wings in chains

he's also kind of wondering if he drinks it tw: gore / machine gore

Being on leave this long resulted in some indulgences. Only a few he kept telling himself, but the result contradicted his internalized musings. Abdominal muscles once sculpted to perfection had faded, in its place was a tiny, but notable paunch. Dragunov slumped onto his sofa, icy blue hues peering at his rounded midsection. Lips arched downward into a slight frown. He couldn't stand the notion of former adversaries catching a glimpse of him now. It's even more disconcerting that upon sitting, the shirt rode higher. He discarded the idea of combating the clothing, leaving his pale belly exposed to the air. At the very least, he was in the comfort and privacy of his own abode with no prying eyes. Absentmindedly, his palm strayed to the curvature of his stomach, patting it a few times, before he gave it a full rub. Since when had it grown to this size? Those confections he denied himself for the sake of his training, his moderation in the consumption of such sweets, not having to concern himself with it anymore resulted in excess that currently showed on his frame. On that subject, his belt felt strangely tight too. The buckle dug uncomfortably into his underbelly, so he sought relief in the simplest manner. Digits deftly worked to unfasten the belt, but also undo the button of his pants. Heaved a euphoric sigh of relief, no longer within the confines of his restrictive garb. Dark brows furrowed in discontentment. How had he failed to notice? Most importantly, when did he allow himself to get this carried away? His fingers prodded and later pinched at the soft layer of mass. There was one thing he didn't lament and that was satisfying those cravings he rejected in favor of unflagging abstinence. This was merely a consequence of mild carelessness, one he'd easily remedy if desired. Little did the White Reaper know that passerby who saw him several days ago purchasing the decadent delights that resulted in his newfound conundrum, found it incredibly endearing on such a strong and sturdy chassis. Could he ever acclimate to this? His hand rested on the slope of his gut as he began to recollect a peculiar instance where two individuals kept eyeing him shyly. In hindsight, he wondered why both averted their gaze when he caught them staring? The reason became apparent to him, his belly protruded from the tight shirt he had on that day. It was part of the reason why their cheeks were flushed a deep crimson other than the sight of his scarred and pulchritudinous features. After all, Dragunov was an incredibly handsome man, his countenance as angelic as his feared moniker. Was he being too harsh on himself for his intemperance? Had he not earned it after all his exploits and achievements? Well-deserved it was, perhaps, he could warm up to it as much as the faces of those two he spotted at the bakery. On that thought, he wondered if he'd ever see them again at the same location? A nod of acknowledgment wouldn't scare them off next time unlike his frigid glower, he hoped. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't despise his predicament.

(this post was stolen from @teenage-mutant-ninja-freak, since it couldn't be reblogged anymore)