#slutty peter rights

[hoardlikegoldenirises]

taking a break from drawing peter parker in slutty outfits with high heels to *checks notes* draw spider-man in a slutty outfit with high heels

because @plutojester​ said:

“what if the web pattern parts of his suit were fishnets instead”

so of course I had to draw it.

Naturally, like all Sexy Superhero Costumes it has to show his luscious lips and perfect hair, and also lipstick of course (though if it was REAL superhero lipstick it would be glossy black with red highlights... lmao)

he’s wearing high heels cause i googled "fishnet boots" and all the results were stilettos so i just rolled w/ it, but also i’ve been spending my free time drawing peter in high heels anyway so what’s another pair added to the pile??? lmao

anyway here’s Peter’s tan line:

#nadiart #fanadiart #spiderman #peter parker #rough art #I am a Totally Serious Artiste #he has a huge circle on his back from the other spider #fyi the other drawings of peter in slutty outfits will be posted later. they're a little less silly than this XD #a fun fact about me is that every time i @ someone whose username isn't identical to their discord name or already memorized by me #i sit there like I Sure Hope That Was The Right Person #(i'm 99.99% sure that is the correct username)

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, praising, remmy being a bit of a meanie but also absolutely lovely, public sex and exhibitionism but not really?,

Synopsis: Remmy fingering you in his bed with curtains drawn while all the boys are in the dorm as well, so you better be quiet, don’t you?

A/n: it’s my birthday today!!!🥳🎂 happy bday to me and have this lil treat<3 I really hope you like this lil thing

You and Remus were huddled up on his soft bed, numerous blankets and duvets are scattered everywhere, keeping two of you warm and comfy. Thick heavy curtains were drawn all around the bed, painting everything inside their confines deep scarlet, securely concealing both of you from the noise and havoc that usually reigned in boys’ dormitories.

You were laying on your sides facing each other, your leg thrown over Remus’ hips, head laying comfortably on his shoulder. His arm, that you were laying on, was curled protectively around your shoulders, big warm hand rubbing your back up and down soothingly.

You couldn’t help a small whimper that escaped your lips, but, thankfully, James was wailing so loudly about a new rare card that he got in chocolate frog that his booming voice successfully concealed all of your small sounds. Remus’ fingers kept sliding in and out of your drenched with slick pussy, thumb nudging swollen needy clit persistently, making you shake and writhe around in his arms.

- Now, pretty girl, I told you to be quiet. This time we got lucky, but we don’t want boys to hear what a little slutty thing you are, do we? - Remus murmured softly, his voice low so that only you can hear him. He pressed his lips against the heated skin of your forehead, leaving a chaste kiss there.

You only buried your face into the cozy crook of Remus’ shoulder, his comforting scent hit your nose - he smelled of fresh laundry, fluffy blankets and something sweet that you couldn’t quite decipher - he smelled like home. You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, bringing yourself even closer to his hot body.

- Spread your legs a bit wider for me… yeah, just like that. Such a smart little thing, aren’t you? - Remus cooed against your ear as you readjusted your position a bit, sliding your leg higher up boy’s torso, increasing by that the gap between your thighs.

You smiled at his praise, leaving a few wet kisses on the side of his neck, nibbling gently on soft skin there but not enough to leave a mark, knowing how much boy disliked that. You could barely contain a moan as Remus increased the speed of his fingers fucking into you, new angle allowed him to reach even deeper inside. Your moth fell open in a silent moan, eyes shutting tightly and you heard Sirius’ roaring laughter and some repetitive hollow thudding, assuming that James and Peter must have started a vicious pillow fight.

Remus’ fingers curled a bit, massaging your frontal wall oh so deliciously, making you jolt harshly at pleasurable feeling.

- Easy, doll. I’ve got you, - Remus tutted into your hair, you could practically hear that well-known shit-eating grin in his voice.

The new positioning of his fingers allowed Remus to strokes you in all the right spots, you felt your orgasm nearing rapidly, heavy pleasure spilling in the bottom of your stomach. You leaned closer into your boyfriend, your hips moving ever so slightly in tandem with his fingers, trying to intensify the feeling.

- Remmy, ‘m really close, - you mewled weakly, words muffled because of your face squished against boy’s warm chest.

- I know, baby, just let it go. C’mon, cum on my fingers, make me proud, - Remus encouraged, his voice was dripping honey, which, doubled with his constant praise and nimble fingers fucking into you so good, sent you right over the edge.

Your eyes rolled back at the intense feeling of raw pleasure spreading through your body in crashing waves, white stars filled your vision. Your hands were grabbing desperately onto Remus’ soft sweater, teeth sank into your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress all of sweet moans and cries.

Remus rode out your orgasm, never stopping to fuck his long fingers into your sweet pussy, his other hand rubbing your back and shoulders, whispering sweet nothing into your flushed ear. He only stopped when you started wriggling your hips, trying to get away from his now painful caressing against your overstimulated sex.

He carefully pulled his fingers out, bringing them up to his face and burying his sticky with your slick digits in his warm mouth, sucking and lapping at your juices with immense pleasure. You flushed deeply, smacking Remus’ chest playfully and muttering quiet ‘pervert’ under your breath, causing boy to chuckle airily. He put his now clean fingers away from his mouth, leaning forward to slant his wet lips over yours, kissing you long and lazily, completely taking your breath away.

You broke off first, silver string of saliva was connecting your mouths, Remus eyes shining prettily in a dim light. Your shaky hand came to tuck a string of his soft sandy hair behind his pierced ear, thumb caressing chiseled cheekbone affectionately. Remus leaned in to place yet another kiss on your pretty lips but was stopped half-way by loud cracking sound and heavy cussing:

- Holy fucking shit, Prongs! McGonagall’s gonna fucking skin us alive for this! - Sirius’ panicked, but still more excited voice shrieked, you rushed to put your underwear and pajama pants back on before peeking your head out of crimson curtains, curious to see what had happened.

In the center of a room James, Sirius and Peter were all standing looking extremely disheveled and panting heavily, pillows clutched tightly in their hands. They all were staring at the floor where you spotted a huge hole a size of a quaffle, loud ‘what the fuck’ coming from the inhabitants of a room below. You heard Remus groan behind you, string of heavy expletives rolling off his tongue as he scrambled out of bed, racking his brain for possible ways to fix the breakage without teachers being involved.

James caught your eyes, shrugging silently, keeping unnaturally quiet, not wanting to get on Remus’ nerves when he was so angry. Sirius standing beside him could barely suppress his laughter, clutching his pillow to his chest in attempt to ground himself in any way possible. Peter’s face was completely blank, eyes wandering all around the dorm as if nothing ever happened, swaying from side to side lightly.

At the end of a day, they managed to fix the hole in the floor and all three of them got a smack on the back of the head from extremely querulous Remus.

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, they inspire me on creating even more content for you💖

#remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x y/n smut #remus lupin x you smut #remus lupin x reader smut #harry potter #harry potter writing #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #smut #harry potter smut #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders era #marauders era smut #harry potter fanfiction

[fredwkong]

Genie: Marcus’s Wishes

Click here to see the genie’s first master.

Marcus wasn’t your average jockboy. In school, he had been the class queer, marked for bullying because of his femme interests and gay voice. Worse, because he was one of the only Black kids. At university, he’d caught the iron bug and gotten huge, but kept the femininity, too. Nowadays, even with his powerful bod and handsome face, he still got dirty looks for his paisley shirts, peppy attitude, and swishy walk.

It was somewhere around 3 AM, and Marcus was feeling well and truly used. He hadn’t been topped like Mr. Peters had topped him in… he didn’t know how long. The Daddy dom’s husband, Lars, had told Marcus that the couple never double dipped on a guy, which sucked, but Marcus had more than enough wank material from this night alone to get him through.

Lars, still naked, followed the half-dressed Marcus to the living room. Mr. Peters was lounging on the balcony upstairs, smoking. Lars was giving Marcus the instructions for getting to the main street in his thick German accent. The other boys had left a few hours ago to catch the last busses home.

Something caught Marcus’s eye in the dimly lit room. A glint of light off of brass, an old, traditional lamp sitting next to Mr. Peters’ humidor. “What’s that?” Marcus asked.

Lars looked at the lamp like he’d never seen it before. “Some object of Daddy’s,” he grunted. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” Marcus was living in his own place for the first time, and he was starting to decorate. He drifted over and lifted up the lamp. He could base a whole room off of its aesthetics.

“Take it.” Lars waved away Marcus’s half-made protestation. “If Daddy thought it was important he would tell me,” said the German model. “It clashes with our decor.” He moved closer, and growled in Marcus’s ear, “You deserve a present for being such a good slut.”

An hour later, Marcus crashed into bed, not bothering to undress or unpack his bag, leaving the lamp in his gym duffel.

The next morning, he woke up late and made a protein shake for breakfast. As he chugged it, he pulled the lamp out of his bag. Held it up against different spaces in his apartment. It would clash with the Britney poster in the bedroom. Ditto for the Barbie display in his office. He settled on the entryway. He could get a pedestal for it and make an Arabian nook or something.

There was some kind of stain on the side of the lamp. Grabbing a hanky, Marcus started to rub it, but was interrupted as the lamp slid from his grasp and released a cloud of rainbow smoke. When it cleared, a burly Arabian man in a thong and a slutty stringer tank stood in Marcus’s apartment.

“Hey cutie,” said the genie. “Make me some wishes and I’ll get you hot.”

Marcus’s eyes caught on the genie’s ample bulge, and then he processed what he was being offered. In the second before he made his first wish, all he could think was masculinity. There was a corner near his apartment where Hispanic men gathered to shoot the shit in their jeans and tank tops. Their manliness was effortless, totally unstudied, what Marcus had dreamed of being in his childhood.

“I wish I was more manly, like a Latino guy.”

“Got it,” said the genie, with a snap of his fingers. “One Latino meatlover, coming right up.”

Marcus found himself surrounded by a cloud of orange smoke. It smelled like sweat and spices, and Marcus found himself inhaling it deeply. The scent blazed a trail through his mind, and Marcus started to think in Spanish rather than English. His university education vanished, replaced by the foundation of his own landscaping company at 18, and all the hard, manual labour involved in maintaining and building yards for rich, lazy white people.

At the same time, the smoke pumped up Marcus’s big Black muscles further, and lightened them to a sun-kissed tan. His hair straightened and retracted partway into his scalp, leaving him with a simple, masculine haircut. His dick and balls expanded, and the extra testosterone threw his already ripe armpits into overdrive, filling the room with the smell of his sweat. Finally, the last of the smoke thickened into threadbare white briefs, tight jeans, and a tighter tank top, an outfit fit for the masc Latino guy Marcus was becoming.

The genie snapped his fingers once again, and Marcus’s apartment became Marco’s house, a one storey bachelor pad full of thrifted furniture, hand-me-downs, and Marco’s curated selection of Tom of Finland prints hung on the walls.

Marco looked around with satisfaction, his big, callused hands on his hips. “Buen, cabron,” he told the genie in his deep, firm voice. “I need to go work now.”

“See you tomorrow, hermoso,” said the genie, vanishing back into the lamp that sat on Marco’s living room dildo shelf.

During the day, Marco drove his pickup truck to the office, maintained the lawns for some clients, and handled everything it took to run his own business. He hadn’t done great at school—too busy working so his mami could rest—but once he’d founded the business he’d discovered a knack for accounting, so he sat in his air conditioned office to do paperwork while his college boy employees worked through the heat of the afternoon.

Well, he finished the work in an hour and spent another two sniffing his spicy pits while he tugged his thick cock.

After work, Marco drove home, checked his immaculate front and back yards for anything that needed maintenance, and fired up the barbecue. He didn’t realise he had cooked for four until he sat down at the table with a mountain of meat and no one to feed.

The next morning, Marco summoned the genie bright and early with his second wish. “I wish I had some amigos to share the evenings with.”

“Aww, you could have just asked,” the genie cooed, and blew Marco a kiss as he vanished, sending a heart-shaped orange smoke ring to hit Marco in the face with the scent of musk and spice. When nothing seemed to change, Marco shrugged and loaded up his truck for work.

At the first client’s house, Marco dealt with the usual white housewife cooing over his big muscles and blue-collar masculinity with a roll of his eyes. But then the woman’s son, a lean twunk home for the summer, stumbled down the stairs for coffee. He glanced at Marco, who was setting up the lawnmower, and saw a flash of orange light as his nostrils filled with the scent of the Latino’s musk, and his mouth with the flavour of unwashed Latin cock.

As Marco packed his truck back up, the twunk stepped shyly up next to him. At first, he asked the usual questions about Marco’s gym routine, but then Marco raised his arms, showing his hairy pits and releasing a cloud of fresh, sweaty musk, and the white boy seemed to swallow his tongue. He handed Marco a paper with his number on it and fled.

It was the same with every client that day. At some point while he worked at each house, a cute young white boy would walk up and hand Marco his number. Some were little femme twinks, others buff jocks, and a couple were cute hairy cubs. All were shy, pretty, and lived in the rich neighbourhoods Marco worked in. While he was in the office that afternoon, Marco was so busy talking to all his new boys that he fell behind on the accounting.

That evening, Marco’s house was full of the voices of hot young guys. They filled the dining table, the couches, and the patio Marco had built with his own hands. Marco barbecued to his heart’s content and wandered among the boys with his own plate. As he greeted each new boy, Marco instinctively pulled them in for a firm kiss and grope, then said “Hola, mi chiquita.”

As the night went on, the boys got rowdier and hornier. The rich, potent smell of Marco’s musk and the genie’s magic filled the rapidly heating space, and Marco found himself on his bed in a happy pile of rich white boys desperate to sniff and lick him all over. Just at the stroke of midnight, the genie heard Marco, facefucking a little twink while some jocks and cubs worshipped him, mutter, “I wish I could see myself fuck this little gringo.”

A blast of magic suffused every corner of the house with musky orange smoke. When it cleared, Marco’s bed was surrounded by film cameras, taking different angles as he shoved his thick Latin dick into the white twink’s throat. In the spare room, two of the nerdier boys sat naked at monitors and called shots for the stream. Each room had a camera setup, including a hidden corner on the patio and a secluded bower in the garden.

Once he was done with the twink and a sweaty musk worship session with a couple of jock boys, Marco got dressed for bed in a pair of stained white briefs and turned to camera one. “That’s all for tonight, gringos,” he told his viewers in an playfully thick Spanish accent. “Come back tomorrow once I’m done working hard on your lawns.” He fondled his pouch, and the stream cut.

As Marco stood by the door, kissing his boys goodbye, one young lad caught sight of a weird lamp sitting next to Papi Marco’s dildo collection.

Idea with inspiration from a chatbot of my own creation.

Click here to see the genie’s next master.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

#genie #wish #reality change #male transformation #daddification #blue collar tf #latino tf #muscle tf #musk tf #dumber tf #race change #genie of the lamp #male tf #all fwkong

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Scripted Bracket — Round 3

Propaganda

Peter Nureyev (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel):

His character is the reason the term "Homme Fatale" became a thing

Homme fatale, living by the mantra of be gay, do crime. V secretive and just the right amount of flirty. Also I love him

He’s a slutty master thief who slept with a detective he went on 1 date(murder case) with and then fell ass over tea kettle in love. Literally can’t think of anything sexier

Antigone Funn (Wooden Overcoats):

An extremely agoraphobic mortician of a local funeral home who has every disease. Nervous wreck. Makes noises when stressed. An artist at heart (her embalming fluid is imbued with the fragrance of cinnamon).

she's the goth gf of your dreams. she's an undertaker, a romance novelist, a hot air balloon pilot, and she has interiority for days

It's antigone or unfollow me

please, everyone, antigone deserves this. she ghost-wrote a wildly successful erotic novel and then faked the death of the fake author. she didn’t leave her house for 17 years except to go see horny french films every thursday. she accidentally ended up in a love triangle with a hot domme lesbian circus ringmaster and her own employee. she broke up with a doctor after one date because he didn’t respect her career (and also his parrot hated her). she experienced years of carnal yearning for her professional rival only to finally realize she was actually okay on her own. she drinks embalming fluid. she thinks of funerals as an art form. she was diagnosed with depression as an infant. she wanted to be a clown when she grew up. her hero is a historical female scientist who has a statue with her tits out. she’s been attacked by owls. a bunch of children thought she was a forest witch. the rest of the village thought she was dead. she has committed multiple counts of breaking and entering. she designed artisanal chocolates that put you in a temporary coma. she can’t eat her own chocolates because she’s allergic to everything. she attracts shadows like a magnet. she’s a woman in STEM. if you have any love in your heart for goth weirdgirls you’ll do the right thing. ANTIGONE SWEEP

GUYS PLEASE

PLEASE VOTE FOR ANTIGONE!!!!!

CMON DON’T LET MY GIRL “CANNONICALLY WANTED BY EVERYONE ON THIS ISLAND” LOSE!!!

Considering committing voter fraud for Antigone. My girl 😔

Vote Antigone because do you understand how narratively satisfying it would be if she won??? Season one? She could barely go outside her mortuary. Season four? Modeling for a sexy calendar. THE CHARACTER GROWTH!!!!!!! Nothing more sexy than that.

COME ON Y'ALL VOTE ANTIGONE. VOTE FOR MY HORNY GOTH QUEEN!!!!!

VOTE ANTIGONE OR DIE

IF YALL DONT VOTE ANTIGONE UR BLOCKED. This isn’t even a joke.

#Round 3 #Peter Nureyev #Antigone Funn #The Penumbra Podcast #Second Citadel #Wooden Overcoats

[crazyunsexycool]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

word count: 1.0k

Summary: Steve feels a bit insecure as he watches a coworker flirt with you at a party.

Warning: bit of insecure Steve, lil bit of angst

A/N: Here is the 4th part The earpiece!

Steve wanted to act as if he wasn’t a jealous person but he was. It stemmed not from you interacting with other people but from his insecurities. In many ways even when you looked at him and saw just Steve, he was the small kid from Brooklyn who couldn’t ask a dame out to save his life. Then you came along and changed his world, even when he thought he messed up with the whole earpiece incident. He loved you. It wasn’t a sweet innocent love either, it was all consuming and burned wildly in his whole being. So seeing as other men were as captivated by you as he was made his blood boil. A hurricane of doubt and negative thoughts started to form in his head. He questioned if he was worth the effort. Steve couldn’t help but wonder what you saw in him. 

It was as if you had heightened senses of your own because suddenly your eyes connect with Steve’s from across the crowded room. You smile at him brightly, your eyes lighting up. Steve couldn’t help but smile back, yet that same pesky feeling bothered him as you turned back to your conversation. 

It was only a few minutes. You’d gone to the bathroom and on the way back your coworker stopped to talk to you. But he got to see you every day so Steve couldn’t understand why he had to talk to you during a party too. It didn’t help that this was the same guy that kept flirting with you at any chance he got.

“It’s not a good look on you, pal.” Bucky says as he stops next to Steve.

“What?” Steve looks at Bucky.

“This whole broody, trying to not look jealous thing you got going on.” 

Steve scoffs and looks back at you, his jaw clenching when the other man places a hand on your arm which you quickly pulled away. He mutters a curse under his breath as jealousy rears its ugly head. Steve watches as the other man gets too close for your comfort. 

“I’ll be right back.” He says before stomping his way over to you. 

You felt him before you saw him. The scent from his cologne was comforting as he came up behind you. Steve’s hard chest pressed against your back and you immediately relaxed. Looking over your shoulder you smiled up at him but Steve’s eyes were on your coworker Paul. Sure he was handsome with his dark brown eyes and matching hair but he wasn’t like Steve. You’d heard rumors around the tower about Paul and his slutty reputation. That was something you weren’t interested in experiencing. Besides, you had Steve, he was the most caring person you’d ever met. Why would you trade down? 

“Captain, how are you doing?” Paul sends an annoyed look Steve’s way.

“I’m doing great Peter, how about you?” 

“It’s Paul actually.” 

“Oh.” Is all Steve replies. “I hope you don’t mind but I came over here to steal my girl.” 

Paul’s smile fades slowly as his eyes bounce between you and Steve. “But we were having such a lovely conversation. Why don’t you join us?”

“Actually Paul I do need to get going. See you on Monday.” 

“Bye, Patrick.” Steve says.

“Come on,” Paul grabs your hand and tries to get you to stay. “We’re having a good time.”

“I’d very much like to spend time with Steve. I’ll see you on Monday.” 

“But-“

“You heard what she said, now let her go.”

Steve takes your hand and leads you out to a quiet area outside so that he can finally spend time with you alone. 

“What was that about?” 

“What?” Steve asks while putting on his most innocent act. 

“That whole snippy attitude back there. And don’t give me those doe eyes, I know what you’re doing.” 

Steve sits down on a lounge chair and pulls you by your hips so that you’re standing between his legs. He looks up at you like you hung the moon and the stars just for him but there’s uncertainty behind it all. You rest your hands on his shoulders and wait for him to say something. 

“I’m sorry. I just hated seeing the way Preston was looking at you and trying to touch you.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the fact that he wouldn’t call him by his actual name.

“Steve, baby, where is this coming from? Did I do or say something to make you feel like this?” 

“No, not at all. It’s just me.” 

“Baby.” You cup his cheeks and make him look up at you. “I only want you. There is no one else in this world that I would want to be with other than you. Not Captain America or Steve Rogers, the leader of the Avengers. I want to be with Steve, the kid from Brooklyn who gets me flowers just cause and who leaves me little notes and doodles around my office just to make me smile. The Steve who would race to my apartment just to get rid of a spider because I’m scared of them. What do I have to do to make you realize that?”

“Nothing. I just need to remember that you see me for who I am.”

“And that I love you no matter what.”

The words wash over him and they calm the storm he’d been creating in his head. “You love me?” Steve said incredulously.

“Of course.” You smile and nod.

Steve stands and pulls you in for a kiss. He leaves you breathless.

“I love you too.” 

You giggle against his lips as you both say those three little words to each other a few more times. Steve pulls away and takes your hand, leading you back in and through the party.

“Where are we going?” You ask with a laugh.

“I’m gonna show you how much I love you.”

When you get to the elevators Steve hits the buttons multiple times. You turn him around and distract him with a kiss. When he pulls back again and looks up he makes eye contact with Paul. With a smirk on his face, Steve palms your ass and kisses you again. 

He really didn’t have a reason to be jealous. You love him and he loved you but the angry face Paul made was still priceless.

Permanent taglist:

@rebekahdawkins

@cjand10 

@nalny5 

@Sturchling 

@angywritesstuff 

@seitmai

@writing-for-marvel

@goldylions 

@almosttoopizza 

@littleseasiren 

@pono-pura-vida

@talesofadragon

@midnightramyeoncravings

@bunnygirlwriter876

@pandaxnieenke

@kandis-mom

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@braveclementine

#Steve Rogers x reader #Steve rogers #captain America #Steve Rogers x you #Steve Rogers x y/n

[backtothefanfiction]

A Christmas Blessing: The Gift of Moving On | frat!Peter Imagine

Summary: You and your boyfriend had a messy breakup at Halloween. Almost two months later you think you’re ready to move on, even if he’s still holding on.

Warnings: jealousy, messy break up, sweet Peter, fluff

Word Count: 1K+ (wrote in app again so not completely sure)

A/N; it’s Christmas party season and I was scrolling through fics when this idea came to me so here we go.

He couldn’t help but watch you. It had always been the way. Ever since his frat brother had brought you back to the house that first time. Peter was mesmerised. By your hair, your eyes, the way you dressed. The way you had 5 different laughs. The way you always found time to say hi to him when you came over to the house. If you came over before Matt had gotten back from the library or a lecture or wherever the heck he was, you’d grab a drink for the two of you and just sit with him and talk. It was always just so easy for you both to talk.

It had only gotten worse after you and Matt broke up at Halloween. You’d caught him hiding out in one of the upstairs rooms of a party over at the Theta Beta Phi house, making out with some girl in a slutty super girl costume. The argument the two of you had had, instantly killed the party. Peter had gotten so angry with Matt when he’d found out what he’d done. If the party hadn’t been over when you walked out, it definitely was after he punched Matt in the face on the front lawn.

He couldn’t help but watch you now. Your gaze was focused on something in the adjacent room. Your cup was held frozen in mid air near your chin with one hand, while your other arm wrapped protectively across your chest. You were stood alone, your back to a messy stack of shelves. Where once you looked so comfortable at parties surrounded by friends, now you just looked like you’d rather be elsewhere. And that made Peter sad.

“What are you staring at?” He asked as he approached, but as soon as he was stood in the right angle to follow your gaze, he knew exactly what you were looking at.

Matt stood in the hallway with the girl from the Halloween party. However instead of her slutty super girl outfit, she wore a slutty Santa costume. She was giggling at every word he said. His finger reached out to play with her hair. He took one look in the direction of Peter and you, before he plucked the girls hat off of her head and placed it on top of his own, his body shuffling closer to her.

“It’s like watching a car crash.” You say to Peter. “She doesn’t even realise he isn’t actually into her. He’s just trying to make me jealous.”

“How come?”

“Because I wouldn’t take him back.” You said, finally looking away from them as you took a sip of your drink.

“Good. I’m glad.” Peter said, only slightly fumbling over his words. “I mean, he was a dick and you are way too good for him.”

“Are you allowed to say that?” You question as you adorably tilt your head at him. “Isn’t he your fraternity brother. Isn’t that part of the brotherhood and the pact, to always have each other’s backs.”

“Yeah but I think the rules my Aunt and Uncle taught me about not being a dick to women kind of overrule any fraternity pacts or rules.”

“Well,” you say, lifting your cup towards him for him to cheers with his own, “I guess that must make you a rare breed of man, Peter Parker.”

Your words make him blush as he looks down into his cup as you take a sip from your own.

You both stand with each other in awkward silence for a moment until another fake giggle draws your attention back into the hallway where Matt is now making out with the skinny blonde in the red and white mini skirt. His hand groping at her ass for everyone to see. Peter’s head turns back to looking at you as the expression on your face turns sour.

“He looks like he’s trying to swallow her face.” You comment. “Please tell me we never looked like that.” Peter’s brow furrows, so you elaborate. “When we were drunk making out at parties. Please tell me we didn’t look like that.”

“You didn’t look like that.” He said as you both watched Matt and the girl break apart only long enough for her to giggle, take his hand and starting leading him upstairs.

“I’m sorry.” Peter says.

His statement throws you. It takes you a moment to work out why. It’s because you’re relaxed. For the first time in weeks, your chest feels steady and not jittery. Your mind is calm and not racing a hundred miles a second with a thousand different hypothetical’s. You don’t feel intimidated by Matt or the girl. You feel sorry for them. You think on the way he had come grovelling to you just days ago, begging for your forgiveness only to now be shoving his tongue down another girls throat.

“Don’t be sorry.” You turn and say to him. “She can have him.” And it’s then you really look at Peter. He’s handsome, despite the bleached blonde hair he currently had because of some dare. He’s not like those other frat boys. He has a moral code. He’s always been friendly to you and if rumours are true, he stuck up for you after you had left the Halloween party.

“So um, are you headed home for the Christmas-“

“Would you like to go out with me?” You suddenly asked him, catching him off guard.

“Um uh, like right now or?”

“Or later. Tomorrow? Friday night? Whenever.”

“Uh um, uh,” he struggles with his words, his wildest dreams coming true like it’s some Christmas miracle. “Yes. Yes!” He finally gets out. There’s a pause between you both before he says, “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not too soon or-“

“No. I’m sure.” You smile at him and he feels like the cow that just jumped over the moon. “It’s just,” you say, bashfully looking down into your cup, “I just realised that I don’t think I was ever really supposed to be with Matt, you know.”

The way you look at Peter says so much. It’s always been easy for you two to talk to each other and it seems that also goes for silent conversations as you slowly inch closer to one another.

Before he knows it, he’s reaching a hand up to your face, guiding you closer to his own. You don’t protest as he kisses you, instead breathing a deep sigh of relief. Yeah, you thought to yourself, she can have your shitty ex boyfriend, you have something better right here.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #andrew!peter parker #peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker x reader #frat!peter x reader #frat!peter #fluff #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x you #andrew!peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #spider-man #tasm!peter parker #andrew peter parker #andrew peter imagine

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

Can you make a story where dark Peter uses a vibrator on the fem!reader till she squirts and shakes and fucks her till she's cock dumb

yaaa ya ya

THE TEASE- P.B PARKER

Pairing: Darkish! Peter x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 750

Warnings: SMUT, squirting, over stimulation, use of vibrator on reader, biting, degradation kink, darkish stalker content, choking, pet names, peter finishing inside causes he has a breeding kink

“This is your fault.” he whispered, hand tightening around your neck the vibrator buzzed against your swollen bud.

A gasp torn between a moan escaped your lips as his hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, before he gave it a little bite.

“You just had to be such a little tease, with that slutty little skirt of yours.” he growled gaze slipping down to where he held the toy, watching as your ankles dug into the sheets as you attempted to get away from the overwhelming sensations.

It was getting harder and harder to think, and you could barely focus on his words as he coaxed them in your ear.

“I was watching you today, you know. But you didn't see me- did you? No, no too focused on that little lecture hm?” he pressed, rubbing the vibrator in little circular sensations against your clit as you moaned and panted.

It was a mix between pleasure and pain- what he was giving you, and the lines seemed to be blurring over one another the longer you felt your body uncontrollably shake.

“Peter I’m sorry-” you gasped, clawing at his hand down by your cunt, but it wouldn't budge. Peter had you pinned down and spread open- just the way he wanted you.

Vulnerable and alone, for him. He deserved you. You just weren't focused enough on him to notice that.

“You are eh? Cute.”

“I am!” you protested, the whiney tone in your voice rewarded with his hand tightening around your airway. He knew just how to choke you properly, just squeezing the sides of your neck gently.

He had done his research after all, he didn’t want you passing out on him yet. He had so much to tell you.

Still, whether it was from the pressure of the stimulation, your vision began to go fuzzy around the edges. He tsked, shaking his head mockingly as he heard your breaths quicken, knowing you were getting close.

“Listen to how wet you are angel. Your cunnie gettin all messy sweets?” Peter asked gently, making your squeeze your eyes shut, as if you were bracing yourself for what was coming.

His smile turned evil, mocking, and you hated him for it. You hated how well he knew your body and how to tease you, making the rubber band in your core snap past its breaking point.

Every single time he pushed you, and every single time you broke harder than before.

“No, no please.” you begged, yet your words were useless. With a little twist of his wrist, the toy hit just the right spot, the eye contact he gave you the final push to send you over the edge.

You screamed, begging him as the orgasm washed over you. “Shh, shh just let it happen, princess. You need to stop fighting it.” he cooed, hand releasing from your neck to stroke your cheek, a stray tear lingering on the heated skin.

Wetness squirted from you, spraying over the sheets and Peter's hand as you mindlessly babbled to him, your words slurring together as your legs shook harder.

“Atta girl. Attaa girl.” he smiled, removing the toy from its place, setting it down before he pressed a hand down on your lower abdomen to steady you.

“Peter I can't– anymore-” you panted, words coming out between gasps as you attempted to catch your breath.

“You don't have to, but m’gonna use you for a bit okay? Just rest, let me use your princess parts.” he whispered, positioning himself despite your sleepy protests, hands coming up to claw around his biceps.

“Sensitive.” you moaned, body jerking as he wasting no time slipping inside of you, stretching you out around him as he threw his head back and moaned in pleasure- ignoring you.

“You're getting what you deserve. You're supposed to be used angel. But only from me.” he smiled sweetly, grip tightening on your thighs as he spread your legs further apart, watching as your own hands slipped down to palm your tits.

“You like this, don’t you, angel? Just a lil dumb baby, can't think for herself eh?” You nodded, moaning as he sank deeper, brushing up against your g-spot.

“Just not- not inside mkay?” you requested softly, head falling slack against the sheets as sleep spread through your bones. “Whatever you say angel.” he smirked smugly, knowing your request go un funfilled.

Oh well, he thought, beginning to piston into you for his own pleasure. Oh well.

#peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker spiderman #peter parker smut #peter parker #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x fem #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x oc #peter parker fandom #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #andrew!peter fanfiction #andrew!peter parker #tasm andrew garfield #andrew spiderman #andrew garfield #andrew!peter x reader #andrew!peter fluff #andrew!peter smut #tasm fic #tasm smut #tasm fanfiction #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!spiderman x you #the amazing spiderman #tasm!peter x reader #the amazing spiderman 2 #tasm

[periprose]

Hello dear! My request for you is: TASM Peter Parker + IDFC by Blackbear. I think the music fits perfectly in the dilemmas of Peter and fem!reader. What do you think? Thanks ;)

ahhh this is the best idea ever!! I love this song lol thank you for requesting it!

note: I'm writing Peter as the person feeling the emotions of the song

/

Peter watches as you get more inebriated. God, how many drinks could you throw back, the burning amber liquid seeming to have no effect on your throat?

His jaw clenches as he watches you giggle, snort, stumble over your words towards Flash. Flash Thompson, big blonde jock, not worthy of your attention, not like this. Flash would never know how much pining and groveling Peter had done just to get you to look at him the same way.

And last week? You did. You smiled at him, as if he was the only person in the world, the only guy worthy of your attention. You smiled and Peter's stomach exploded with butterflies and nausea and all those typical feelings that Uncle Ben had always told him would happen.

You certainly don't remember any of that right now. You're drunkenly giggling- your face reaches closer to Flash's own at the dinner table, and Peter cringes as he tries to look away, heart shattering as Flash combs back a piece of your hair. He knows- he knows- you might as well have been another pretty girl at Flash's disposal, and that he would never treasure you as you should be.

Flash licks his lips, and Peter feels himself give in. To the anger that he swore he'd never feel- the agony he feels because he's always thought you liked him. That one day, you would put a resolution to this dynamic you had with him- he just never thought it would be like this.

Peter gets going. He takes his bag, his camera, everything he brought for your stupid party, and heads out the front door, slamming it a little too hard.

Flash moves, perturbed. "Looks like that psycho is getting into one of his moods again."

"Oh, no..." You don't know why Peter's run out the door like that, but you let go of Flash, who to his credit, doesn't really mind.

"Peter, Peter!" You call after him, wrapping your arms around yourself. It's cold outside and your drunken stupor does not help.

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk. The street light illuminates him, and you don't notice how Peter's hand is balled into a fist.

"Hey. Why are you leaving, what happened?" You look up at him in confusion.

Peter can tell you're still too drunk to really talk things out with him. The fact that you're even pretending to care with him right now hurts. But despite that... he still wants you to lie to him. To be compassionate- even if Peter knows it's fake, he feels like it's better than nothing.

Unfortunately, you're still rather drunk, and Peter has to steady you with the most chaste of touches. He watches as you stumble over your words, not once, not twice, but three times of trying to work up something to say. And he just... he doesn't want your half-assed, drunken pity.

He knows for a fact you don't love him. That it was a fake dynamic concocted by his own idiocy.

"P-Peter?" You mumble up at him. "I don't want you to be unhappy with me. What's wrong?"

Peter shuts his eyes, feeling embarrassed to have to comfort you, but he doesn't know what else to do.

"Nothing's wrong. I didn't have anything to do at the party, so I thought I'd go back home." Peter shrugs as if it was completely nonchalant on his part. "No offense, but I was bored out of my mind. And I don't fucking care enough to exchange niceties and make other people feel comfortable."

You flinch, and Peter feels bad for just a moment. Just a second. Becuase you're not sober, so you're not in the best state of mind.

But he's been playing the fool this entire time, and he thinks it would be nice if you felt the same for a bit. Just for a day or two. He really doesn't care to see what you get up to at your fun, cool party, with fun, cool drinks and slutty, slutty hook ups.

"I... I'm sorry. If I knew that..." You swallow, looking down at the sidewalk, feeling humiliated by Peter's comments. You've always tried to be a good friend for him- you've always wanted to do right by him.

But something about the coldness in his tone right now tells you to back off. And you do so, with a lump in your throat.

"I would tell you to stay, but, um..." You shake your head. "Have a safe walk home."

Peter nods tightly and moves quickly, telling himself that he doesn't care. He didn't see the tears hanging from your eyelashes. He does not care especially because you're willing to tamper with his feelings so much.

He thinks that you'll be fine. You'll have Flash whispering sweet nothings into your ear, pressing kisses on your cheek and neck, and you won't ever pay him mind ever again. He represses the urge to go and make things right- go and fix things so you won't end up with a douche like Flash.

Peter knows no one has ever cared about him. He knows he's a bit of a nerd, an anti-social weirdo, and even if you made the effort to bridge the gap... he feels it's better this way. Why change?

He works on not giving a fuck. He pretends to not care when Aunt May asks how the party was. He does not lie awake thinking about you in the throes of passion, mouth open, chest flushed and red as Flash begins his disgustingly inelegant thrusts. Especially because it should've been him doing that, him and you together, and since it isn't- he doesn't fucking care.

/

Peter is surprised to see you sitting at his dinner table the next morning.

He's half asleep, but entirely awake when he sees you. Your eyes are bright, misty, a little teary- you have clearly been waiting for him. It looks as if you've spent some time regretting what you did to him.

Good, Peter thinks. Good that you understand how I felt for once.

"Aunt May let you in?" Peter asks, and you meekly nod. Peter doesn't have it in him to scoff at you- you're too clearly upset and he, try as he might not to care, still doesn't want to see you cry.

He thinks for a moment that you might've done so last night.

"Peter. Please, talk to me." You stand up from the table, but Peter isn't really listening, because he's grabbing cereal and a bowl, and trying to ignore you.

"You said everything you needed to say yesterday." Peter shrugs.

"No way. We didn't even get to talk about anything before you ran off." You cross your arms, but your gaze is still soft. "What did I do wrong? Tell me, so I can make things right."

"Sure, tell me a few more of your pretty little lies. That'll help." Peter scoffs with a heaping amount of pessimism, and you look even more hurt than you did yesterday.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Really?" Peter shuts the fridge a little too hard after pulling out the milk. "Okay, play dumb. I don't really care anymore. You've been out all night, probably fucking Flash, and you want me at your beck and call to be... what? Some sort of pushover? Do you have any idea how ruthless it is to mess with people's feelings?"

You gasp, but Peter isn't finished.

"You never loved me. You never even liked me." He shakes his head, getting a resolute look of sadness on his face. "You know how hard it is to be me? Be a fucking loser who has to try so hard to even get people to like him a little bit?"

Peter bites back some of his resentment, knowing that he doesn't want your pity. "Never mind. I don't care, just live your life without me."

"Peter. How can you just-" You inhale, a tight short breath that has Peter feeling that maybe he said too much.

Oh well. Seeing you again had ignited those angry feelings, and even if he pretended not to care- he still needed to speak on it.

"Me and Flash aren't anything. We didn't even kiss, for crying out loud-" You run your hand through your hair, feeling insane. "I'm sorry. I should've watched how close I was to him. I got a little bit too drunk."

"Yeah, you did." Peter snaps back.

"I really, really like you, asshole." You shut your eyes, feeling bile in your throat from how Peter seems to be judging you so harshly. "I thought I did. I don't know anymore. I pretended not to give a fuck because you always- you seem so aloof, Peter, and it was easier to pull away because I didn't want to get hurt- but I'm actually fucking scared of losing you. I guess I should've made that more obvious."

Peter pauses. Feels his heart thump a little harder, this time with immense regret. He loves you, he knows he does, and hearing the same thing from you? The same feeling of inadequacy, of wanting to be enough but having to pretend not to care?

Peter grabs your arm as you try to leave. You're stubborn, but he shakes his head- he looks remorseful.

"I'm sorry." He pulls you into a hug, one that you don't respond to for a moment, until you tentatively hug him back. "I am an asshole. I love you a lot, you must know that. It's not an excuse- I just wanted you to feel as bad as I did."

"Well, mission accomplished." You mumble into his chest. "I'm sorry, too."

"I thought I was like, some fool that was easily duped by a pretty girl like you." Peter admits, and you laugh. "No, really. You're too good for me."

"Let me decide that, Peter." You shake your head at him. "Come on. Why don't we try this again?"

Peter agrees, and thinks now is a better moment than ever to do what he wanted to do yesterday. He combs back your hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss there, and then leans in and kisses you, relishing in the fact that you tipped your head back so easily. Just for him, no one else.

#peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter x you #peter parker x you #spider man x reader #spider man x you #tasm x reader #tasm x you #requests #drabbles #tasm #the amazing spider man #the amazing spiderman #andrew garfield

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

prompt from @scealaiscoite

prompt: "please, i'm begging you. don't make me watch the nightmare before christmas again."

tags: @illiana-mystery, @fangsandroses, @onedirectionlovers2014

warnings: swearing, drinking

“Peter!” I yelled as Charley and Amy curled up on the other couch. “Get your ass in here!”

“give me a second asshole!” Peter yelled back, making the other couple laugh. “You’re making me carry all the fucking food. Least you could do is help!” Laughing, I stood up. Amy laughed as I slowly started to walk to where Peter was. “Fina-fucking-ly.” Peter laughed when I appeared on the doorway. I flipped him off as I grabbed the drinks and what I could of the food.

“Damn. Those kids sure eat a lot.” I laughed as we carried everything to the living room. “Alright. Foods on the table don’t kill us trying to get it. AH!” I screamed as charley lunged for the popcorn bowl, making amy laugh as she grabbed a drink from the other pile. “Fucking piranhas.” I muttered as I sat down next to Peter. He laughed as the younger couple settled in.

“what are we watching?” Peter asked.

“nightmare before Christmas.” Amy said, earning an eye roll from both males. Charley and Peter shared a look before turning towards their respective partners. Charley was talking to Amy in a hushed tone while Peter raised his eyebrows at me.

“darling, I love you. You know I do.” He took my hands and rubbed his thumbs over my knuckles. “But please, I’m begging you. Don’t make me watch nightmare before Christmas again.” I smiled softly at him.

“Pete, it’s not for me. Amy has never seen it and this is her pick.” I explained. Peter looked over at the other couple arguing and nodded. “After that you can pick whatever you want. I don’t care if it’s the bloodiest, most violent movie ever made. But please. Let her have this.” Peter nodded again.

“alright.” He whispered. “But this is the last time. After this, you have no excuses.” I nodded and Peter looked over at the younger couple. He whistled to get Charley’s attention. “Hey chuck! Drop it. We’re watching it.” Charley opened his mouth to say something but Peter gave him a look that made Charley nod. Amy looked over at us and smiled in thanks. “You know you owe me for this right?” Peter whispered in my ear as the movie started.

“yeah.” I whispered back. “That slutty Halloween costume you wanted me to wear to the hard rock party? How about I wear it just for you?” Peters eyes lit up and he nodded before kissing me.

“that’ll cover your debt.” He smiled at me before settling in to watch the movie.

#Peter vincent #peter Vincent x reader #Peter Vincent fanfic #Peter Vincent fanfiction #Peter Vincent imagine #David tennant #david tennant fanfic #David tennant fanfiction #David tennant imagine #David tennant x reader

[ladybirdswritings]

Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel sees another side of you that he didn’t expect. Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

next chapter

nine ,, miguel’s POV

“Didn’t think you were gonna show up, hot shot.”

I didn’t either, Jessica.

The thought only exists in my mind.

The lights are a melting pot of colors and flashes, scent of hard liquor and fancy perfume tangling with my senses. Peter is DJ’ing tonight, as he does every other night of the week. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t, I pay him well.

I’m not happy about my presence in this place in the slightest. No, I don’t like this. I think it’s stupid, a waste of my time. But my girls— they think of me like I’m a god. Their god. I’m rewarding them today.

It’s a Friday. The music is the worst on Fridays. It’s cheap, predictable, unpleasant. It’s pounding in my ears. Jessica, the infuriating woman. She’s enjoying this, I know she is. Enjoying seeing me like this. Out of an element that I own, somehow.

This club, another one of my mindless money-making investments. Just the notion, the idea of my name being attached and slutty women show up to dance—wearing dresses that barely cover their thongs. It amuses me. Unclassy as it is.

Maybe they hold on to hoping I will stop by eventually. They’re lucky today. I never have before.

Pretty girls have flashed me hungry eyes just at the door. Lacy only offered them bittersweet ones back. Vicious girl.

My gaze drifts to the sunshine bathed drink in Jessica’s hand, then to her swollen stomach. I snatch it from her, allowing the cold lemon juice to tangle itself around my tongue. The same tongue that was just buried between Lacy’s legs.

It’s virgin…

The drink, not Lacy.

Jessica sucks her teeth as she grabs it back from me— coconut scented coils bouncing with each movement she makes. She orders me to get my own, and my strawberry blonde toy with a dress that is even more nauseating than the lilac number she wore last I saw her— she’s annoyed.

She’s annoyed often lately. Y me está sacando de quicio.

The girls that I fuck— or have fucked. Their job is to keep quiet. My job is to fuck them. How complicated could that possibly become? Very, with women.

Always an “I love you” or “I want more,” and if none of it? Then they’re brats. Annoying, whiny little brats. My Lacy is lucky, the last girl who sucked her teeth and complained this much got my teeth marks indented into her breasts. Purple and blue for weeks. She enjoyed it. The auburn-haired girl— forgot her name already.

I told her to behave tonight, yet she inserts herself— clearing her throat loudly so a certain COO of mine will hear.

Qué ingenuo…

Jessica only looks her up and down once, her distaste painted on her features as if they’ve been permanently needled in. She won’t say hello to Lacy, she doesn’t need to. None of them do. Yet no matter how many times I tell her that, she still expects it.

Maybe that’s it. That feeling pushing me backwards. Lately it’s as if she expects to be treated like she’s more. She’s not. She’s two heavy breasts and a swollen mouth. That’s all. That’s all they all were. I told them from the beginning, I gave them an out. A choice. They stayed, they fell, they were cut off immediately.

The frustrating thing— her eyes snap up to mine. Waiting. Expecting me to correct Jessica. Qué chistoso. I’d like to keep my balls right where they are.

I narrow my gaze at her. Testing her, speaking without my mouth.

Behave.

The brat, she just sucks her teeth and tugs on my hand. I hate it. That reaction. My dick would shrivel if it could.

No, I want her to submit to my demands or defy in the sweet mischievous way she once charmed me with— not that sour attitude. But god, my Lacy. I don’t want to find another fuck. I don’t have the time and I doubt they’d be just as pretty.

“Let’s go dance.”

She is a smart girl, or rather— she likes to think she is. She brushes off her sour notes as southern sass and nothing more. Her attitude, her demands. I see her, as I see all my women. She’s daddy’s little princess who gets the world and more just by the snap of her fingers. She acts sweeter than she tastes and bats those pretty lashes at me but— it never works the same way it does on her father. I know her core, I’ve tasted it with my tongue. She’s a bitter thing behind all that beauty.

A creature who’s smarter than she acts, at least with me.

But I? I could give less of a shit so long as I have a cock attached to me, one I can shove down her throat to keep her quiet. She looks so pretty like that.

“Ve a bailar, hermosa.”

I don’t offer her an explanation as to why I won’t be going with her. Truthfully, I don’t need to. I’ve seen her dance before, she’s hopeless. Besides, being here is enough effort for me. I’d rather keep morale on a tight leash, right at the bar where I can stare angrily at Jess all night.

Lacy looks ridiculous. Her eyes searching the air for an invisible answer. I tilt my head at her.

Is she having a fucking stroke?

It’s then that I remember— she doesn’t understand me. I hear Jessica stifle her amusement beside me— and I glare at her as I take a seat at the bar. My bar. I need a drink, or seven. I’ve had just the right amount of tonight already.

“Dance.” I demand. It takes her a quick moment to realize that I mean without me. She’s got lemon on her tongue as she storms away from me. Into the sea of people grinding against each other. Nauseating. I never promised her a romantic night.

Jessica fucking Drew, she’s smirking at me as she sips her virgin lemonade.

“Cállate.” I demand. She raises a brow at that, silken skin glistening under my spotlights as she swirls the melting ice round and round in her cup. The bartender, Ben, he’s quick. That’s why he works for me. My bourbon is served swiftly and exactly how I want it to be. He’s trained to do it the way I demand. He’d be fired otherwise. Like that girl.

I take my time, sipping the bitterness from the glass with almost as much attention and care as I put into sipping the cum out of Lacy’s core before we arrived. When I’m ready, I flick my eyes toward the nuisance beside me.

“Has he embarrassed himself yet?”

Peter.

If Jessica is the annoying, whiny, insufferable little bug on my left shoulder? That makes enough room for Peter on my right. He likes to have fun, to party and drink and eat— obviously. I don’t know why we’re friends. But we’ve been, for a long while. He did a trial run at my office— he lasted a week before I had enough. Now he’s here.

I wouldn’t leave him jobless.

Not after all of it.

“Not mister B. Parker. Never him. Actually, it’s been a pretty tame night I’ll say. Oh, just besides the bit where I met little miss Wolverine… y’know, the one with the curls.”

I draw another sip in, just staring at the riddler apparently as I try to decipher what she’s buzzing about now. Her annoying little eyes fall down to my wrist where four nasty marks indent.

Oh…

What?

Infuriating woman. I know she sees the curiosity glaze over my narrowed eyes because she laughs at me, like clockwork.

“Isn’t it just crazy how karma works? Always chomping someone in the ass one way or another. Ahhh yeah, I met her. I like that little vibe she has going, very “the woman freed” couture. She’s cute— looks like she needed a night out. You have that effect on people.”

The woman freed.

I repeat it in my head. It’s funny. Real funny.

Funny if she thinks the woman freed would be dolled up with ribbons and fucking pom poms then yeah— chistoso.

Qué ridículo.

Karma.

I roll my eyes, downing the last bit of my drink before signaling for another.

I think I’ve had my fair share of fucking karma in my life. Maybe even just bad luck. This isn’t karma. Her being here is just…

Hmm…

She’s here.

Realization melts like candle wax against my mind, encasing it with ideas on how to ensure she’ll keep her mouth shut. Keep Jameson quiet so I don’t have to show up to these ridiculous functions for stupid morale.

Maybe a look at her and a tie at the end of the endless pink ribbons she’s wrapped around my brain, and I’ll finally be done with her. Finally forget about that pretty face crying because of me. And not for fun reasons.

“Nu uh tiger, I see that look in your eyes. We don’t need any drama tonight; I’m banning you officially from going anywhere near Ribbons. Sheverine. The woman freed. Her. Anyway— besides, little Lacy might have a cow if you do… maybe the whole farm.”

She sets my idea ablaze before it’s even ripe. My jaw ticks with annoyance as my next drink is slid into my hand.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

I’m lying. She knows I am.

“Oh, is that why you sat up straighter? Or did you just want to look nice and intimidating in case she walks by?”

I huff, taking a swig of the glass that might break if I squeeze it any harder. I keep control of my annoyance.

“You were the one so concerned about her running to that hijo de puta, mi amor. Not me. Just doing you a favor so you can keep your mouth shut.”

Try to keep control of it, at least.

Jessica nods through my words, mocking that she’s paying them any real attention as her fingers swirl the straw round the rim of her cup.

“Hmm, right. Whatever you say el Rico Suave.”

Dios mío. I have to deal with this at a constant.

That doesn’t even-

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Does too.”

“No.”

“You’re just mad cause she’s pretty and you made her sad.”

“No.”

“Or maybe your ego is hurt cause she took a chunk out of your wrist.”

“No.”

“Pretty sure you’re mad cause she totally matrixed you.”

“No!”

“Do you say anything but no?”

“No…. Yes.”

“Why can’t you just swallow your pride and admit that you were wrong.”

“You know why.”

She does. She must remember, finally— because she shrinks, shutting herself up with a sip. Gracias a díos.

I’m not wrong, not ever. I don’t allow wrong to exist in my world. I’m firm. I’m an asshole. I make pretty girls cry when they piss me off but I’m not wrong. I can’t be. Not after Gabby.

Tension wraps around our throats like a wire after my words, squeezing the air to a thin line until man of the fucking hour finally uses the mic he practically begged me to allow him to have.

I was reluctant at first. His shitty pick up lines might scare the girls away. It would be bad for business.

“Alriiiiight, that’s what I like to hear. Now listen, rumor has it that right here, right now in this very moment— there’s a dancing queen among us. Oh yeah, I’m talkin’ full blown ABBA. I’ve seen her, I know you’ve seen her— light man...”

The luminescent spotlight tracks through the shadowed crowd. I know Peter, his methods. Shining the spotlight on a pretty girl brings more business. There’s plenty, tonight. The show is boring.

The crowd cheers in waves, anticipation eating at them like ants until the waves crash against the shore. Loudly. My attention is glued onto my phone, now. Countless emails. So much to do, yet here I am with estúpida one and estúpido two. Though he’s busy on stage, out of my sight.

I scroll through the stuffed inbox with disinterest, ignoring the intense gaze proving to be a method of disrupting my peace beside me. Businessmen, men who believe they’re businessmen. Pricks proposing shitty deals they think I’m too young and stupid to not see through… oh. Something different.

My finger halts above the raven letters. I open it.

Subject: Doing Well.

Good evening Mr. O’Hara, I hope this message finds you well. Sara is well. You were right, she’s responding as we suspected she would. As always, thank you for your contributions. With gratitude,

Blove, Yekaterina

My thumbs shift to type a quick reply, but the sound of lively trumpets distracts me. Dios mío, he’s gone this far with his tactics. Most of the women in here dance like live sardines cased in a can. I doubt they can dance meren—

“No shit. Looks like Ribbons can do more than just claw assholes.”

My eyes snap up immediately, and there she is.

Jessica’s joke from earlier— it comes back to me quick. And it makes sense now.

The woman freed.

No longer are there restrictive ribbons in that wild hair. No, it's loose. Free. It’s free and it’s curly. Not straight, like I believed it was. It’s not neat either, not at all— no. There are still lightning bolts laced around each lock but it’s… belleza.

This girl, she keeps surprising me.

It flows down to her elbows, soft and golden. Why on earth was she wearing it any other way?

And her dress. It fits her snugly, sparkling under my spotlights. It shows me now. She has curves that exist under those suffocating tights— yet although I see them, it leaves room for my imagination to wander. Just how I like it. No more are those awful cardigans covering worn skirts and teddy bear socks. No. She looks— ethereal.

Ahora ha captado mi atención.

Even so far away from me, I see the pink in her cheeks. Is she drunk? She’s giggling, she’s imbalanced. But oh no, not when she begins to dance. Effortlessly, swaying her hips all over my stage— all over Peter.

Unexpected.

“Careful, might bust a vein if you stare too hard.”

I don’t pay the mosquito next to me any attention. No, no my eyes are on her. La bailarina. The dancer.

The way she dances, it proves to me now more than ever that she is a witch. Casting a spell on my eyes because I can’t break away. I’m entranced, intrigued, encapsulated by this moment. By her curves, her dress, that hair. So long. So tug-able.

Maybe my drink has made me feel out of control. Maybe it’s each sway of her hips. But I could give less of a fuck right now about snapping my thoughts back. Because no, right now she’s not the little fawn that fell into my office. Right now she’s la mujer fue liberada and dios mío— can she dance.

It makes sense now, how she understood me when I cursed her in my own tongue. She’s flavorful, a beauty…

I am locked onto her, tracing each and every move with my gaze. Nothing else exists. Not until I feel it. This burning, not warmth— no. Heat. Burning on my skin like a wildfire that can’t be stopped. Those wide, innocent eyes. Gazing right in to mine.

She sees me.

She sees me in this abundant crowd and she looks, afraid. She stumbles, I watch every part. From her whisper to Peter to her descend down my steps.

Closer…

Closer.…

Fuck it.

I’m up on my feet before I give myself a chance to think, before Jessica can stop me. I hear her call after me, it’s faint— it’s not important.

I don’t know what I’m doing, I just know I need her. In some way. Some fucking way. I need to feel in control again, I need to break this spell.

People part when I walk through, they respect my presence here like anywhere else— but there’s so many of them.

“Are you joking? That wasn’t even that good I mean- I could probably do much better!”

Lacy.

She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest like a child as her gaze unfortunately lands upon me. In the crowd, looking for another woman.

Her jaw drops, offended. Appalled.

She spots the witch before I do, and she knocks on her shoulder hard as she storms off. The pathetic, drunk thing. Always seeming to fall right into my arms when I’m nearby. She would’ve kissed the tile, otherwise.

Thank god she didn’t. What a pretty face when it’s not outshined by her lively socks.

I don’t think about Lacy. I don’t think about Jessica or even myself, right now. No. I think about her hair, it’s brushing against the wrist she made bleed.

It’s as soft as I imagined it would be.

My eyes are burning into her, devouring the sight before me. Waiting. Anxiously, excitedly as she straightens— and then?

There it is.

The realization.

Her mouth goes slack, my cock twitches.

Right now, I wanna shove it in there.

She just stares at me— baffled. Behind it? She seems expectant. Awaiting something from me. Anger, I think. It doesn’t come. It’s far from what I feel right now.

The song shifts. I don’t think twice.

I spin her around with one arm. Her back falls against my chest— lifting and falling with each heavy breath I take.

I feel like an animal, biting my tongue. Fighting all the urges I have to rip that pretty little dress off and see her truly free before me. I don’t. I’m gonna take what I can get.

She’s gonna dance with me, now.

Not Peter.

My palms, they make her look like nothing more than a muñequita when she’s in my hands. They trace her sides slow, settling on her hips. I tap them twice.

Dance, baby.

She doesn’t get it.

Oh— oh thats just fine. I’ll be more direct.

“Move.” My voice is deep, guttural. Different.

Wanting.

Stupid thing, maybe she’s too drunk or maybe she’s too nervous. She walks away from me. I tug her right back.

“Not like that, cariño.” I murmur into her golden hair. It smells of sweet things. Strawberries, palo santo. Qué rica…

It takes her a moment, I wait patiently. She gets it soon enough.

Good, good girl.

Those hips. Those enchanting hips follow the rhythm in a mesmerizing set of figure eights and steps forward and back. Who taught her how to do this? I want to teach her more. So, so much more.

I feel her movements with my hands upon her hips, each dip and bend— each one, I follow them. Chasing this sudden, unexpected high that she’s given me. I can’t explain it right now, nor can I understand it. I don’t need to. Not now. Not yet.

Oh, fuck.

She’s relaxed when she dances, the tension melting into nothingness as I brush my warm palms up— past those perky breasts I gaze down at from above her. Past her postured shoulders, down her arms until her hands are clasped in my own. I lead her, now. Moving in unison with her.

I’m in control.

Even so? I feel like I’ve gone fucking crazy.

Quizás me he vuelto loco— pero dios mío…

The way she’s grinding that sweet little ass back and forth against my cock? It is the perfect amount of morale that I’ve been needing.

Isn’t that her job, anyways?

The song punches bass into our ears. Not my first choice at all but right now I don’t care, it’s not in my mind. Right now I just want to dance. With her. Take out all my frustration, all my anger and annoyance with her. Her defiance, her inability to leave my mind, all the headaches she’s caused me this week— it’s melting away with each brush of her ass again my cock.

She moves effortlessly, so naturally. So good.

Qué bonita.

I need to see that pretty face. I can’t stop myself. I twirl her again, her eyes stay cast down. Avoiding.

She’s intimidated by me.

My cock twitches again.

Maybe her mind fears me, but her body just doesn’t. It responds to my hands like it’s mine.

My grasp falls to her hips, moving with them. Lost in her, lost in this. In the strawberry, the palo santo and the sways. The wild hair, the innocent eyes, the fuck—

She looks at me again.

Suddenly, the air is thick again. Filling my mind with sense as oxygen returns to me.

She comes to.

So do I.

Qué diablos estoy haciendo?

It’s the first thought I have, but it’s not enough to make me stop. It’s enough for her, though.

I’m not the first to step back, no— I’m sure I still look like I want to devour her in front of all these people. She stumbles back.

She looks sick with herself.

Mierda.

Another story for Jameson to run.

Her eyes scan me once over, checking to be sure I’m real I assume before she runs off. The room fades back into my sight as the song ends. As do my actions.

Dios mío— what have I done?

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @dprmoon @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 | chap 9 song 🎧:

#atsv miguel #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel smut #miguel imagine #miguel o hara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara masterlist #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fluff #au!miguel o’hara #spider man 2099 #spider man #across the spiderverse #atsv #sw&p fic #silken webs & pirouettes fic #Spotify

[babybatscreationsv2]

could you maybe write something where tony takes his son peter to get some new clothes but he ends up needing “assistance” in the changing room?

I went a little heavy on the incest kink but like sue me 🤷‍♀️

...

....

Peter twisted and turned in front of the mirror. He'd thought he wanted the booty shorts but now that they were on maybe it was a little too much. And maybe so was the crop top...

He looked himself over again and again, but he just couldn't decide. He needed a second opinion and at least his dad had never shamed him for what he wore before. So he was probably trust worthy now right?

"Hey dad?" Peter called through the dressing room door.

"What's up, kiddo?"

"I think I could use some help in here."

"Need me to zip up your dress?" he teased.

"I didn't get any dresses but if you think I should..." Peter laughed back though the idea wasn't terrible. Maybe he should try one on.

Tony tapped on the door as he reached it and Peter pulled it open. He grabbed the man and pulled him in before anyone could see, just in case.

"So, what do you think?" He held his arms out and turned in a slow circle. "Is it too much?"

His dad was unusually silent, but he didn't seem upset. Peter couldn't help but blush as he was observed. He took Peter by the shoulders and turned him toward the mirror.

"That depends. What were you going for?"

Peter blushed. He was going for 'horny, available, twink' but that felt silly now. His father's fingers traced the hem of his shorts in a line from the front of his thigh to where they rest just at the bottom of his ass.

"I think these could be shorter," he said, but the teasing fell from his voice as each word came out. The tips of his fingers curled under the fabric. "Are you wearing anything under these?"

"Ugh... my briefs were too long so... no." Peter chewed his lip. This was so dumb, why did he call him in here?

"That's gonna be a problem if you end up getting the attention you're after," one wandering hand found his bare abdomen and slid down. His fingers trailed over his crotch.

"I wasn't..." Peter tried to argue, but he looked into his father's eyes and he couldn't. He looked so... interested. Those fingers kept running up and down, making it hard to breathe. "Dad?"

"This is what you wanted, right?" He palmed Peter's ass through the shorts. "You need male attention? Have I been neglecting you?"

"It's not like that."

"No? All those work trips don't bother you? You don't wish some old man would feel you up and make you call him daddy? Don't you wish it was me?" He groped Peter's cock more openly through the shorts.

"Please," Peter gasped.

"Please stop? Or please more?"

"More," he whined.

Tony pulled him back against his chest. With one hand he held his chin and tilted his head up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. With the other he pressed his palm against Peter's hardening cock. "What a little whore you've become," his father purred in his ear. He kissed the side of his neck and Peter moaned.

"Daddy-" A hand covered his mouth.

"You want someone to hear your dad touching you?"

"Please please please!" He begged under his palm. Peter squirmed in his hands. His cock ached.

"You're gonna cum in these shorts and then I'm going to buy you this slutty little outfit and you're only going to wear it for me, understand?"

"Yes, daddy."

Tony took his hand away. He watched him in the mirror. "What was that, kiddo?"

"Yes, daddy," Peter moaned.

#starker #starkercest #marvel #prompt fill #anon #ask

[fredwkong]

I’m loving your blog! I’d love a continuation of the genie story with Lars and peters. I feel it could be great continuing on with the himbo getting the genie

Not to worry, the genie will be back. He's... otherwise occupied at the moment, enjoying Mr. Peters and Lars before he takes off. He's already picked his next target, a Black muscle boy Lars picked up earlier today named Marcus.

As for right now, he's got just a moment of attention to spare for you. Bad boys who rush genies experience the consequences. Even while sandwiched between Mr. Peters and Lars, he snaps his fingers, and you're enveloped in a cloud of putrid green smoke.

As you start to cough, you feel your brain drain into your dick, which grows thick and dark. Your foreskin grows, and the musky, unwashed smell of the smoke becomes embedded in your new, cheesy brown cock.

Your new skin rushes over your body, pumping up your muscles, hair, and musk production. Your jaw sharpens to a manly edge coated in thick stubble, and your lips puff up into big slutty pair of DSLs. All you can do is run your hands through your greasy hair and sniff the musky stench coming off your sweaty body.

The feeling of the transformation has you cumming out your old life before you realise it. You groan as your load hits the keyboard, the deep, sexy growl of a total empty headed whore.

#answered ask #genie #race change #turkish tf #dumber tf #musk tf #muscle tf #male transformation #genie of the lamp #male tf #all fwkong

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character — Scripted Bracket — Round 4

Propaganda

Peter Nureyev (The Penumbra Podcast: Juno Steel):

His character is the reason the term "Homme Fatale" became a thing

Homme fatale, living by the mantra of be gay, do crime. V secretive and just the right amount of flirty. Also I love him

He’s a slutty master thief who slept with a detective he went on 1 date(murder case) with and then fell ass over tea kettle in love. Literally can’t think of anything sexier

Mabel Martin (Mabel):

the girl half-burning!!! the bitch queen of hell!!! dead girl walking!!! rot-hearted girl!!!! consort to king anna limon!!!! lesbian icon!!!!

Who is doing it like Mabel Martin? No one. She's a lesbian. She is the lamb, and the knife. She is so loved that god herself tore a hole between worlds to find her again. She tore out her own veins to bargain with the house that holds her. She is the girl half-burning, she kept a bullet that came out of her (it was hers. she birthed it), she is the Labyrinth. And she is the Minotaur.

a vote for Mabel is a vote for insane codependent lesbians everywhere 👍 also for women with large noses (the hottest of women)

Art of Mabel from @kayleerowena.

#Round 4 #Peter Nureyev #Mabel Martin #The Penumbra Podcast #Juno Steel #Mabel #Mabel Podcast

[adharastarlight]

Tis The Season

Five: Calendar

The marauders are in a band, and discussing potential merch ideas... a slutty calendar is suggested as Regulus - who's been accompanying them as they tour - is very interested in at least one of the band members participating in that. (It's not quite smut but it's very obvious where it's heading... oops?)

“I think it’s a great idea! Our fans would love it!”

James shook his head at his madman of a best friend. They’d started the band in uni, with Rem and Pete and hadn’t expected so much success. He still got shocked sometimes by the size of the crowds, by how loud they were. It was mental to him. Not as mental as this though.

“Love, we’re not making a fucking nudes calendar!”

“Remmy, you’re so dull! Please?”

“No! I’m not having the whole world seeing my boyfriend like that. No.”

Sirius flushed at the possessive tint to Remus’ voice but didn’t concede, “I didn’t say nude, I said slutty!”

“I personally think it’s a great idea.” The voice drawled from the corner of the room, the man sprawled out on the sofa. The man who was also short-circuiting James’ brain. Sirius’ brother was just as dramatic as the band’s lead singer, but he was also just as, if not more, pretty, and it was entirely unfair. He’d joined them on their tour to avoid being at home and it was beyond distracting to see him every time he walked into the trailer. Especially when he walked out of the shower in a single towel, jet black locks dripping down pale skin in tantalising trails James wanted to follow with his tongue. Not that he would. Sirius would kill him and the bloke probably wasn’t even interested.

“See! Reggie agrees with me!”

Regulus smiled a devil’s grin and ran his eyes unabashedly over James, once, twice, a third time, “I think your fans would appreciate the view.”

The brunette swallowed thickly and just stared at him, willing his voice to work after the blatant staring which apparently no one else had noticed. Pete luckily cut in before he had to think of a rebuttal to that, “I think it’s fine, but I’m not stripping. Pads, you can be in charge of the sex appeal.”

Sirius jumped up, apparently deciding this was his victory, and tugged his boyfriend up after him, “great! We’ll go and get outfits now! And I’ll tell Marls to bring her camera over!”

His boyfriend sighed but relented, ��yes, fine. Come on, Pete, James, you have to help me stop him going overboard.”

The blonde laughed and stood up to follow them out, nudging the brunette who was still staring and drooling at the younger brother, who’d gone back to idly picking at his nails. “You coming, prongs?”

He cleared his throat and nodded, stretching as he stood up. He felt the weight of the gaze on him before he looked and had to force back a smirk, “yeah, sure.”

Reg’s voice drawled out again then, “actually, Potter, the hot water’s not working. D’you think you could take a look at it? I want to have a shower.”

His brother shrugged and tugged on Rem’s hand again, “I’ll get you something good, Prongs. A hot shower would be nice when we get back, right, cheri?”

Remus scoffed and urged him out, muttering as they went, “yes, baby, we can stay in there longer if it’s hotter.”

Peter grimaced as he followed them out, letting the trailer door bang closed behind him. Leaving James alone with the gorgeous man who was currently eyeing him up as though he was a three course meal and he were dying of famine.

The brunette swallowed thickly and forced a carefree smile, “I’ll go and have a look at the water.”

“Thanks, Potter.”

He nodded and headed into the small bathroom. He hollered when he was done and almost cursed when the younger man walked in, almost pinning him against the wall due to the small space, “all sorted.”

Reg smiled that goddamn grin again and turned his back to him, “grand, could you help me with the corset? It’s awfully fiddly.”

“God help me.” He hissed the words under his breath as he started loosening the ribbons, training his eyes on the ceiling as cool skin was slowly revealed under his touch. He carefully pulled it up over the other’s head when he lifted his arms and rested it on the side.

“Mm, thank you.” He turned back to the brunette, his smile fixed in place.

James stared at him, letting his eyes track every freckle and mark and along his chest, over his surgery scars and down, down to the V and the trousers which he realised a moment too late were being undone. He almost choked, “Regulus-”

“Mmhm?”

“What’re you doing?”

He shrugged daintily and ran his hand up the other’s torso before resting it against his chest, “having a shower, why?”

The older man shivered and forced himself to look up and meet his eye, “don’t you want some privacy?”

Reg laughed, head thrown back and fuck, that neck was right there and it was almost impossible to resist, “are you playing dumb or are you really this innocent, darling?”

“God, what’re you doing to me?”

“Do you think I don’t notice you staring?”

James flushed crimson and ran a subconscious hand through his hair, “sorry, I-”

“Don’t apologise.”

“I think I should, this-”

“Don’t think. Don’t think about it.” He gripped the tee his hand was resting against and tugged him slightly closer, “don’t think at all.”

The brunette almost died on the spot before he managed to get his brain to cooperate and surge forwards, cupping the younger man’s jaw and dragging him up into a tantalising kiss which had him feeling like if he died right now, he’d die happy.

Reg groaned against his lips and buried his free hand into messy curls, he gasped as a warm hand covered his lower back, pressing him closer, dipping lower until just the tips of his fingers had slipped under the waistband of his trousers, “James.”

“Tell me to stop, Reggie.” He breathed the words against his lips, trailing kisses across his jaw and up to the spot just below his ear, whispering into his skin, “tell me to stop before I forget why this is a bad idea.”

“Not a chance.”

James cursed against his skin before kissing the same spot, biting lightly to drag out a breathy moan. He pushed against his chest gently, urging him to walk backwards out of the small bathroom. At the indignant huff he smiled, trailing his kisses black up to his ear, “I need more room to work.”

“Mm, someone needs to teach you the joys of fucking someone against a wall.”

He smiled and lifted him up, humming appreciatively when those legs wrapped around his waist, lazy arms draped around his neck, “next time.”

Reg scoffed but it was breathier than his usual, “bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time, Potter.”

“James, if you want me to touch you.”

The younger man huffed again but tilted his head back without an ounce of resistance when the brunette’s lips started their descent again, “we don’t have this much time, James.”

“I’ll bloody make time.” He almost tripped on his own drumsticks on his very distracted path to his bed, lowering the other down carefully and leaning over him, “fuck, I’ll steal time if I have to.”

“If you were so desperate, you should’ve just said something, darling.”

#it was going to be full smut but then i ran out of time... so yup #anyways... #marauders #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #dead gay wizards #james x regulus #sirius black #remus lupin #starchaser #wolfstar #peter pettigrew #marauders band au #marauders microfic #jegulus microfic #wolfstar microfic #james fleamont potter #regulus arcturus black #regulus is a little shit #regulus is a menace #james is weak for this man #james is a simp #lets face it #sirius orion black #remus john lupin #regulus black x james potter #tis the season #daily writing prompt #daily writing challenge

[gainingfiction]

Suitable

Summary: Patrick doesn’t believe in curses. He certainly doesn’t believe that the oversized suit he bought as a gag costume is cursed to make him gain weight. And yet….

(Enjoy my 2022 Halloweight-gain-story! Better late than never, right?)

~

There’s no such thing as magic suits.

At least, that’s what Patrick told himself as he donned his Halloween costume for the evening. The idea was downright laughable. He wouldn’t have given it a second thought, if it wasn’t for the serious expression on the old salesman’s face when he issued his dire warning.

That guy was just weird, Patrick rationalized. It was true: the suit had been purchased from the octogenarian proprietor of an unkempt second-hand store, a heavily-accented man named Yuri who had sworn up and down that Patrick’s prospective Halloween costume was bound by some mysterious curse.

It was literally just a suit. A very big suit, to be fair, but that had nothing to do with magic: its former owner was just fat. Massively, enormously fat, judging by the way Patrick’s slender, athletic frame was drowning in yard after yard of Italian wool.

“You are warned,” Yuri had said. “You will grow into it. Will make you big man. Very big man.”

Patrick scoffed at the mere suggestion. He’d never weighed more than 180 pounds in his whole life. Well, 183, as of this morning. There was no way he’d ever “grow into” such a comically large outfit.

Feeding his belt through the loops, Patrick felt… nothing. No supernatural tingling, no sudden urge to gorge himself at a buffet. He just felt like a fit guy in a big suit. The old man was clearly trying to deploy some strange reverse psychology as a sales tactic. And, to his credit, it had worked. Patrick shelled out twenty dollars just to prove how ridiculous he found the idea of a so-called magic garment, even if it meant that he had no idea how to describe his costume. Sexy Biggest Loser contestant, perhaps?

He studied himself in the mirror, shirtless beneath the gigantic blazer. It wasn’t his usual slutty Halloween apparel, but foregoing a shirt allowed him to show off his tight little pecs and toned abs. Patrick was proud of his hard-earned body, and the way his sculpted jawline and strong cheekbones turned heads wherever he went. No “magic spell” was going to take that away from him.

With a smug smile adorning his perfect pink lips, Patrick left for the party.

The evening wasn’t as awkward as he’d feared. The host, Priti, was an old friend from his college days, and they hadn’t seen much of each other in the two years since graduation. But she welcomed him with enthusiasm, faithfully introducing him to his fellow partygoers: her coworkers from the pharmacy, a few college classmates Patrick had long forgotten about, and, most excitingly, her absolutely stunning cousin, Arjun.

To call Arjun a hunk would be an understatement. He was a walking deity, a 6’2” sculpted fantasy clad in a form-hugging Spiderman suit. If Hollywood needed a new Peter Parker for its endless reboots, they could scarcely do better. His white teeth almost sparkled, his eyes were as warm and deep as the summer sea, his glossy hair perfectly trimmed.

Patrick was smitten from the moment Priti introduced them, and he spent the rest of the evening practically hanging off Arjun’s big, brawny biceps. He was a personal trainer, of all things, and Patrick was quick to point out how much he looked the part. But Arjun didn’t seem put-off by Patrick’s incorrigible flirtation; in fact, he gave as good as he got, trailing his large hands across the lapels of Patrick’s massive suit and praising the quality of the fabric… and what lay underneath.

They were terrible guests, lingering by the snack table, locked in their own smouldering back-and-forth to the exclusion of everyone else in the room. But Patrick didn’t care, guzzling lager after lager and making come-fuck-me eyes at his sexy new friend.

And come-fuck-him Arjun did. They left the party as soon as they could without being rude, practically running to Arjun’s tidy apartment a few blocks over. And boy, did Arjun fuck him. He was a phenomenal lay, a deft top who could throw Patrick around like a ragdoll, bending him over and absolutely railing his toned, slender ass. Patrick came like a geyser, and, after a brief respite, came again.

When they finally collapsed into an exhausted pile, both men resolved to see each other again very soon.

“Very soon”, it so happened, was the next day. And the day after that. Arjun didn’t just look like a god, he fucked like a god, and Patrick couldn’t get enough.

As the weeks passed, Patrick caught himself snacking more than usual. He never kept junk food in the house, but whenever Arjun came over, he always brought something to eat: a bag of chips, a casserole dish of homemade lasagna, a box of fresh eclairs from the bakery down the street. For a personal trainer, he certainly had a taste for fattening treats. Not that he ever ate them himself: after their marathon lovemaking sessions, when they lazed on the couch, Patrick made short work of whatever offering Arjun laid out on the coffee table, while Arjun treated himself to the most occasional of bites.

Patrick knew he was overeating, and he tried to make up for it at the gym, but the weather was getting colder, and he often found himself skipping workouts in favour of a lazy afternoon with his insatiable fuckmachine. By the end of November, Patrick realized that his pants were getting tight.

He didn’t think much of it. It was winter weight, and he’d seen plenty of guys put on a few pounds in the early days of a happy relationship. And things with Arjun were going so well. He was a trainer, after all. Surely he wouldn’t let Patrick get doughy.

And yet, as the end of the year approached, Patrick was looking very doughy indeed. He was stunned when he stepped on the scale a few days before New Years and saw “197” flash across the display. How could he be almost 200 pounds?

He took a hard look in the bathroom mirror, still steamy from his morning shower. Pudge had piled up around his middle, hiding his abs and broadening his torso. And his pecs were looking noticeably puffy.

He turned around and studied his ass. Patrick’s butt had always been his favourite feature, kept trim and perky through years of dieting and rigorous exercise. It was still round and pert, but it looked bigger, now, and softer. There was more to grab and play with. Patrick cupped a handful, eyes widening as soft flesh gave way beneath his fingers.

“I need to go on a diet,” he said, frowning as he emerged from the bathroom.

Arjun looked over at him from the bed, his muscular body splayed out amid the messy sheets. They had been seeing a lot of each other, hooking up almost every day of the week, and Patrick knew that was part of the problem: Arjun was generous with food, and his visits were wreaking havoc on Patrick’s usual gym routine. It had been nearly two weeks since his last workout, and he was starting to feel soft and flabby.

Arjun’s eyes ran across his body, and he gave a small frown. “You look great to me,” he said, trailing a hand over his own abs. Patrick could see Arjun’s boner starting to tent the bedsheets. That was a little confidence boost, at least.

“I’m almost 200 pounds,” Patrick said. Saying it aloud felt shameful, even if Arjun was used to training far larger clients at his gym. But Patrick had never been big in his life. Even spread over six feet of height, 200 pounds felt like a bigger number than Patrick was comfortable with. “I’m getting chubby.”

Arjun shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think you look sexy. Lots of guys are going for that beefy look, anyway.”

Patrick wasn’t sure about that, but he didn’t want to be argumentative. Arjun was so easygoing, the last thing Patrick wanted was to seem high-maintenance. They hadn’t talked about labels yet, but Patrick was hoping to have that conversation soon. And if he wanted to be exclusive, he didn’t want to kill his chances by broadcasting his neuroticism to the hottest guy he’d ever dated.

But he couldn’t let it go completely.  “Still,” he said, laying a hand over his heart and feeling the flesh that gathered around his nipple. “I need to start working out again. It’s been too long.”

Arjun gestured to his erection, and then patted the bed next to him: “Well, how about we have a little workout of our own?”

Patrick grinned, and nearly leapt into bed.

By mid-January, Patrick absolutely couldn’t avoid buying new pants. His usual rotation now dug into his waist almost painfully, the button protesting against his excesses. And his ass and thighs were an existential threat to the seams, which looked about one wrong move away from total collapse. 

Patrick briefly considered a return trip to Yuri’s messy boutique, but he had no desire to see that weird guy again, or get another warning about magic spells. So he ended up at his favourite thrift store, where he was helped by a very handsome Middle Eastern employee in a Blondie t-shirt.

Patrick had to admit, size 34 fit a lot better than his usual 32s, and he felt his old confidence returning as he strode into the restaurant for a hot date with Arjun.

That confidence began to wane as he sat across from his jacked dinner companion, leaving Patrick feeling distinctly unimpressive. While Patrick had opted for a loose-fitting t-shirt, hoping to disguise his winter weight, Arjun filled out a tailored button-down like he was modelling it for a catalogue.

That night, they made their relationship official. They’d been practically exclusive since Halloween, anyway, spending almost all their spare time together. They fucked relentlessly, but they were also starting to act more like a couple: cuddling on the couch, window shopping downtown… and eating. Well, Patrick was eating, whether they were dining out, or staying in for the elaborate dinners that Arjun carefully prepared. A stud who could cook: Patrick felt like he had hit the jackpot. And now that stud was all his.

He was so excited to have locked down such a catch that Patrick didn’t think twice about polishing off Arjun’s half-finished chicken parm, and then eating 95% of the cheesecake they had planned on “splitting” for dessert.

As it turned out, Arjun was quite the romantic. Now that he was Patrick’s boyfriend, his generous doting ratcheted up to the next level: other couples might swap boxes of chocolate on Valentine’s Day, but Arjun started showing up with heart-shaped boxes of chocolate truffles four weeks before that. Big boxes. Patrick didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so he dutifully munched his way through each one, even as he started to tire of so much chocolate, even as he grew uncomfortably full.

Patrick knew he should have been watching his weight, but his commitment to Arjun (and Arjun’s commitment to him) acted as a safety net, a way to avoid taking a hard look at the consequences of his new relationship. And those consequences were starting to grow: Patrick’s sides now sported a small pair of love handles, just big enough to overhang the waistband of his briefs, and a small dome of fat rested atop his torso. His ass swelled, his thighs thickened… he wasn’t just growing a gut, he was porking up all over.

When he stepped on the scale on Valentine’s Day, the number nearly made him faint. 213 pounds. This was bad. This was very, very, bad. Patrick knew he was gaining weight; his 34-inch jeans, not yet a month old, were already feeling snug. But to have stacked on 30 pounds of pure blubber in just three and a half months… Well, it almost defied belief.

For an instant, Patrick thought back to Yuri’s warning. Will make you big man. He shook his head. Surely this wasn’t the work of a magic suit. He had just gotten lazy, and perhaps a bit gluttonous. He had been to the gym exactly twice since New Years, but he was eating far more than he used to, even when he worked out almost daily. Of course he was bound to gain weight.

He broached his concerns to Arjun over dinner. “I really need to stop pigging out,” he said, eying the bread basket that the waiter had just set in front of them. He wanted to grab a piece of bread, but he restrained himself.

Arjun looked bemused. “What do you mean?” he said, as if he genuinely hadn’t noticed Patrick rapidly gaining 30 pounds.

Patrick rolled his eyes, and gestured to his middle. “Look at me. I told you I was getting chubby, and now I’m getting fat. It’s gross.”

Arjun’s face fell. “Don’t say that,” he said, reaching out to rest his hand on top of Patrick’s. “I think you’re every bit as hot as the day I met you.”

Patrick scoffed. “Yeah, right,” he mumbled, avoiding Arjun’s gaze. It was embarrassing: Arjun looked as perfect as ever; clearly he could control himself. And yet, Patrick had done nothing but laze around, sitting on his ass all day at work and then going home to eat. Having sex was about the extent of his physical activity, these days.

“I mean it,” Arjun said, firmly. “You’re gorgeous. I’m lucky to have you.”

That coaxed a smile out of Patrick, but he was still embarrassed. “Even if I’m letting myself go?”

Arjun’s face took on a defiant quality. “I hate that phrase. ‘Letting yourself go’. It makes it sound like you’ve given up on life. But you haven’t. Look at me, are you happy?”

As he gazed into Arjun’s eyes, Patrick considered it. He had the man of his dreams, things were going well at work… finally, he nodded. He was happy.

“Then you haven’t let yourself go. You haven’t given up on life, you’re enjoying life. And if it shows, it shows. I could not care less,” Arjun said, stroking Patrick’s hand, his eyes searching Patrick’s face.

“You work at a gym, though,” Patrick said, resting his free hand on his stomach. His belly now rubbed against the front of even his loosest shirts, making itself unignorable. “You’re surrounded by guys who are way hotter than me, hotter than I’ve ever been.”

“Honey,” Arjun said. “Stop. Let me tell you what we’re going to do. You’re going to eat that bread, because I know you want to. We’re going to get a bottle of wine. You’re going to order the fettuccine, because it’s your favourite, and I’m going to treat you to that lava cake you love for dessert. Then we’re going to go home, get naked, and I’m going to show you how sexy I find every single inch of you. I know we said no gifts, but… I hear I’m pretty gifted.” He smiled.

Patrick had to admit, that sounded pretty good. 

Over the following weeks and months, the pattern repeated itself. Arjun showered Patrick with love, in the form of massive meals and piles of snacks. Patrick outgrew his 34s, and then his 36s. His weight slipped up to 224 pounds by the end of February, and 231 by the end of March. Even as “winter weight” ceased to be an excuse, and sunny April gave way to May, Patrick’s weight climbed beyond 240 pounds, and his 38-inch pants were getting uncomfortable.

He was confronted with a twinge of apprehension every time he checked the scale, every time he had to buy clothes in a size he never dreamed he’d need. And Arjun faithfully assuaged his anxieties, his gentle touch and loving words so soft and soothing that Patrick’s fears melted away.

But it wasn’t Arjun’s gentleness that made the biggest difference, it was his forcefulness. In the bedroom, his enthusiasm only seemed to grow alongside Patrick’s body. In the early days of their relationship, Arjun had been smooth and methodical, confidently gripping the firm edges of Patrick’s muscular frame. But lately, his lust was palpable, almost animal. Patrick could feel Arjun losing control as he gripped and squeezed Patrick’s broad, round stomach, cupped his budding breasts, slapped and groped and generally manhandled Patrick’s ever-fattening ass. There was a new intensity to their sex, already intense to begin with, that filled Patrick an unfamiliar, slightly disorienting sensation: excitement about his fattening body. A desire to grow.

He tried to deny it, at first, to dismiss it as a side-effect of the consistently Earth-shattering sex he was having. But even when Arjun wasn’t around, when he was all alone with just his fat belly to keep him company, that excitement didn’t abate. Something was happening to him. When he stepped on the scales on May 14th, his birthday, and saw that he weighed 251 pounds, he did still feel a little pang of anxiety. But he also felt something else, a distinct and undeniable stirring in his crotch that could only be arousal.

“Happy birthday,” Arjun purred, as they lay in bed that night. Patrick had just enjoyed the absolute best rimjob of his life, a sexual experience like no other. Arjun may not have been a big eater, but he ate ass like an absolute glutton, planting his face firmly between Patrick’s big, round buttocks and going to town with insatiable vigour. “Did you like that?”

Patrick could only nod, still trying to catch his breath. His extreme sedentariness, on top of gaining almost seventy pounds in less than 7 months, had left him seriously out of shape. His old workout routine wouldn’t just be a challenge for him, it would be an impossibility.

Arjun must have sensed how spent their sexcapade had left Patrick, since he gave a slight chuckle. His hand was draped across Patrick’s chubby chest, his nimble fingers stroking Patrick’s perky nipple. Patrick was acutely aware of his double-chin as he lowered his face to look down at his tits; he hadn’t expected that even his nipples would grow, but he was certainly enjoying the added sensitivity.

“You’re really good at that,” Patrick said, lamely, still trying to bring himself back to Earth. “Like, really good at that.”

“Well, you have a very delicious ass,” Arjun said, giving Patrick’s nipple a tweak and making him shiver. With a smirk, he added: “Like, very delicious.”

“Well there’s a lot of it, these days,” Patrick said. He didn’t even know how he felt about that: bitter? Gleeful? His emotions were so muddled, so clouded by his libido—especially in the afterglow—that they had become a Gordian Knot.

“More cushion for the pushin’,” Arjun said, simply, and patted Patrick’s gut.

“So you really like fat asses, huh?” Patrick said. Arjun’s inclinations had been obvious for months, but Patrick had been avoiding the conversation. He knew he was falling for this guy, but he was afraid that Arjun just saw him as a kinky sex-toy, someone he could fatten up and discard before moving onto the next unwitting twink. He knew that was irrational, and horribly unfair to a man who had been nothing but good to him, but he couldn’t stop looking for a catch.

“I do,” Arjun said. He looked Patrick in the eyes, and Patrick looked back. No matter what Arjun’s body looked like, those eyes could make any man fall in love. “But I specifically love your ass, fit or fat.”

“But you prefer it fat,” Patrick pressed on. He wanted an admission, tangible proof that Arjun had been knowingly spurring on his explosive weight gain. Surely it couldn’t be—

Patrick nipped that train of thought right in the bud. It wasn’t the fucking suit. There’s no such thing as a magic suit.

“Yeah, I like it fat,” Arjun said, biting his lower lip as he glanced away. It was a very cute look. Bashfulness suited him.

Patrick had his confession. Arjun was a chubby chaser, and Patrick was getting chased. He was quiet for a few moments, deciding what to do. Did he want to be thin again, an archetypical hottie who lit up a room? If so, he could destroy everything that might have caused this slide into obesity—because that’s what he was, now, fully and definitively obese. He could burn his old Halloween costume, kick Arjun to the curb, and diet interminably until he could see his abs again. It wasn’t too late.

He could also try to lose weight with Arjun; if he was telling the truth, if he really did appreciate Patrick’s body at any size, he would support him. He’d probably still burn the suit, in that case, just to be on the safe side.

But then, there was a third door. A very wide door, beckoning Patrick to step forward until his steps became a heavy, lumbering waddle. He could keep eating. Keep gorging. Keep gaining. Let himself blow up like a balloon, pack on the pounds until Arjun’s handsome face was entirely lost in a sea of ass-fat.

Patrick stepped towards door number three. Maybe he could try it, just for a while. What harm could a couple more pounds do, on top of the 70 he’d already gained? He smiled, lopsidedly. “How fat do you like it?” he asked, finally. “How fat are you gonna make it?”

Arjun looked up at him, mouth agape. “I—You—What?” he stammered.

Patrick doubled down. “What are you gonna do to my ass? How big are we talking: pumpkin? Beach balls? Minivan?”

Arjun inhaled sharply, no doubt surprised by this turn of events. Patrick could feel his boyfriend’s cock swelling against his pudgy thigh. The fact that the suggestion of a minivan-sized ass inspired that sort of arousal told Patrick all he needed to know. Surely he wouldn’t get that fat—it was a little bit of anatomically-implausable sexual hyperbole—but he definitely wouldn’t mind giving Arjun a bigger ass to play with. At least a little bigger.

Patrick didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Why don’t you go get the rest of my birthday cake and you can show me again how much you love fat asses?”

Arjun leapt out of bed like the athlete he was, bare cock standing proudly at attention. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”

Patrick grinned. His 25th year was off to a very good start.

It was hard to get used to the idea that he might actually enjoy being fat, and want to get even fatter. He was naturally thin—he used to be, at least—so the concept that weight gain could be something fun, something to be encouraged, was alien to Patrick at first. And yet, he couldn’t deny his body. His belly was growing accustomed to eating big, and his dick was clearly enjoying it. With those two powerful appendages urging him on, compounded by Arjun’s relentless feeding, Patrick continued to balloon.

I’ll gain maybe five more pounds. Ten tops, Patrick told himself the day after his birthday. And yet, a month later, the scale said he had gained 12. Okay, maybe ten more, he reasoned. 260 didn’t feel as big as he thought it would, anyway. Sure, he was huge, but he didn’t feel that huge. 250 and 260 weren’t so different, right? And besides, what was he supposed to do? Stop eating the food he’d come to love? Go back to the gym he’d abandoned months ago? Deny Arjun the great pleasure of his growing body?

He still had moments of uncertainty. When he couldn’t button his pants, and he realized that he had hopelessly outgrown anything smaller than a 42-inch waist, Patrick felt a pit in his stomach. What am I doing to myself? He wondered, as he made one last feeble attempt to stuff himself into a pair of 40s. 

But when he gave up, and let his hands roam across his gut, his nervousness evaporated. It was so soft, so fun to knead and fondle and play with. He’d gained so much, so quickly, that it still held its round shape, but rolls were starting to crop up, with a noticeable one forming between his breasts and his belly. His love handles expanded, too, and he realized how apt that name was: they really were like handles, slabs of side-fat that he could wrap his fingers around and properly squeeze, feeling the give of so much stretch mark-lined flesh. And he really did love them.

He let his hands slip up further, cupping his breasts, bouncing one and then the other. He felt like an absolute cow as mammary fat spilled between his fingers. Those last 12 pounds must have hit his chest and upper belly hard.

By the time Patrick stood, kicking off the jeans that could no longer handle him, he wasn’t anxious at all: he was horny.

Arjun took care of that.

Over the following months, Patrick felt like a kid who couldn’t go to bed. But instead of “ten more minutes”, it was “ten more pounds”. His ass, a feature that Arjun adored even more than Patrick himself, spread and swelled, and he found himself bumping into things constantly. He could still remember what it was like to have small, hard glutes, but that memory was starting to fade as he buried those glutes deeper and deeper under an ever-growing layer of pure, unadulterated lard. His perky little ass, the crown jewel of his twinkish body, had given way to a pair of vast, juicy buttocks. It was still holding its round shape, each cheek almost perfectly globular and still pert. But as he passed 280 pounds, Patrick could tell that gravity would have the last laugh.

By early July, he’d gained exactly 100 pounds, sitting pretty at 283. He hadn’t expected that gaining weight would make him hairier, but it made sense. More surface area needed more fuzz to cover it all, and his gut was getting massively fuzzy. That was one of many unexpected changes. Others weren’t quite as fun, like the soreness he felt in his lower back when he had to stand for more than 20 minutes, a side-effect of living life with a 50-pound medicine ball strapped to his abdomen. But even that wasn’t so bad: it gave him an excuse to live an even more idle existence, with Arjun happy to indulge him.

The sweating was another unwelcome companion. In the summer heat, he could really feel the hundred pounds of added insulation. He used to love going to the beach, playing volleyball with his friends and flaunting his slender body for admiring onlookers. This year, he preferred relaxing indoors, where he could let it all hang out and feel the cool AC on his sprawling belly. Arjun joked that his house was like an icebox, and Patrick pointed out that that was where a pig belonged.

They did make it to the beach a few times, including on Labour Day. Patrick shied away from taking off his shirt, at first, but Arjun talked him into it, and his expression of unrestrained adoration made it all worthwhile. They must have made quite the pair: the personal trainer, 200 pounds of rock-hard muscle, walking hand-in-hand with a red-faced porker who outweighed him by a hundred pounds, rolls of fat bouncing and wobbling as he ambled down the boardwalk.

“I think we’re confusing people,” Patrick said. He lay in the sand, tonguing an overloaded ice cream cone. A middle-aged couple openly stared at him as they walked past, looking from Arjun to Patrick and back again in search of a logical explanation. The explanation was obvious, but clearly beyond their comprehension.

“Well, you’re due for some more sunscreen. How about we really put on a show?” Arjun suggested, licking his lips.

Patrick leaned back, flicking down his sunglasses, and kept working on his ice cream as Arjun slathered his belly with creamy lotion. It was a blatant belly rub, and heads certainly turned at the sight of the stunning jock basting his beloved pig, but Patrick was so focused on the pleasurable feeling that he barely noticed the slack-jawed onlookers. Arjun pressed his fingertips deep into Patrick’s flab, a skillful massage that left Patrick wanting more.

When he finished his ice cream cone, he got his wish: “Roll over,” Arjun said. “I’ll do your back.”

Another shift occurred when Patrick crossed the 300-pound mark. He’d expected 300 pounds to be incomprehensibly fat, a size beyond all reason, but it didn’t feel that much bigger than 250. The difference between 250 and 200 had felt much more pronounced. Sure, he had more rolls now, and his gut hung out well in front of him, but he wouldn’t mind being bigger. He did dispense with the fiction that he’d stop in another ten pounds: he’d reassess at 350. That was a nice, round number, and it wouldn’t sneak up on him the way 10 pounds always seemed to.

He thought back to January, just nine months earlier, when he’d been terrified of crossing 200 pounds. It was an amusing thought; that version of Patrick was positively tiny compared to the man he now was, and he was far from afraid of growing. He was actually looking forward to it. Dating an incredibly sexy feeder had grown his confidence. It had changed him.

Or maybe it’s that suit, a nagging voice in Patrick’s head said. Sometimes, when he was self-conscious about how quickly he was ballooning, he fell back on that old line: it wasn’t his fault, he was the victim of paranormal forces beyond his control. But he knew he couldn’t blame a stupid Halloween costume for his out-of-control gluttony. It was all on him, and his encouraging boyfriend.

Changes were occurring in the bedroom, too. As fat became a bigger driving force behind his sexuality, Patrick leaned deeper into his submissive side. He liked feeling Arjun’s forceful hands all over his bulging body. He liked to hear what a fat, out-of-control pig he was becoming. Just hearing the word “hog” leave Arjun’s lips was enough to ratchet up Patrick’s arousal by an order of magnitude. He was a pig, a desperate little piggy who needed to be stuffed from both ends.

When he could feel Arjun inside of him, his voluminous belly tantalizingly close to brushing the bed, his fat jiggling with every forceful thrust… that was pure heaven. He honestly wasn’t sure he could go back to sex as a skinny boy again. Now that been told that he was Arjun’s pig, felt his hundreds of pounds shake and bounce as he bottomed, he didn’t see how it could compare.

“Can you believe we’ve known each other for almost a year?” Arjun asked one day, in mid-October. He was nearly done unpacking the last of his boxes, having moved into Patrick’s apartment as soon as his lease was up. That had been the source of some debate: Arjun’s place was nicer, but it was a fourth-floor walk-up, and Patrick didn’t think he could handle all that cardio. The rent was cheaper in Patrick’s building, anyway, and between the elevators and the air conditioning, it felt like a better fit for a growing fatboy.

“It feels like we’ve known each other forever,” Patrick replied. He meant it. He thought back to the person Arjun had met, and how much he’d changed in their time together.

There had been one other change since last Halloween: Patrick was starting to wonder if maybe there were such things as magic clothes. Rationally, he knew he couldn’t blame his weight on a spell, but still… Yuri had said Patrick would get fat, and fat was exactly what he had gotten. He was shirtless, his heavy thighs overloading a pair of stretchy basketball shorts. He eyed his gut, admiring the way it bounded forward into his lap, a crop of hair covering his impressive collection of stretch marks.

“Priti’s throwing another Halloween party this year,” Arjun said, as he shelved some of his books. “Any couple’s costume ideas?”

Patrick mulled it over. Just six months ago, he would have been embarrassed by a costume that emphasized his fat. Now, he wanted to display the full magnitude of his size. “Farmer and prize pig? Fat guy, hot wife?”

“Oh, I know. Jabba the Hutt and Princess Leia,” Arjun said, smirking.

“I would love to see you in that metal bikini, but you might get cold,” Patrick said. “We have some time to think it over, at least.”

Arjun nodded. “We could always just repeat our old costumes,” he said. “But I think ‘Biggest Loser contestant’ might take on a new meaning, in your case.”

“That may have been my worst costume ever,” Patrick said. “But I do remember one guy seemed to appreciate it.”

“Well, he sounds smart, and very handsome,” Arjun said. He tossed himself onto the couch, slinging his arm over Patrick’s protruding keg.

“Yeah, but he has a bit of an ego,” Patrick teased, kissing his man on the cheek. “Thank God he’s great in bed.”

Arjun snuggled in closer, and Patrick melted beneath his forceful touch, delighting as his bare belly was kneaded and rubbed. Whatever the costume, Patrick couldn’t wait to spend another Halloween with Arjun.

~

“I really don’t think it’ll fit,” Arjun said, staring at the suit that Patrick had worn for Halloween just three years before.

In that time, he’d gone far beyond doubling his weight: he’d shot past 400 pounds, and now hovered—or rather, sprawled out—around 460. Naturally, his gains had slowed down, but he was still growing at a fairly rapid rate, and he could see 500 pounds in the not-so-distant future.

“Just let me give it a try,” Patrick said, feeling defiant. The suit had been so outrageously large on him, swallowing his lean body. But as he held up the pants, each leg larger than his waist had once been, he was forced to reckon with the fact that they looked smaller than anything he usually wore.

He stepped into them as gingerly as a man of such impressive proportions could hope to, and started to pull them up. But as the fabric gathered around his thighs, he could feel trouble brewing. As he started to tug them over his ass, he knew that this was a fool’s errand.

Too proud to quit, he kept trying, his enormous gut swaying and wobbling from the motion, the exertion starting to take his breath away. He could feel his rolls quivering and his ample breasts bouncing as he pulled pointlessly on the waistband. He’d covered a little over two thirds of the sprawling hillsides he called an ass before he finally surrendered, out of breath and sweating.

He sighed defeatedly. “I definitely can’t wear this to Priti’s wedding.”

Arjun rubbed his broad back. “Hey, no worries. We can give it away. And who knows, maybe we’ll find a tailor who can turn a canvas tent into a kurta big enough to fit you.”

Patrick laughed. “Or maybe we can just go shopping at Big & Tall. And as for getting rid of this suit, I think I know where to go.”

He had to go back to the place where it all began, the source of this mysterious garment. There had been a brief window of time where it had actually fit, but for most of the time Patrick owned it, it had gathered dust in his closet, either too big or too small for public consumption, taunting him all the while.

He’d told Arjun long ago about Yuri’s bizarre warning, and Arjun had dismissed it as quickly as Patrick once had. Patrick knew it was nonsense, but still… if he had the opportunity, he wanted to hear it from the source.

He paused to rest and recover for a bit once he’d stripped off the pants, sitting on the bed as Arjun carefully placed the massive outfit on a hanger. Finally, Patrick got up and stuffed himself into an enormous pair of sweatpants, before pulling on a colossal t-shirt that nevertheless failed to fully contain his girth, leaving sizable swathes of fat exposed at the front and on the sides.

He waddled his way to the elevator, different rolls and bulges shifting and bouncing with every step. Finally, he reached Arjun’s car, relieved to be able to sit down again. He dropped himself into the passenger seat, and the car dipped to the side beneath so much added weight. Driving him to work must have been hell on poor Arjun’s gas mileage, but Patrick was getting too fat to safely operate his own little sedan.

He gave directions to the shop, eager to see if it even still existed. Perhaps that was part of the magic, and it had never existed at all… but no, eventually Arjun turned onto the quiet street at the edge of downtown, and parked mercifully close to the store’s shabby storefront. Somehow, it was very much still in existence.

Patrick lumbered through the doors, expecting to see Yuri doing some sort of mysterious ritual. Instead, he saw a handsome young man in a purple tracksuit, staring distractedly at his phone. The store was empty, just as it had been last time, and no neater than Patrick remembered.

He bellied up to the cash register, resting the frontmost portion of his gut on the counter to take some of the load off his back. “I’m—” he paused, realizing that the short walk from the car had left him out of breath. Jesus, I’m out of shape, he thought. He looked around for Arjun, who wore an unimpressed expression as he browsed one of the disorganized racks. “I’m here to donate this,” he managed, his breathing having slowed enough to converse.

The guy looked up from his phone, awestruck. Patrick was used to being the fattest person a lot of people had seen in a while, sometimes ever, and he had acquired a taste for their shocked expressions. He liked to watch their eyes try to explain to their brains the full scope of the human being in front of them. Patrick sat the suit down on the counter. “I bought it here a couple of years ago, but it doesn’t fit anymore.”

“Uh, okay,” the guy said. Clearly this was TMI. The cashier at his go-to thrift store always seemed excited to hear about Patrick’s escalating poundage, but he was a rare breed. “You can just leave it here.”

Patrick couldn’t just leave. He’d come here for a purpose. “But… I’ve got to know,” he said. He glanced around the store, still empty, and lowered his voice. He leaned towards the cashier, who looked more confused than ever. “Is this thing really cursed?”

The cashier goggled at him. “Cursed?” He repeated, probably questioning his hearing.

“Yeah. That’s what the old man who works here told me, but I didn’t believe him. I was smaller than you when I bought it, but now look at me.”

“Wh—old man? You mean uncle Yuri?” The guy said. His face broke into a broad grin and he covered it with his hand. “Okay, I’m sorry, but that suit is definitely not cursed.”

“Look at me, though,” Patrick repeated. “I’m a whale!” To drive the point home, he grabbed the part of his belly that poked out from under the hem of his shirt and gave it a shake, sending waves of gelatinous motion through his rolls of flab.

“Okay, but…” the cashier sighed. “Yuri is a weird guy. He likes fat guys. Half the clothes he sells are supposedly ‘cursed’ with some spell that makes guys fat. But it’s not real. He just thinks he can fatten guys up with the power of suggestion. I don’t know why he does it, it’s not like they ever come back.”

Patrick folded his chubby arms, forcing his voluminous cleavage together. “So the ‘power of suggestion’ made me gain 275 pounds?”

The cashier’s eyes widened. “Well, what have you been eating?”

Patrick considered his consumption that morning. It was only 11 AM, but he’d already eaten two breakfasts. The first was a handful of sausage McGriddles with a half-dozen hashbrowns, washed down with a large iced mocha, and followed up with half a dozen powdered donuts. “But… maybe it’s the suit that’s making me hungry,” he said, halfheartedly, realizing how ridiculous he sounded.

The dreamboat behind the register arched an eyebrow. “C’mon, dude. You seriously believe in magic clothes?”

Patrick hesitated. It all seemed crazy, to him, but how else could have turned into such a fatass? He’d been a hunk! There had to be a supernatural explanation.

The cashier picked up the suit and studied it. “I remember this. People don’t bring us bespoke Italian suits very often. The guy who gave it away lost a bunch of weight, he said he wouldn’t need it anymore. Does that sound cursed to you?”

Patrick frowned. His ego compelled him to come up with some explanation other than gluttony and sloth, something that would absolve him of responsibility for his own fattening choices. “Well, maybe Yuri put a spell on it.”

The cashier rolled his eyes. “Listen to yourself, man. Yuri was a professor of statistics at Lomonosov. Not some wizard. He moved to this country to hit on chubby American boys, like yourself, not to hex twinks, or whatever you think happened to you.”

“Chubby” seemed like an understatement, given Patrick’s current state of morbid obesity, but he appreciated the guy’s generosity. “So I’m… just fat, for no reason?”

The guy smirked. “Well, I’m sure there’s a reason, but it’s not this suit.”

As if on cue, the reason for Patrick’s staggering size appeared at his side. “So, no curse?” Arjun said.

The guy rolled his eyes. “No, no curse. I can take it off your hands if it doesn’t fit anymore, but I wouldn’t expect anything to change.”

Patrick was pensive as they left the store, contemplating what he’d just heard. So Yuri had just… made it all up? Because he was kinky? 

Then what was this all about? Patrick wondered. Surely there were more direct ways to indulge in your kink. It all felt a bit strained.

“I don’t know,” he said, as he waddled over to Arjun’s SUV. “I still think the spell could be real. I mean, I was wearing the suit when I met you, and you’ve been a horrible influence.”

Arjun seemed to consider this theory. “Eh, come on. I’ve dated gainers before, and they’ve all gained weight without magic clothes to help them. And now that the suit is gone, do you really think you’ll stop gaining?”

Patrick sighed. Was he the author of his own massive fate? Was there really nothing supernatural at play? He felt like pointing out that those guys had been gainers when Arjun met them, but he continued before Patrick had the chance.

“But…” Arjun rubbed his chiselled chin as he reached the driver’s side door. “Maybe you’re onto something. Maybe our relationship is the spell, the thing that’s turned you into such an insatiable gainer. Maybe it’s our love that’s magic.”

Patrick laughed out loud as he started the process of heaving himself into the passenger seat. “You’re so damn cheesy. C’mon, man. ‘Power of love’ my fat ass.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Arjun smiled. “Speaking of cheesy, want some poutine?”

Patrick pawed at his massive gut, which grumbled its demand. “That depends, lover boy. Is it magic poutine? Will it make me even fatter?”

Arjun’s smile broadened. “I think we can figure something out.”

#non-consensual feeding/fattening #light teasing/degradation #weight gain #male weight gain #weight gain story #wg story #realistic gain #gaining fiction #apologies to my followers in Australia and New Zealand who will wake up to this on November 1st lol

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

「 series collection 」

so you wanna read something with multiple parts? well, you've come to the right place. here are all of the series I've written all accumulated in one neat place topped off with a nice bow and everything

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

long series

sunflower

spencer reid x neighbour!painter!reader, follows seasons 9-10

chamomile

spencer reid x bau!reader, follows season 6

daisy

steve harrington x private school!reader, very slutty stuff

plum

joel miller x former firefly!reader, very dark and angsty

fused with the foe

king!steve rogers x princess!reader, original fantasy world, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers

the wistful wyvern  

knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, forced proximity (COMING SOON!)

soot and sparks 

blacksmith!peter parker x farmer!reader, original fantasy world, friends to lovers (COMING SOON!)

lilac

 lumberjack!frank castle x reader, the wholesomeness of running an inn in a tiny rural town

buttercup

matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery

mini series

snowdrop

spencer reid x gideon!daughter!reader, pre season one + end of season 2

thistle

prince!james potter x servant!reader, set in the beginning of the 1920s

evergreen university

reader x various CEvans characters (Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett, Ari Levinson, Steve Rogers, Frank Adler, Jake Jensen, Lloyd Hansen), slutty murder mystery

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #masterlist #steve rogers x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #spencer reid x reader #james potter x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller series #steve rogers smut #steve rogers series #james potter smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington series #eddie munson smut #eddie munson series #spencer reid smut #spencer reid series #steve rogers imagine #spencer reid imagine #joel miller imagine #james potter imagine #steve harrington imagine #eddie munson imagine