ago

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Hiii! Love your work!

If it's okay, I would like to send in an ask for your snow leopard hybrid. He is absolutely my favorite! This is so random but I was thinking of him with an autistic reader who is like constantly playing with his tail and ears. It's just the perfect stim toy because it's all warm and soft. I was thinking like she presses it to her cheeks or chest different parts of her body and bro can't help but get horny from it.

I know it's random and it's cool if you don't wanna do it, this has just been floating around in my mind for a while.

Have a good day/night/evening! :)))

He’s always been pretty patient with you, and tolerates pretty much everything.

You had a bit of an overstimulating day, so now all you want to do is cuddle with your lover.

His ears are soft and fluffy, fun to pet and tug on. With the right amount of scratching, he’ll begin to purr for you.

In all honesty his purring is soothing as well, so you play with his tail as he begins grooming your head. He swishes his tail a bit, smiling down at you fondly when you giggle and reach for it again.

Sometimes you’ll just bury your face into his fluff, too emotionally drained and overstimulated to talk or be playful. When that happens, he’s quiet, and will rub your back or play with your hair if you allow it.

Other, you rub a bit too much. Some days he’s more sensitive than others, and with all the petting and touching, he’ll get hard instantly.

Don’t worry, jerking him off feels nice too, and you like watching him cum all over your hands. He’s very affectionate with you after he’s had a nice orgasm, even more so than usual.

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littlebit-of-art · 11 months ago

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König lovers come get your snack

#konig x reader #könig x reader #plus size reader #fat reader #my art #cod #reader is fat

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fxckedupdaydreams · 5 days ago

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Amor the Moth Demon

Yan! Death's-Head Hawk Moth Demon x Reader

Tw; Unmentioned fatphobia, Dumb moth that acts like a puppy, yandere behavior, yandere has no boundaries, murder implied, breaking into your home lol, they’re actually really sweet

Yandere Moth Demon that meets you when the lights in your room are on, practically breaking the glass as it crashes into the window.

You somehow don’t notice, however, more focused on the phone in your hand and the images of you.

Yandere Moth Demon that was originally attempting to get in your room for the cute paper lantern lamp on your desk but gets distracted by your teary face.

It presses their face against the glass window, chirping softly as they push and pull and pout as they try to get it open.

Yandere Moth Demon that finally figures it out soon after you got into bed and is quick to crawl into your room, wings fluttering softly as it grabs at your face.

They’re curious over your tears, softly wiping the tears away in awe and happily squeaking when you blink in shock because there’s a giant bug on your bed??

Yandere Moth Demon that you kick out soon after, confused and scared because what the fuck is this thing doing in your home and why?

They point at your lamp as you push them out the window, chirping happy as you sigh and hand it to it.

Yandere Moth Demon that returns the next night in tears with a broken lamp, sniffling and squeaking as it shows it to you through the window.

You’re confused but let it in, having hoped that you hallucinated or something the night before while you were sobbing over the comments on your pictures.

Yandere Moth Demon that rests its chin on your shoulder, watching you scroll online for a globe lamp and chirping happily when you find the perfect one.

You can just sigh softly as they nuzzle your neck in happiness, refusing to leave from that moment on.

Yandere Moth Demon that insists on sleeping on your bed during the day, feeling safest under your covers and even more when you are there as well.

They show up about an hour before you wake up to get under the covers, wings fluttering softly before settling over you like a second blanket.

Yandere Moth Demon that watches humans kissing and doing other activities on your tv and gets curious about it all, pointing at it once it’s got your attention.

You’re hesitant about it, especially after you taught them how to do your hair and now they refuse to let you do it yourself, but eventually give in.

Yandere Moth Demon that loves it when you dress them up, a bath and some accessories makes it feel attractive and even more when you compliment them.

Yandere Moth Demon that rarely leaves your home, carrying the globe lamp in its hands as it wanders your home all night.

It eats some of your honey and sugar packets (yes the whole paper packet with the sugar in it), and makes sure that you’re safe all night.

Yandere Moth Demon that is quick to squeak aggressively the moment someone is at your door with flowers, ready for a date that you were in the middle of getting ready for.

Why are you going out with anyone but them? Do you not know that you belong to them now?? This human clearly wont take good care of you!

Yandere Moth Demon that watches you sigh at your phone an hour later, all dressed up and ready to go, chirping softly as you make yourself dinner.

They’re quick to follow, holding up the flowers for you to take.

Yandere Moth Demon that grabs your hand and tugs you to the living room once your dinner is done, chirping happily as it curls up into your side and hands you the tv remote.

Hopefully you don’t smell the metallic scent on their fur, they’d hate to make you have to wash them again.

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livecrow · 4 months ago

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You're out with friends and joke that you're “un-kidnappable”.

John Price and the lads think that’s interesting.

Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader

cw: debatable self-deprecation, kidnapping, noncon

You don’t recall exactly how it came up. Maybe it was the latest episode of a popular true crime podcast a couple of your friends mentioned listening to the other day.

All the same, while lounging in the familiar bar’s cozy glow, the atmosphere at the table stayed light and relaxed, despite the morbid topic.

Between drinks, your friends detail stories of encounters with dubious men and swap self-defense strategies—anything to avoid an impromptu debut on a Dateline special.

They were mostly the basics. Remember to lock your doors immediately. Keep your phone on you. Never leave a drink unattended. Always travel in groups. Oh, and carry pepper spray. It turns out all of your friends carry some.

Not you, though.

When you are inevitably questioned on the matter, you concede that you have some, "...somewhere."

Your mom gave you a little canister years back. But you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably forgotten in a drawer somewhere, lost among AAA batteries, tangled cords of unknown origin, and appliance instruction manuals.

As one friend suggests the classic keys-between-your-fingers trick, some of the men at an adjacent table laugh.

“Best use for keys when you’re attacked is opening a damn door.”

Apparently, they had been following your conversation. It was the oldest man who spoke, rumbling over the rim of his glass with aplomb that leaves little room for argument. He has a resonance that makes you pause, reminding you distinctly of the distant rolling thunder that forebodes a coming storm.

The dark, handsome man at his elbow agrees. “'Sides, they’re not brass knuckles. No stability. You’re not actually gonna cause any damage like that.”

“Aye, ye’r better off jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een out.” A man sporting a mohawk added with a grin, crudely miming gouging an eye out with his free hand.

“Fine, I’ll punch them out then!” the smallest of your friend group counters, palming her fist loudly while trying to keep a straight face.

That just earns more amusement, of course. The huge masked man at the end of their table scoffs, “Like that you’ll jus’ break your fuckin’ thumb.” He proceeds to instruct her how to make a proper fist.

It's all in good fun. They’re an interesting bunch, probably military of some sort, you’d wager. Three Brits and one Scot. Your group welcomes the interruption, despite the biggest one of the lot looking particularly murdery himself, decked out in all black and a fucking skull balaclava.

The gregarious, younger two made up for it. They were all smiles, speaking candidly as if they’d just run into some old friends. Before long you’ve practically joined tables. Why not? After all, the four certainly look like they know what they’re talking about, each man large and brawny.

The younger men did the vast majority of the talking, answering questions and enthusiastically offering techniques to their audience while Voorhees only interjected a brusque retort every so often. Your friends were utterly charmed by the Scot’s cheeky beam and the pretty Brit’s warm eyes as they moved from outlining bodily weak points with an emphasis on “soft targets” to discussing the pros and cons of different weapons.

But there was something about the man who initiated the discourse—some quality. He held an unspoken commanding presence, despite saying little. Here he was, the catalyst of the entire interaction, and yet he seemed content to observe rather than participate. It brought to mind some indifferent, deist higher power.

You estimated he was a decade his mates' senior, give or take. Apropos stormy eyes framed by heavy brows and the beginnings of crow's feet. Odd, antiquated facial hair, wood brown with smatterings of grey. Privately, you thought it suited him—looked distinguished. At some point earlier he caught your gaze.

He introduced himself as “John.” Although, curiously, none of his cohorts called him that or introduced themselves in turn. Not that your friends seemed to mind; that, or they didn’t notice.

Along with his name, he offered a subdued Duchenne smile that disarmed you, softening his gruff countenance in an instant. For an instant, anyway.

You’d swear that, even in the bar’s low lighting, you caught his eyes twinkle. Some uncharacteristically childish sentiment swept over you for a moment, making you want to believe that the look was for you and that he wasn’t in reality only being polite.

“...honestly, if you have the stomach for it, your best choice is always gonna be a strap.”

The Scot readily agreed with pretty-boy, as he reclined, his chair balancing precariously on just the back two legs. However, they did quibble over the type of handgun, debating various specifications that were gibberish to the rest of you. While they all listen enraptured, only one of your friends really seems truly open to the idea. The rest unsurprisingly remain gun-shy.

Another friend suggests a taser as a compromise.

“Not for me,” you laughed, “there’s absolutely no way my ass wouldn't immediately accidentally taser myself."

“No mace, no taser, no knife—not even one of those keychain alarms!” your friend groused. “You should have something—”.

Your eyes met again. You and John. Even with the subtle haze of alcohol relaxing you, it felt penetrating.

Your eyes retreated down to his drink seeking relief. One of his large hands flexed slightly around his glass, thick tendons shifting under the skin and scattered vellus hair peeking over his cuff, dusting as far as his knuckles.

He seemed to be in thought as he took a drink. Whiskey you think it was. His shrewd eyes didn't leave you; maybe he was just looking through you—

“How do you keep yourself out of trouble then, love?”

His timbre immediately cut through the chatter. If you weren’t feeling so fizzy from the drink, you might feel put on the spot when suddenly everyone’s eyes are singly on you.

You were effectively the token “fat one” of your group. While the rest of this friend group happened to be straight-sized, there was absolutely nothing “straight” on your body. Hell, there was hardly a part of you that didn’t jiggle, at least a little bit.

You didn’t resent it; you were just self-aware. You were perfectly cognizant that you blended in among them about as well as a hippo “blends in" with oxpeckers.

If you were entirely sober, you might be a bit put out, might worry he’s being mean, poking fun at your expense. But no, the alcohol thankfully chased away any anxiety from building in your gut.

Besides, there’s no humor to be found in his expression, no edge of malice in his eyes. None of his mates crack a smirk either, apparently also interested in your answer.

You were mid-sip when the question was lobbed your way, and you used it to stall. You weren’t sure precisely why, but you found yourself squirming in your seat a bit before recovering half a second later.

“Me?”, you grinned around your straw, cocking a brow. “Trust me, I’m not worried about it. I’m practically un-kidnappable,” you asserted, in a way that sounded suspiciously boastful.

John’s focus remains steady on you, appraising, but the other men share a glance.

You could have left it at that, but pretty-boy chimed in, brow furrowing. "How do you figure that?"

You weren’t completely sure that the men weren’t just being intentionally obtuse, but you’d entertain a ridiculous question with a ridiculous response. Flippancy came naturally.

You carefully set your drink back onto the table. You lean in, voice lowered to a grave tone, biting back mischief that threatened to give you away. “Listen, my strategy is airtight,” you paused. “If some guy comes along, tries something?" You hold again for dramatic effect.

"...Sit on him."

"Oh my god," your friends groan collectively.

But you went on, unfazed. "It's all over for him! Why would I need a weapon when I have positional asphyxia? Besides, if that doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will."

Any outrage falls on deaf ears considering your friends are fighting back grins.

Buoyed, you continue. "It’d be like someone trying to ‘kidnap’ a grizzly bear. I am not gonna get abducted unless the guy just happens to show up with a forklift—", that earns a swat from your friend sitting closest.

"—And if that's how I get caught? Honestly? I’d have it coming if I somehow missed the fucker rolling up and can't, what, power-walk out of there?"

Another friend beseeches, "Be serious!"

“I am serious!" you shot back, laughing. "Those things go, what, 5 miles an hour, tops?"

Apparently, the rest of the group also found the image of a low-speed fucking forklift chase funny, judging by the Scot's almost spit-take that left him choking a bit. You were pleased that he and pretty-boy had a sense of humor and didn’t bother with the pretense of finger-wagging.

You were disappointed you didn't get John, though. He only hummed thoughtfully, an odd liminal not-quite frown on his lips that was mostly obscured by his glass as he took another sip.

Tough customer.

One friend challenges you, “Oh, yeah? You say that, but what if he pulls a gun and tells you to get in the car? What then?”

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head in consideration.

"Well, at that point, I guess I’d have to accept I'm going to die.”

"What?!"

You shrugged, "There's no way I'm getting in that car. You never go to a secondary location. Everyone knows that. Why drag things out unnecessarily when you can die in the street? After all, there are plenty of worse ways to go than by a bullet—besides, at least then my body will be found."

Worried the last bit would have more of a sobering effect on your company than you intended, you pivot and retrieve your drink. You tilt your chin up, gazing off into the distance dreamily, gesturing with your glass.

“My final words? 'Good luck trying to dispose of my corpse, asshole. Hope you know a good chiropractor.'"

With that you slurped down the dregs, ice clinking noisily at the bottom, finally giggling with everyone else at your own joke. Cue lots of your name and "Stop it!"s.

Hell, you even eked out a single low "heh" from Hot Topic that you’ll claim as a proper laugh. You were 3 for 4.

Your friends, bless them, are extremely predictable when you’re so candid self-deprecating. They laugh only to retreat to feigning scandal. When they recover, you’re peppered with more scenarios and protests.

You’re barely able to suppress an eye-roll at their persistence. "I mean, it's a moot point from the start. I'm not the mark for that kind of thing in the first place."

Before your friends could cut you off, you clarified, “I’m not saying anything bad. I would just be—" you paused, searching for the right word—"an interesting choice."

"No, I’m not the target demographic for something like that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I'm simultaneously not preferable aesthetically and not worth the hassle logistically. So that ends up pretty convenient, considering I’d rather not be kidnapped."

You swabbed the ring of condensation you left on the table with a bar napkin absently. "They want some dainty thing—they don’t want me,” you gestured to your person flippantly. “They want a trophy, but not the 'big game' variety," you gave a lopsided smile.

Your friends’ chastisement was swift, distracting enough that it didn’t quite give you a second to contemplate the strange, tenebrous emotion that was simmering just under the surface of John’s expression or that of his mates’. The nuance was lost on you.

Mercifully, after experiencing a couple more variations of “You should be more careful!” from your friends, the topic finally changed.

It transformed and split, becoming a bit too chaotic for you to follow in your current state; several simultaneous threads of conversation going at once turned into white noise.

After a while you must have zoned out a bit, because among the din you didn’t notice that John was now sitting near you. He leaned over discreetly, at a respectful distance that still made your head foggy and face warm, voice low.

“They’re right, you know. You might think you're an exception, but you’re not. Is dangerous to think that.”

You're so struck by the intensity of his steely gaze that you were slow to catch up to the actual words. You couldn’t fathom how blue eyes could feel so searing; you’d swear you could feel their heat. Completely caught off-guard by the sudden seriousness, you struggled with how to respond to that. “I—”

Before you could say anything, you realized the Scot was talking to you, asking you something, reeling you back into the fray.

…

Time seems to pass differently after that; you have no idea how long it’s been, all talking and laughing, sharing bants. More rounds of drinks. It’s a good time.

But the night is winding down for you; you can feel exhaustion creeping in. By the time one of your friends’ partners shows up ready to continue the fun elsewhere, you decline the offer.

You hated being seen as a wet blanket, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. Peel off your “going-out” clothes and change into something comfortable. Maybe order in and catch up on a show. A little, "dolce far niente".

They invited the men too, but apparently they had other plans. Your friends didn’t waste any time pouting, exchanging quick, tipsy goodbyes before heading out.

It’s much quieter after that. Even the light conversation between the men has fizzled out. The small bar that night was particularly slow, consisting mostly of your two groups to begin with. You pull out your phone to check the time, frowning when you find it dead.

“...I can call you an Uber?” John suggests, as you stand.

The silence is loud, somehow. Oppressive. It looks as if the men are waiting. The air is heavy with something unsaid, some kind of significance that’s entirely lost on your fuzzy mind.

You never noticed the inscrutable look Voorhees sends John after he spoke. You’d find too late that a lot of things skipped your boozy notice that night.

Your lip tugs at the offer. “Thanks, but I promise it’s fine. I actually live pretty close.”

John simply inclines his head, doesn’t press further. As you’re headed to the door, glancing back, you offer an earnest, albeit tired, smile. “Was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around?”

“Maybe.”

…

You were barely halfway home before suddenly, out of the darkness of a Cimmerian passing alley, arms locked around you, ripping an undignified squeal out of you.

When you catch sight of the familiar faces of your “attackers”, you clutch your chest, trying to calm your hammering heartbeat.

“Fucking hell!” you heaved.

If you weren’t so rattled and clamoring over your words, you would have been especially mortified by the incidental contact on your squishy middle. You couldn’t remember a time someone has grabbed you so brazenly. By process of elimination, it must have been Hot Topic’s large form who was holding you against his front.

“Shit! You guys are assholes,” you exclaimed between pants. “That’s not funny!” Your hands grasped at the large forearms around you, yanking fruitlessly.

It was John who was standing in front of you, thumbs hooked in his pockets, backlit by a streetlamp, haloed in faint breath vapor. It was the first time you’d recall seeing him standing; he was even bigger than you expected. They all were.

“You left, what—” he pulled out his phone and glanced down at the blueish light in his hand, “20 minutes ago?” His eyes return to your face, raising his thick brows. “Not very ‘close’, is it? Your home.”

John spoke conversationally, a picture of ease, like he was commenting on how chilly it was for this time of year, and hadn't just jumpscared you.

“Dinnae even try tae throw a punch, no’ even one o’ those girly slaps—” the Scot muttered, not particularly quietly, to pretty-boy, who kissed his teeth in disapproval.

You’re running on fumes, so your brain is moving in slow motion, only just processing John’s words, not yet able to summon even a glare for the Scot’s commentary.

“It is close,” you insist, coming out slightly more defensively than you intended. You’re still embarrassingly working overtime to catch your breath while trying to pull away from the hard body at your back in irritation. “Besides, how do you define ‘close’? That’s completely subjective.”

Not as if that’s any of your business. You held back that particular remark.

You took a measured breath or two more. “Look, of all people, I appreciate the commitment to a bit,” you clawed uselessly at Voorhees’ iron grip around you, “but can you call your dog off?”

Hot Topic’s previous abridged facsimile of a “laugh” echoed in your ear, an amused huff so close that it made you flinch. That wasn’t really what you expected from your unadvisable barb.

You think it was the material of his mask that you felt slightly graze the shell of your ear, but it was fleeting enough that you couldn’t be certain.

“You can call me Ghost, sweet’eart”.

On any other day that edgy moniker would have garnered some kind of mirth, but your clouded brain didn’t seem fit to supply a witty retort with some strange man at your nape.

While John said nothing, something in his expression must have communicated to Ghost. You instinctively relaxed when his arms released your middle.

It soothed your nerves a touch, enough that you didn’t register that you were in the process of being edged backwards and were now partway through an alley you should have passed on your route home.

You crossed your arms, opting to ignore the introduction in lieu of another shaky inhale. “Just wait till my friends hear that you guys blew them off just to fuck with me. So much for having ‘plans’, huh?”

You tried to tease, still desperately attempting to slow your heart, recoup some composure, and match the men’s nonchalance. You’re not sure how convincingly you pulled it off. Some nagging anxiety still seeped out of you in a slow leak, despite your best effort to pull yourself together, to not be a buzzkill in response to a technically harmless pran—.

“This is the ‘plan’, love.” John replied simply, not missing a beat.

You huffed in exasperation, brows pinched. “...What, ‘making a point’?”

John paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, “That’s one way to look at it, if you’d like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly the scrape of shoes on the dirty pavement seemed loud in your ears. The smell in the alley is particularly damp and musty now. Had you been moving this whole time? You’re getting all turned around—

Pretty-boy cut in, “You know, your whole premise was faulty from the start. ‘Sides you didn’t account for more than one person being involved”.

“Involved in what?” you blinked, bewildered.

“Your kidnapping, obviously.”

“My k—?”.

“—Speak for yourself, Gaz. I’d ‘ave ‘er either way.” Ghost interrupted, making you jump, a stark reminder of the presence still at your back.

You were stunned into silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before choking out a pained laugh.

“Ha-ha. Alright—alright, fine. I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender, head swiveling back to John as you turn to press your back against the rough brick of the alley wall, trying to keep them all in your field of vision.

“I’ll get a taser or something, is that what you want?” you offered, wearing your best expression of deferent contrition.

When John finally peels his eyes from you, he just sighs heavily, shaking his head at the pavement; either in disapproval or disbelief, you couldn’t be sure which.

“Bit late for that now.”

“…What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You stutter indignantly.

You were starting to feel woozy; maybe you drank a bit too much.

Your sole scuffs against some debris, almost tripping you up completely if not for the brick wall to steady you. Your palms sting as they slide slightly on the stone, but you don’t dare take your eyes off them to look down for even a second.

Suddenly, with a furtive glance over Ghost’s shoulder, you realize you're almost out on the other side of the street. His massive form fills the alleyway, destroying any hope you’d be able to squeeze your wide body past him or John and the others on your opposite side.

Your mouth is painfully dry. Your throat works, trying to swallow but still managing to somehow choke on nothing. You force some authority you don’t feel into your tone, but it tapers off rather weakly.

“Listen, you’ve had your fun. I really need to get home.”

You were struck by how different they all seemed compared to hardly a half an hour prior. The shift was dramatic—made your head spin. It was hard to rationalize that the people who were just sitting across from you in the homey local bar sharing drinks and the people now caging you into a dreary, abandoned street corner were one and the same.

An approaching streetlamp visible through the yawning maw of the alley cast harsh shadows on their faces. A literal “light at the end of a tunnel” that only offered you dread.

You swayed slightly on your feet, head darting around, desperately trying to keep an eye on the four of them. You were feeling suddenly inexplicably drunker than you felt mere moments before.

As your knees quivered and you tried to steady yourself, John remained a pillar in your wobbly field of vision. Watching. Waiting.

You're not sure which was preferable, the ominous comments or the ominous silence.

You weren’t small. You’d never felt small in your life. But with a group of large men looming over you, it was suddenly hard not to. It was not a feeling you were accustomed to and one you didn’t enjoy now.

You needed air, it was getting impossible to think. You tried to speed your gait to no avail; you couldn’t gain any distance. They prowled, following you closely, as if there was a gravitational pull anchoring them to you.

“Fine. Fine! Okay, you proved your point, alright?!” you exclaimed, getting more frantic by the second, louder. “Let me pass. I’m serious.”

“Oh, so now she’s serious…” Gaz teases, somewhere off to your left.

“You think I’m not?” John husked, sounding incredulous, forehead lines deepening as he raised his brows, tucked his chin to stare down at you through hooded eyes. “Love, I’m serious as a heart-attack.”

Then he was smiling at you again.

It looked the same as before. Sincere. But where previously it endeared you, now, now it makes your heart stall, then shudder in your ribcage; fill you with the sensation of a freefall, the one that jolts you awake while on the very precipice of sleep, leaves your heart racing, despite the tranquil darkness.

His eyes flick over your head.

Before you are able to register the glance, Ghost is suddenly on you again, grabbing you round the middle quicker than someone his size had any right to be, this time actively herding your large form forward.

You realized dully that his last grip on you must have been relatively loose compared to his grip on you now; it was clearly only a fraction of his actual strength.

“What are you doing?!” You cry, a hair's breadth away from a shriek. Your head whips back to John, imploring, “Stop—Stop, I don't know what you want!”

This is probably what it feels like to be a frog. Pounced on and scooped up roughly by some huge creature—some grubby kid’s scrambling fingers. Slippery, round body gripped tight.

You were finally out of the alley, pulled by Ghost as well as your own unsteady feet, your body's instinct to try and avoid cracking your cranium on the concrete abetting him, betraying you.

“What we want?” Ghost chaffed over you, mimicking your voice. “Go on then,” he urged, “give your ‘ead a wobble?”

You could practically feel him cocking his head, feel his smile even with him against your back, even behind the mask.

The open air did nothing for you. It didn’t clear your mind or relieve the claustrophobia churning in your belly a single iota. After all, it wasn’t really the walls closing in on you—it was bodies.

“You’re just trying to scare me!” You accuse sharply, voice strained, grunting as you only manage to nearly heimlich yourself on the last attempt to free yourself from the steel grip around your midsection.

Gaz and the Scot chuckle.

John says your name. He utters it like it was a complete sentence, but you're not sure what it means, what he wants. Either way, it made you regret giving it to him. You suddenly preferred not hearing it on his lips in that rumbling baritone.

Ghost scoffs. “For ‘avin such a smart mouth she’s a bit thick, eh, Soap?” he comments meanly over your head.

Soap’s responding before you have a chance to voice any displeasure, somewhere between a laugh and a scold.

“A bit? Haud yer wheesht!” He turns his attention quickly back to you, leaning in close, “Aw, pet, dinnae pay him mind…Lt kens our bonnie is well thick”, he pats your cushioned hips affectionately.

A shocked gasp slips out of you unbidden at the brief but unmistakable gentle fondle of your fat love handles.

They all drank in the vulnerable, little noise. It would be the first of many. It was impossible to interpret the gesture as anything but “familiar”.

Your body jolts. You would have practically jumped a foot off the ground if not for Ghost anchoring you. With the hold, stark realization floods you like a bucket of ice water—there’s quite literally nothing you can do to avoid any of their touch. Your skin crawls at the unfamiliar contact and doubly so at the threat of more yet.

“Dead fit,” Gaz says readily, sounding like an agreement if you’ve ever heard one, his eyes roam your form.

Words were stolen from your overheating brain, still trying desperately to reboot, to process what the fuck is going on.

“Captain ‘s a man of taste—such a pretty, dainty thing,” Ghost sneers in your ear. “Playin’ coy now, when she was practically battin’ ‘er lashes all night.”

“—It’s not too late—it’s a joke, right? Let’s—we can just forget about this—”

Ghost completely ignores you. “Soft thing like you prancin’ ‘round, cunted at this hour, thinkin’ you're safe?”

“Cun—? I’m not fucking drunk!”

“You’re lucky someone with bad intentions didn’t hear you.” The grin is loud in his tone, oozes off every syllable.

“You think I'm a dog? So you knew wha’ you were doin’ then? You were teasin’ a ‘ungry dog, waving a juicy steak under ‘is nose. Rubbing it in all our faces, of any bloke ‘n earshot? That it?”

“What—what the hell are you talking about?! You—you can’t be serious!” You finally parroted uselessly, equal parts baffled and horrified. These men are crazy.

“She keeps sayin’ tha’,” Soap comments, perplexed.

“‘Denial’ ‘s not just a river,” Gaz shrugs.

Ghost continues. “Captain—” A big hand is suddenly on your jaw, centering your gaze back on John, ”—‘s doin’ you a kindness. Keepin’ you safe n’ sound, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself chewed up and spit out 'n some dirty fuckin’ alley,” nodding back towards the way they came, “Nice of ‘im, innit?”

You flailed desperately, hoping to catch Ghost off guard for even a second. You send your elbow into his ribs, as hard as you could manage at the awkward angle.

It was akin to hitting granite. You sucked in air through your clenched teeth as pain radiated through your ulnar nerve. His grip on you didn't waver, he didn't flinch. He laughed.

A true, low “heh, heh, heh”, that you regretted ever wanting to hear—could have happily gone your whole life without hearing. It sent rogue shivers down your spine and piloerection up your arms as you gawked up in shock, pain forgotten.

“Och, that’s a bit better, Bonnie.” Soap feigns, judging your strike like he’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“John—” you plead helplessly, turning your gaze back to him. But saying his name was a mistake, deepening the look already there. Rubatosis filled you.

“Think you're strong, eh?" His words still swollen with caustic amusement, "That you could ever ‘urt any of us? Show ‘im you can fend f’ yourself then.” Ghost wobbled you to and fro, shook you, as if you were some weightless bauble.

As your world tilted, you instinctively gripped his arm for dear life, dizzy, afraid you would topple over.

You knew he was right, of course; there is no point denying it.

But a man like him, like them—saying it? It was wrong—it chilled your blood. It felt needlessly cruel, to rub in how weak you are compared to them. The provocation freezes you, making Ghost’s dark eyes crinkle.

“Slim pickings, huh? Must be feeling desperate?” you bit out, before you could stop yourself, voice bitter and thick with emotion—panic and anger congealing into snark. A hole is a hole, after all. Bad luck that you happened to be the one around.

Who would you trade places with? Better you than someone else, your conscience whispered faintly.

“You really don’t get it?” John wonders aloud, bafflement mixing with a heady intensity.

“Imagine thinking no one would want all this—” Fingers grazed your curves. Touched every roll, every hill and valley on your side with a reverence that shocked you for the hundredth time that day, left your mouth literally agape.

“—thought is an utter travesty. One of life’s greatest pleasures is a big, soft girl. Nothing sweeter,” he declared breathily despite himself. “Nothing. So much more to hold, to squeeze—”

There was a certain palpable greediness to his touch, even while he was clearly restraining himself. Groping, not bruising. He only went so far, skirting frighteningly close to your more private bits.

At least it appeared your actual debasement was not going to happen on this particular street corner. His hands make a slow jaunt, mapping your contours. Down your back, your side, your belly, your thighs—kneading and squeezing your ample flesh.

A pitiful, “Please stop—” is eked out of you. Your unadulterated fear on full display, sincere and raw. Begging. You were begging, or trying to, anyway. Your breath hitched, flesh jolting with every unwelcome brush against you, sending your nerve endings alight, already feeling overstimulated.

There was that expression again, that you didn’t recognize before. But it was no longer just simmering under the surface; it was boiling. Emanating out through his pores, muddled with a touch of pity. You finally recognized it—hunger.

“I’m not cross with you,” he adds oddly. “You don’t understand now, but you will. This isn’t a punishment—it’s a consequence.”

Your throat clamped painfully, words tumbling out of your mouth incomprehensibly, trying to find the right thing to say to make him stop. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you.

“Am not going to hurt you. You have my word.” The solemnity of the promise rattled you. Maybe he truly believed it, but you certainly didn’t. After all, you’d wager you had different definitions of “hurting”. You’d die on the hill that this was “hurting” someone.

Somewhere inside you, your body was screaming at you to do something. You’d take the inspiration.

Scream what, exactly? You couldn’t be sure. You should scream “fire” not “help”, right?

But you’d never get the chance, because on your inhale, John’d somehow divined your intentions, and suddenly a hand was clamped over your lips before a sound could escape them. The pressure of the palm was close to bruising this time, unyielding—he wasn’t taking any chances, apparently.

Jerking your head did nothing to dislodge the hand, unlike those on your limbs. It followed the movement rather than impede it. As fate would have it, your struggles only left your head spinning, vision partially obscured by the force of the hand pushing your plump cheeks into your eyes. Whiplash pinched in your neck at the frantic jerks. God, you felt sick.

After that, everything happened very quickly. Suddenly it felt like there were hands all over you, everywhere. Grabbing, holding, pressing. You could hardly tell up from down.

You’d shut your eyes for even a momentary reprieve, willing the vertigo to cease. For everything to stop. For all of them to stop touching you. Hoping desperately that you’d wake up and find yourself safe in bed, this all a bad dream.

Then there was a ripping sound, then a couple more. Someone was pushing stray hairs out of your face. The hands on your wrists moved up instead to grip your forearms. No sooner than you heard it, the large hand had fled your lips only to be immediately replaced by some large sticky substance that was stretched taut across your mouth, from cheek to cheek.

Startled, your struggles renewed, some expletives trapped by the stuff, transforming into useless “mphhhing!” as your hands jumped to pull the offending material from your face. An entirely fruitless endeavor considering the grip on your arms, which didn't budge an inch. John seems fit to ignore your pitiful struggle, simply smoothing it out carefully, layering a couple more pieces. He hums in satisfaction, wide palm patting his work, cupping your mouth and jaw again for good measure.

There was that sound again. With the fear it shot through you, it might as well have been a gun racking. You couldn’t see it, but this time your sloshy mind recognized the distinct creak and shrill shrrrrrrrrrrrp. It was duct tape being pulled from the roll, then wrapped noisily around your wrists, aided by the hands forcing your arms together.

Trying to shove, to bully yourself between them was hopeless. They were all too close, too strong, too heavy, all bearing down on you. You didn’t have room to throw your weight around or even properly kick out at them. Round and round, the tape went, and round and round again for good measure before the end was ripped, smarting where it snagged slightly on the hair on your arms.

You're quite literally fighting for your life, sweating with exertion and panic, panting behind the tape, but your desperate flailing didn’t deter them at all; you didn’t receive even a single hitch in any of their breath for your effort. Hell, it couldn’t even hinder some conversation. Not that you caught most of it with your head swimming, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“—‘course she’s scrikin’, we’re nicking ‘er,” Ghost rolls his eyes.

Something else was said, probably by Soap, based on the accent.

Ghost just doubles down. “No point tryin’ to talk sense into ‘er. Thing doesn’t know what’s good for ‘er—“

John took his time; he’s dedicated to his task. Precise yet generous with the tape. As soon as the hands left your forearms, more tape was applied where they departed, this time around your entire body, effectively pinning your arms down at your front, circling you enough times that you lost count.

Your struggles and thrashes reinvigorate, an absolutely method portrayal of a snared rabbit. It hurt—hurt how hard you were pulling against them. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom in the coming days wherever their hands gripped you from your wild jerking. That is, assuming you lived that long. Your chest heaves with anxiety. The men allowed you a bit more space, enough that you didn’t feel actively compressed on every side. By them at least.

Not John, though. It was his face that filled your vision, his eyes that pinned yours.

“Shhh. There’s a girl. It’s already over.” You hadn’t yet noticed the tears gathering, that you were so close to falling apart. He said it like it would be some sort of comfort, cupping your plump cheeks delicately. John spoke to you gently, in the softest tone you’d heard yet, softer than you would have believed his husky voice capable of, and yet, with an disturbing finality. “It’s done. Nothing you can do now,” he whispered into your terrified face.

He was too close—there was a little mole on the right side of his nose you never noticed before. He smelled of smoke, and under that, something woodsy and spicy. A large, rough palm smoothed over your hair. Your terrified eyes squeezed shut, willing him out of your face, to stop looking at you. You’re certain he could feel your terror; hell, he could probably feel each little panicked puff of air forced out of your lungs on his face as you tried vainly to regulate your breathing through your nose. “There you go,” he praised, “In and out.”

Shining tears wobbled precariously in your waterline. You tried with all your might not to let them loose, to salvage any shred of dignity. Any sense of control. As if that would somehow make things worse, as you sucked in a wet, sniveling sound.

Your internal pleas for space were less than useless, as John leaned in ever closer, cradling your skull in his hands, pressing his lips to your crown in a chaste, whiskery kiss.

The sheer intimacy of the gesture made you balk. Held and boxed in, there was no way to move away, making you whimper pathetically. Sounding foreign to even your own ears. A savourable sound, that went right to John’s belly.

Trying to hold it in was all for naught; as soon as John’s lips touched you, your resolve shattered. Shattered into so many pieces even Kintsugi couldn’t repair it.

Your face was soaked with the onslaught, tears traveling as far as down your neck. Dizzy with panic, the duct tape swallowing up most of your damp sobs. You couldn’t recall the last time you'd broken down like that in front of another person, much less four near strangers.

“I’m keeping you.” He says suddenly. He waits for you to take in the words, thumbs stroking slow circles into your cheekbones.

You hiccup behind the tape, teeth chattering in your clenched jaw as you realize you’re shaking. Face tacky with tears. You angrily tried to pull away again, but John just held you still as you quake.

…John didn’t need Ghost for muscle, you realized dully. His grip was an epiphany, the promise of strength in his hands alone—it made you feel all the more useless.

Calloused thumbs rasped over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there, only for more to replace them. “I won’t try to stop you from crying, won’t punish you for being upset,” he rumbled, “but, you have to understand it won’t change anything. What'll happen. From now on, you’re mine—but I take care of what’s mine. You’ll see.”

Why?! Your heart ached. You couldn’t understand how people you’d been chatting and laughing with mere minutes ago could do this to you. People who had seemed so normal—

Gaz smirks, nudging Soap, murmuring, “Oh, don't worry, she’ll feel heaps better when she’s creamin’ on—”

You didn't think you were capable of feeling worse. Your eyes bulge in horror, breath snagging again in your throat.

John sighs, interrupting him with a harsh jangle of metal as he pitched some keys to Gaz, who caught them easily in one hand. “Bring the car ‘round will you?” John asks, but it’s really not a request.

“On it!” Gaz’s reply is prompt and cheery as he steps off the curb into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamp, practically a spring in his step.

You sniffled, sinuses starting to burn, following your eyes’ watery influence. Feeling humiliated as you can feel your nose start to run, tickling your philtrum. Soap cooed over your teary face. You flinched as he raised his hand to you, but he only wiped your nose, disgustingly with his own sleeve.

He had the nerve to look chagrined at your reaction. When he spoke again, it was uncannily quiet compared to his familiar boister, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Dinnae fash, it’ll be awricht, bonnie, swear it.”

His words were worthless; didn’t pacify you at all. You were possessed by a primal terror of a cornered animal that couldn’t fathom what was going to happen to it. Your eyes flooded, everything in your vision warped by tears. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over your own hammering heart. Soap’s cursin’, saying something. Maybe it was fucking Gaelic, you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“—Wee lamb, greetin—”

“‘Nough fussin’, Soap. You’re almost as bad as ‘er.”

“Ah ken, ah ken…”

“I did warn you, even gave you an out.” John sighed, commiserating, as if he weren’t the source of your angst. It wrung completely hollow, he didn't sound disappointed in the slightest with any of the events. If anything, you'd suspect we has trying to tamp down the opposite.

“Jesus wept, Cap—” Soap blurts, any remorse apparently long forgotten as he suddenly grips your ample belly possessively, making you shriek, “—almost made us lose out,” he grumbled. “Ah knew ye were tryin’ tae tip ‘er aff”.

You thrashed in his rude hold, face hot, but he just grinned, loved how your squirms just showcased your enticing bounce. Despair and humiliation ached in your chest, heavy like lead. You just wanted to go home.

Headlights round the corner.

In a last-ditch attempt, you allow yourself to completely go limp, following through on the threat of being unmovable. You barely start tipping before Ghost and Soap are on either side of you, holding you up between the two of them, completely halting your descent.

Your mind shuddered to a halt with the idea they might actually be able to lift you. When you tried to buckle your knees, they went ahead and confirmed your fears true. Not even a slipped grunt of exertion gave you any satisfaction, when you were being half carried, half dragged practically kicking and screaming to the car. Well, as much as you could through the tape. As you’re urged onward, you lock your knees as your legs jam against the car’s running board.

“You’re going one way or another,” John calls simply, tapping something into his phone.

“Watch your head, trophy.” Ghost grins, huge hand spanning your skull, pushing you down past the door frame, but you think you just might have preferred the concussion. Your own weight does the rest of the work, sending you sprawling belly first onto the back seat, teary cheek smooshed against the cool, leather interior.

You should have been prepared to be absolutely as difficult as possible, regardless of whether or not it’d change your fate, but you were utterly spent. Your limbs ached at all the struggling. You couldn’t muster any more fight as Soap and Ghost maneuvered you into the middle seat. Your plentiful "handholds" aiding the process.

The lone lap belt buckled tightly across your lap before Ghost and Soap followed you in, sandwiching you, sitting in the seats on either side. You were practically spilling over onto them, it was a tight fit.

You couldn’t quite swallow a yelp as rough fingers were wedged under your plush form on either side. Apparently unsatisfied with your positioning, you were swiveled so your ass remained in the seat while the rest of your body lay flat. Your upper body in Ghost's lap and legs curled in Soap’s, the seat belt digging into your soft belly at the awkward angle.

You were normally hyperaware of the space you occupied and tried to be as respectful as possible about it. You would be mortified, feel a bolt of white-hot shame if any squishy bit of you even accidentally brushed up against someone else. You’d do anything to risk a stranger's look of annoyance or disgust, god forbid someone say something. And yet, here you were, your fat body draped across two men's laps, both looking quite fucking pleased with the arrangement. There was nothing you could do about it, as Soap paws at your thigh, humming happily.

“Behave, you lot.” John stoops, smiling at the group fondly as he shuts the door.

The car is moving.

You were completely adrift. Maybe you were in shock. All it took was a handful of seconds for your life to become entirely and irrevocably derailed.

While lying prone, the motion rocked you slightly. Outside the window, the world flitted by. All you could make out from your vantage point was the wide expanse of sky, purplish, the color of a dusky developing bruise, only swagging power lines and the tops of towering street lamps flashing across the horizon.

Just like that, slow conversation started up again, right above your head. It was as if they were back at the bar; the normalcy of it was chilling. Soap’s hands were still resting over your thick thigh, petting you. Repetitive strokes up and down your thigh that also eventually blended into the background. The car was so warm now—John must have cranked the heat. You feel the warmth dust across your face where it filtered into the backseat.

You're feeling floaty—disconnected. Your body couldn’t sustain the level of terror that should still be at the forefront of your mind. Adrenaline burned everything out of you, drained you till there was nothing left but fog, thick and cloying. It became a task to keep your eyes open.

You were so tired.

Your limp body bounced lightly as the car went along. The voices were even more distant now, a muted background noise, like someone speaking on the phone in the next room over—you can just hear the mumble through the wall but can’t decipher any of the words.

…

“—get some proper rest on the plane.”

(I horked this up originally after re-reading one of @391780 posts. I think it was the one where Simon calls dibs on you while you're out with friends? Clearly things deviated a lot, but still. Do yourselves a favor and read all of their stuff.)

#crow writes #i tried to leave it kind of ambiguous if Price was gonna share you #egregious use of italics and emm dashes #i am continuing my sacred tradition of writing the reader as a fat dumbass #cod #call of duty #fat reader #plus size reader #chubby reader #captain john price #dark john price #dark john price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #dark john price x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #author is fat #cw: noncon

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