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The Terror - Prompt Post 1
This is for prompts for all things AMC's The Terror (2018). Go nuts!
Cast RPF also goes here, shine on you crazy diamonds.
Cast RPF also goes here, shine on you crazy diamonds.
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1. Be fucking nice. YKINMATO/KINKTOMATO at all times.
2. This meme is CNTW (Choose Not To Warn) but warnings are highly encouraged.
3. Prompts should use this format in the subject line: [SHIP], [DESCRIPTION]
e.g.
Hickey/Crozier, CNC knifeplay
Solo gen can be prompted as well alongside (a) character name and description
e.g.
Gen, Edward Little, having a nice day
4. Fills should use this format in the subject line: FILL: [TITLE], [PAIRING], [RATING], [ANY WARNINGS]
e.g.
Fill: The Last Hour, Hickey/Tozer, E, cw dubcon
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FILL: grown back to life, Armitage/Tozer, M, stuffing, weight gain, kink negotiation (1/2)
(Anonymous) 2022-10-05 05:56 am (UTC)(link)It’s his own weakness, Tommy knows… and it’s unfair that Sol has to bear the weight of it.
Yet somehow, this is where they’ve found themselves, two years after walking out of hell. After Sol nearly lost his life as an accomplice to Hickey’s mutiny, then in the demon bear attack moments after the man’s hanging; after they all nearly wasted away on the shoals, only rescued last minute by a very confused ship of Russian whalers. After they returned home to relief and disgrace — in Sol’s case, dishonorable decommission from the Marines.
After Tommy witnessed Sol fall apart, and decided, if no one else was going to, he would pick up all his jagged pieces. This is where they ended up.
“Christ, Tommy,” Sol mutters, leaning far back in his chair. “That was good.” The ale has lent a particular flush to his cheeks; he’s not drunk (he doesn’t drink anymore) but it’s just enough to be comfortable. Dinner, of course, balances it out. When Tommy noticed Sol’s plate getting light, he served up a second helping of potatoes and roast beef… then a third, when Sol cleared that too.
Now, Sol’s eyes are hazy and drooping; a contented half-smile lingers on his lips. Tommy is hypnotized by him like this, heavy and lazy, languid and food drunk. There’s such satisfaction in knowing Sol’s feeling good because of him.
“I’m glad you liked it,” he says. Sol’s gaze settles on him, a lazy smile on his lips.
“You always take care of me, eh?” The hand that isn’t rubbing his full stomach reaches over, settling over Tommy’s own. “Dunno what I’d do without you.”
Tommy’s cheeks feel hot; he ducks his head, avoiding Sol’s eyes. “You’d get by.”
“Mmm. But it wouldn't be worth it alone.”
That’s what Sol had said back then, too; at his worst, when Tommy found him in a back alley, reeking and covered in filth. They’d been home for months, but he was still so thin— he hadn’t shaved, hadn’t washed, hadn’t been looking after himself at all. He had no reason to, he said; what’s the point for a man disgraced and alone?
“I just want t’ feel whole again,” Sol had murmured, a dead weight in Tommy’s arms. “I just want t’ feel…”
Warm. Full. Safe. Tommy has kept him all that and more. Hell never let Sol go back to that place of utter brokenness, alone and uncared for. Sol will never feel alone again, if Tommy can help it… and somehow, that’s translated into never letting him go hungry.
They’ve been living together for two years now, and they’ve found a routine. Sol works hard at the docks; Tommy’s a waiter at one of the city’s nicer restaurants. They both make enough money to keep a roof over their heads, and as much food as they want on the table. Sol is well-groomed now. He keeps in contact with his family. He doesn’t cry himself to sleep at night, or jolt awake with nightmares. It’s progress, Tommy tells himself. It’s something.
Every night, Tommy puts dinner on the table, and makes sure Sol eats his fill. Some days, Sol is hungrier than others; someday he needs it, needs the heaviness in his stomach, the warm-full-safe sensation. They’d thought they’d never know it again, out there on the shoals. Every bite reminds him of how lucky they are.
Today was a rough day, it seems, because Sol came home starving — for food, of course, but for comfort, too. Tommy made sure he got his fill of both.
Sol closes his eyes now, leaning into Tommy’s hand as it strokes through his curls. Tommy rakes his fingers along Sol’s scalp, then trails them down into his beard, the way he’s always liked. Sol heaves a sigh of contentment; a second later, he jolts with a sharp hiccup.
“Sorry,” he murmurs; when it happens again, his eyes crack open, annoyance plain on his face. Tommy bites back a laugh — hiccups are Sol’s worst enemy — and passes him the ale.
“You did so well tonight,” he says, watching Sol’s throat bob with each gulp. Something hot tugs in Tommy’s own stomach, but he’s learned to ignore it by now. “D’you have any room left?”
“Not sure.” Sol swipes a hand over his mouth and exhales a rumbling burp, before his touch settles over his stomach again. He strokes it thoughtfully, testing its firmness, its swell. “Feel so heavy already.”
“I’ve got a surprise,” Tommy coaxes, and Sol looks up at him, quirking an eyebrow.
“Yeah?” he chuckles, always up for a challenge. “I’ve got room.”
Almost buzzing with excitement, Tommy rushes back to the kitchen; from behind the icebox, he pulls out the plate he’s worked hard to keep hidden all night. Sol’s eyes bulge when he sees it; he sits upright, ignoring his stomach’s effort to pin him down.
The cake isn’t a masterpiece; it’s a small buttercream slab, fit for one person, or maybe two. Tommy took tips from the dessert chef at work on how to smooth the frosting, and pipe little red flowers around the sides; he suspects Sol wouldn’t care if it looked like a smashed snowman, but Tommy’s a perfectionist. From the look on his lover’s face, he’s done well.
“Trying your hand at sweets now, too?” Sol huffs as Tommy sets the plate down in front of him. He picks up his fork, grinning even as he says, “Christ, Tommy lad, you really are going to fatten me up.”
Tommy’s world screeches to a stop. The floor drops out from under him. Oblivious, Sol takes a bite of cake and moans.
Going to —
Well, he’s not trying to —
But he has, hasn’t he? It’s become impossible to ignore. Sol’s had to buy new trousers three times in the last few years — and his current set are looking tight on him, too. But he was skin and bones after they got back… he needed to put on weight. He needed to eat, that was the excuse at first…. the rationale for the dinners, for serving him, for praising and petting him when he was able to clear his plate. As Sol regained what he’d lost, though, both in muscle and mass…
They never stopped.
And Sol certainly hasn’t stopped putting on weight.
But… trying?
A loud groan interrupts Tommy’s plummeting train of thought. Sol is leaning back in his chair again, clutching his stomach and breathing heavy. His hands fumble at the laces of his trousers; he manages to get them untied, and heaves a sigh of relief as his gut is freed. It surges outward — and Tommy can’t help but gape, because Christ, when did Sol get so big?
He’s just full. Stuffed to the gills, that’s all it is, leaving him panting with every breath. Sol rubs a hand over the unyielding swell of his stomach; he looks like a mother swollen with child, and groans like one, too. There’s frosting on his lips, and crumbs in his beard, but he’s too full to care.
There are also a few more bites of cake on the plate.
“Hell…” Sol pants. “I don’t know if I can…” He exhales a deep burp, not bothering to cover his mouth. It’s followed by a sigh, a strained little thing; his brows furrow, hands still pawing at his stomach. There’s a thin line between comfortable and overfull. Clearly, Sol’s passed it.
“That’s alright,” Tommy says quickly, laying a hand on Sol’s shoulder. “You’ve done enough tonight.”
“No… you made it for me. I wanna…”
When Sol sets his mind to something, there’s no talking him down. The man’s stubborn as Arctic ice, and Tommy’s never been able to break him. Sol’s decided — and that’s that. He groans, straining to push himself into a sitting position, fighting the weight of his own stomach… but Tommy’s hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks. With a gentle hush, Tommy coaxes him back down. Ignoring Sol’s grunt of protest, he settles his own hand on Sol’s stomach, and begins to rub in small, soothing circles.
This has become familiar, too. Whenever Sol’s overindulged, nothing soothes him more than being touched… and Tommy knows just the right way to rub, to coax the air up and the ache out. Eyes fluttering, Sol dips his head back and lets Tommy work; his breathing evens out, interspersed by the occasional belch. When Tommy picks up the cake plate with his free hand, Sol doesn’t even notice… until the fork is pressing against his lips.
“There you go,” Tommy cheers, as the last bite of cake vanishes down Sol’s throat. Sol cracks his eyes open and takes in the empty plate; and suddenly, he’s glowing, debauched and victorious all at once.
“Ahah! Told you I could do it!”
“I never doubted you,” Tommy snorts. He never has, even in Sol’s lowest moments. He was — is — will always be the most impressive man Tommy’s ever known.
The high of victory lasts for a few minutes. As it ebbs away, Sol sighs, dropping his head back in drowsy euphoria.
“Let’s just… sit for a moment, aye? Need a breather…”
Tommy hums his agreement, and trails his hand along Sol’s chest — up to his collar, along his broad shoulders, and back down, finally, to the bulge of his stomach. The rhythm is thoughtless… but the more Tommy focuses, the more he notices, and he can’t look away. Sol’s stomach is a lightly-furred, a tantalizing trail of darker hair leading below. He’s always been tan and bulky, with muscle-wrought arms and meaty thighs; his stomach is no different. The weight of his stomach is different, though. It was pure muscle once, at the beginning of the expedition, when his Marine training kept him lean. He had to fit into that sleek crimson jacket, after all.
It would never fit him now, Tommy muses, running his hand over the swell of Sol’s stomach. Not like this. Not when he’s gotten so… big. He’s solid in the places that matter most, in his shoulders, his biceps, his legs — the work at the docks keeps him strong, but slim isn’t a requirement anymore.
He’s so solid, so soft, when he holds Tommy at night, cradling him against his bare chest so Tommy can feel every inch of him…
Something wild possesses him then. He can’t say what, exactly — but his lips press against the taut swell of Sol’s stomach, and linger there, tender as honey and rye. When Tommy straightens up, Sol has lifted his head; his stare is very dark, almost feverish in its intensity.
“Umm,” Tommy says, sheepish.
Sol braces himself on both arms of the chair; with a soft groan, he pushes himself to his feet. An arm immediately wraps around his belly, while the other finds Tommy’s shoulder.
“Right, Tommy,” he huffs. “Think you’ll have to help me to bed.”
Tommy’s breath catches.
It’s a journey getting there — Sol’s steps are heavy, and he exhales another belch as he plods down the hallway with Tommy’s support — but finally, they reach the bedroom. Sol flops down onto the bed with a dramatic moan which goes straight to Tommy’s groin. His hands begin fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. Within minutes, it’s gone, tossed carelessly to the floor. Sol’s entire chest is bare; his trousers are open, bulky thighs spread wide. One hand lingers on his stomach, massaging tantalizingly lower. There’s a flush to his cheeks, and a brightness to his eyes; he looks Tommy dead-on when he groans again.
Christ, Tommy thinks, Lord help me, I’m mad for him.
“Tommy.” Sol’s voice is low.
In contrast, Tommy shudders when he rasps, “Sol… can I…“
With a tiny growl, Sol lashes out, snatching Tommy around the waist. He’s on top of him in a heartbeat. Tommy gasps, and Sol chuckles — and then Tommy’s mouth is on his, and he tastes like buttercream, and Sol’s is tugging at his hair, and nothing else matters.
Neither of them last long, not with the fire racing through their veins. Tommy has to do most of the work — he always does, on these nights, and Sol always feels bad about that after — but he relishes it. Sol is so generous with his touches; his calloused hands explore every inch of Tommy’s skin, gripping him like he’s something to own. When Tommy moves lower, those same broad hands tangle in his curls, as Sol whispers encouragement above him.
He’s so solid. Soft and firm all at once, a tantalizing combination that leaves Tommy’s head spinning. It would be easier if he were out of shape… but he’s still got his muscles, just with an added layer of thickness on top. Sol is so sturdy, so whole — he makes Tommy feel safe in ways he never thought he could feel —
And he’s beautiful.
God, he’s so beautiful.
He doesn’t realize he’s said this aloud until he’s spilling into Sol’s hand. His entire body bucks with the force of the storm… and, once it’s faded, he collapses on top of Sol, breathless.
“Easy, now,” Sol mutters, cleaning them both. His free hand is still in Tommy’s hair. He keeps combing through his curls, even as he adjusts their positions so he can lean back, and Tommy isn’t laying on top of his stomach. Sol rests his hand atop his belly; Tommy watches through half-lidded eyes as he begins to rub it again, almost like he’s enjoying it too.
“Shhh…” he encourages, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s temple, and whispering the words into his good ear. “Atta boy, Tommy. You give me everything I ask for… there’s my good boy. Lovely, you are… just lovely…”
Tommy falls asleep with Sol’s voice ringing in his ears.
Re: FILL: grown back to life, Armitage/Tozer, M, stuffing, weight gain, kink negotiation (1/2)
(Anonymous) 2022-10-11 08:09 pm (UTC)(link)