#chisel pigs

[prompt-master]

Are you a butcher?

Context: I had a biology teacher for a few years that had a good pal who was a butcher, and the butcher would give my teacher a whole bunch of organs to teach about which the students were allowed to touch. I was the only one in my year who touched all the organs (including brains, liver, kidneys and lungs among others)

A VERY good guess! But no.

One of my higher up coworkers however is working on switching to culinary, and while working on a pig she explained to us the different butchery cuts. It was honestly pretty interesting

#prom is talking #ask #animal death #danganronpa #the brain of a pig is insane it is SO TINY but their head is SO BIG???? #IT TAKES SOOO MUCH TO BREAK THE SKULL OPEN MAN. SO MANY LAYERS. THEIR SKIN IS INSANEY THICK #and the skull cap is so thick a bonesaw only helps to make a guideline you gotta fucking Chisel that shit

[growingstories]

Gladiator

Once upon a time in the grand city of Rome, there lived a legendary gladiator by the name of Lucius Maximus. Ren for his unmatched strength, chiseled features, and impeccable fighting skills, Lucius became a celebrated figure in the gladiatorial arena.

Match after match, Lucius emerged victorious, defeating each opponent with a grace and finesse that made the audience gasp in awe. His handsome face anded body captivated the hearts and minds of all witnessed his triumphs. After each match he would be offered a young roman male of female slave to spend the night to take off his edge. Many slaves would line up to be chosen. However, his consistent success began to rile the senators of Rome, as his popularity soared, overshadowing their own illustrious status.

With each passing day, Lucius' popularity grew exponentially, and the stadiums were soon filled to the brim with enthusiastic spectators eager to catch a glimpse of the handsome gladiator. Even his training sessions were visited by spectators. Almost every night he would have spectators sneak into the dungeons to give him food in order to spend the night with him. Word had it that Lucius was really well hung. The senators, consumed by envy, decided they would no longer allow Lucius to revel in his glory.

Under the influence of the jealously fueled senators, the owners of the gladiatorial games devised a treacherous plan to eliminate Lucius. Rather than slaying him publicly, they decided to take him into the house of the owner. Their intentions were sinister, as they planned to subject the gladiator to a life of degradation and humiliation.

Once within the confines of the owner's opulent residence, Lucius' life took an unexpected turn. He was rude to his owner and the respected guests that came to see him. He was also fighting his guards to escape the villa’s cellar. They locked him to chains on the wall and he was enticed with an endless flow of wine, which lulled him into a state of constant inebriation and sleepiness. This relaxed state meant that he was able to give sexual pleasure to the guests in return for money for his owner.

Unfortunately, his once admirably sculpted physique began to suffer, as his defined muscles and renowned six-pack started to hide beneath a layer fat.

One evening, as Lucius languished in his drunken stupor, a compassionate woman and man managed to sneak into the basement where he was held captive. They brought him food, in an attempt to alleviate his suffering and help him regain his strength in return for some secret sexual pleasure. However, as time went on, Lucius only grew fatter under the oppressive regime of the owner.

The owner saw that his price pig was not the gladiator it used to be, still eager to exploit Lucius for his own amusement and financial gain, devised a new plan. He began hosting private sessions with his esteemed guests, where they would feast upon extravagant banquets while Lucius, now little more than a bloated shell of his former self, served as the centerpiece. His once-honed combat skills were replaced by the owner's desire to see just how far his gluttony could be pushed.

Days turned into weeks, as Lucius endured a life of laziness, ceaseless indulgence, and constant overfeeding. The owner reveled in watching the gladiator's gradual deterioration, ensuring an endless flow of wine and piles upon piles of food were constantly brought to his side. Lucius had become a mere plaything for the owner's sadistic pleasure.

To add further misery to Lucius' existence, the owner assigned his private companion, a skilled fighter himself, to undertake the arduous task of teaching the once-great gladiator to fight in his weakened state. This companion reveled in showing off his dominance over Lucius, pushing him further into obesity and degradation. When drunk, the owner even allowed children to fight the gladiator, exploiting his weakened state for the amusement of the guests.

As the years passed, Lucius grew unimaginably fat, barely able to breathe under the tremendous weight that burdened his once-mighty body. Yet, the owner, deriving unending pleasure from his captive's suffering, continued to force-feed him, reveling in the grotesque spectacle Lucius had become.

And so, the tale of Lucius Maximus, the once-handsome gladiator, took a tragic turn as he became a mere pawn in the ulterior motives of the senators and the owner. With each passing day, his spirit grew weaker, his body withered, and his existence became nothing more than a pitiful shadow of his glorious past.

#fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #maleweightgainstories #weightgain #weightgainstories #fictionalstories #wg fantasy #wg fiction #exjock #aiweightgain

[jeannineee]

i absolutely love your writing, it’s a m a z i n g !

if it’s not too much, could i pls request a fic where the bats boys are fighting over reader? it can have fluff, smut, angst, anything that you’re in the mood to write

thank you sooo much, ily 🩷

Intertwined

Batboys x Reader

a/n: this will more than likely have multiple parts. Requests are open, still.

PART TWO

Summary: reader was welcomed only six months ago to Rhysand’s Inner Circle as an advisor. She comes from the Faerie lands on the Continent, and was given her position after her efforts in the war with Hybern. Reader is a very powerful fae, and has grown close to Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel. She has grown very fond of all of them, as they have of her.

Reader had mind-speaking powers, but besides that, I’m keeping reader’s powers vague, but if anyone wants to give an idea on what powers reader should have, comment below and I’ll use it in future parts!!

Archeron sisters don’t exist in this fic lmfao.

warnings: canon-typical shit, maybe some slight suggestiveness?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud, obnoxious knocking on your door roused you from your sleep.

It paused for a moment, as though the person behind it heard you climbing out of bed, shuffling across the wooden floor. Then it resumed, the pounding hard enough that your door shook on the hinges.

“Fucking Hel, give me a minute,” you grumbled, roughly swinging the door open.

Cassian.

The general of the Night Court’s armies, leaning against your door frame, arms crossed over his chest, grinning like an idiot.

And, Mother save you, he was shirtless. Sweat glistened on his perfectly chiseled chest, as though he’d just finished training. You had to fight the urge to reach forward and touch the tattoos that swirled on his golden-brown skin, as you lifted your chin to meet his eyes.

“There you are,” Cassian finally said.

“You were pounding on my door like a heathen.”

“Ouch. Such a grump in the mornings,” Cassian muttered, lightly shoving past you, and walking into your room.

“What do you want?”

Cassian dramatically clutched his chest, expression feigning hurt. “No ‘good morning?’ Or, ‘damn, Cas, you look good?’”

You stifled a laugh, going into your closet to change. You may or may not have left the door open slightly. Just in case.

As you began dressing for the day, you answered, “Good morning, Cassian. What do you want?”

Utter silence.

Once you were dressed, you left the closet, groaning audibly at what you saw.

“What I want,” Cassian mused from where he stood in front of your dresser, your pair of black lace underwear dangling from his fingertips. “Is for you to wear these.”

You stalked over to him, snatching the underwear. “Only in your dreams,” you replied as you stored it away.

“Correct. In all of them.”

“Pig.”

“You love it.”

You sighed loudly. “I’ll ask again: what do you want?”

“There’s an Inner Circle meeting in an hour.”

If a meeting was being called so suddenly, it had to be bad. You cleared your throat, shoving away your nervousness.

“You had to show up to my room, shirtless, in order to inform me of a meeting?”

Cassian shrugged. “Figured it was my duty, as your roommate, and friend.”

You arched a brow.

“Plus, I like watching you gawk at me. It’s a good look for you.”

He left your bedroom before the throw pillow could hit him.

~~~~~~~~~

Half an hour later, you made your way to the kitchen, where Azriel already had tea waiting for you.

The cream colored sweater he wore made him look much brighter than normal. It brought a smile to your face.

“Sleep well?” the spymaster asked, observing you as you sipped from your teacup.

“I slept great, until Cassian beat the shit out of my door.”

Azriel laughed. Laughed. Such a rare sound from him.

He laughs more, when you’re around, you recalled Mor saying once.

“I’ll give him a good talking to,” Azriel said with a soft smile.

The two of you stood in comfortable silence for a few moments. You opened your mouth to speak, but you stopped short as Azriel’s shadows pooled around your feet.

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured, a faint blush rising on his cheeks.

You shook your head. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t the first time his shadows reveled in your presence. They had a mind of their own, to an extent.

You held Azriel’s gaze again. “What is this meeting about?”

The earlier warmth in Azriel’s face disappeared, replaced with his usual cool, calculated expression.“More Illyrian camps are rebelling against Rhysand.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“They’re…they’re claiming that they’re rebelling so they can go back to their “traditional” ways. Some of the camps have already reverted back.”

Oh.

Clipping females’ wings, treating them as breeding stock.

Azriel’s face softened as he watched you take in the information. His scarred hands twitched, as though he instinctively wanted to reach out; comfort you. He thought better of it, though, his body stiffening as Cassian entered the kitchen, dressed in a red tunic, and black pants.

“Let’s go. Rhys will have our asses if we’re late,” the general said, eyes darting between you and Azriel. There was a hint of…something, there. Jealousy?

No. Couldn’t be.

“Since when do you care about punctuality?” you teased Cassian playfully, poking his chest.

Cassian opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of his voice drowned out as Azriel winnowed the three of you into Rhys’s townhouse.

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve said the look in Azriel’s eyes as you bantered with Cassian also resembled jealousy.

You shoved the thought away, heading into the sitting room, where Rhys was already waiting with Mor and Amren.

Rhys’s eyes lingered on your form for a few seconds too long to be considered coincidental. When you caught him, he shrugged, speaking into your mind.

“You look rather delicious today, darling.”

Cauldron, spare you.

“Get out of my head, Rhysand,” you spoke into his mind.

“But it’s so nice here,” his voice dripped with tease.

You bit the inside of your cheek, making it a point to sit on the other side of the room, beside Mor.

You could’ve sworn there was a pout on the High Lord’s face as he spoke in your mind again. “You wound me.”

You rolled your eyes at him, to which he merely chuckled.

Mor greeted you with a hug, beaming as usual. “Doing okay, y/n?”

You nodded. “Just ready to get this meeting over with.”

Cassian and Azriel took seats beside Amren and Rhys, respectively.

The meeting droned on for almost two hours, with discussions of what to do regarding the rebelling Illyrian camps.

The conclusion? The Inner Circle would pay a visit Windhaven, where the Lords of the camps would hold a meeting, to discuss compromise.

Amren would stay in Velaris.

Mor was not happy with taking the route of dialogue.

“They’re brutalizing their women. Despite the laws you’ve set,” she told Rhys, face red with anger.

“We can’t just kill every warlord who refuses to comply,” Rhys countered. “I will give them a chance to discuss what they want.”

“You know what they want,” you cut in, cold fury in your words. “To them, women are objects—fucking cattle. They broke your laws, Rhysand. That can’t go unpunished.”

“It won’t go unpunished,” Rhys said, voice lethally quiet. “The warlords will have one final chance to comply at this meeting.”

“And the ones who don’t show? The ones who outright refuse?” Mor questioned.

Rhys smiled. The same smile he reserved for the Court of Nightmares. The same smile he gave Keir as he shattered his arms and legs, the night he dared call you a ‘whore,’ your first time in the Hewn City.

“They’ll die, screaming,” Rhys finally said.

Azriel shifted in his seat, something like rage flickering in his eyes as he nodded in agreement.

Cassian said nothing, but the way his siphons brightened at Rhys’s words told you he was more than happy to put an end to the rebels.

After a bit more discussion, the meeting ended, Mor and Amren being the first to leave.

Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel stayed behind, surely to map out the visit to Windhaven.

You turned to leave, but as you reached the foyer, Rhys spoke up. “Y/n darling? Leaving so soon?”

As you whirled back around to respond, your breath stopped short in your lungs. It felt as though the ground had been taken from under your feet. Your very soul seemed to be tugged in multiple directions.

Three directions, rather.

#acotar #acotar headcanon #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #smut #acomaf #female reader #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #Cassian x reader #rhysand x reader #batboys x reader #acosf #acowar #acofas #night court

[itsmaybitheway]

That’s All Folks

7.3k | E | Crack, Roommates, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Explicit Smut

The scene plays in Alex’s head in full fucking HD. 1080p quality, crystal fucking clear. He can make out the sweat dripping down Henry’s forehead making the golden blonde strands stick to his forehead, lips pink and swollen, bitten in an attempt to muffle all the pretty sounds he wants to let out, his chest heaving, breath hitching with each pump of his fingers.

He imagines in his head the way Henry’s dick twitches, leaking precum to his chiseled stomach. Then the snap happens. Henry’s entire body convulses, back arching from the bed, the round of his ass shallowly thrusting with stilted movement, grinding down on his own fingers, riding out his orgasm. The force of it makes Henry slump back down to bed, thick ropes of come painting his chest and chin.

And with the Looney Tunes ‘That’s All Folks’ tune, Alex’s brain shuts down. The melody is accompanied not by the Porky Pig but with a cartoon image of his dick closing down the ‘Sane Alex’ show. And considering his dick is going to be the conductor of the show until Alex loses his ability to use it, that seems about right.

OR

Henry has a sex related injury and Alex spirals

#itsmaybitheway #rwrb #firstprince #first prince #rwrb fanfiction #firstprince fanfic #rwrb fanfic #red white and royal blue fanfic #red white & royal blue fanfic #red white and royal blue fanfiction #red white & royal blue #red white and royal blue #my fic #crack fic #like i lost the plot #refractory periods schmafactory periods #henry comes #like a lot #seven times #i think

[michelleleewise]

Sorry this had taken me a minute, I was waiting for inspiration to strike, then my life got blah! But here we are......based in this prompt, I did tweak things a liiiittle bit... I hope thats ok!!! I hope you like it!!!!

=====≈==========≈===================

Life Lessons

Pairing: Loki x reader

Warnings: innuendos, flirting, mild swearing, groping.

Summary: with your last year of college coming to an end, determined to be the first in your family to graduate, you prepare for finals, when your English teacher throws a wrench in your plans.

*college au, Loki is captain of the soccer team and Thor is captain of the football team (of course 😁)

Part one-

You made your way down the halls to your last class of the day, English literature. It was the one class you dreaded. You loved the class, your teacher Mr. Banner was by far your favorite, it was your classmates, well one in particular who seemed to enjoy making your life miserable.

You bolted in, sitting at your desk as you pulled out your laptop, preparing to take notes "Well well, there you are, i haven't seen you in the stands during practice, I thought you may have been avoiding me." He said, propping himself on your desk. "Loki, could you get your ass off my desk please?" You asked, looking up at him, his green eyes bright as ever "I thought you liked my ass, you seemed to when I see you at practice." He smirked making you roll your eyes.

"Maybe I just like soccer, the world doesn't revolve around you and your ego." You said looking back to you laptop. "Ouch, that hurts darling." He said grabbing his chest. You did your best to ignore him, you admittedly had had a crush on him for awhile, who wouldn't, with his long black hair, and chiseled features he could have any girl in school he wanted, and he usually did.

"My laufeyson, take your seat." You heard Mr. Banner as Loki jumped up practically running to his seat. "Morning class, I know you are all prepared for finals, hopefully." He smiled as the class laughed "but, I'm going to change things up a bit. I'm going to pair you off into teams. And I want you to do an analysis of any of Shakespeare's works. You will create a presentation on its significance to modern times, and the importance of the writing, you will have three weeks to complete it and then you will present it to the class." He said pulling out a piece of paper. "As I call your names, find your partner and start discussing which work you would like to do." He said.

You waited anxiously, looking around you would love to be paired with Steve, be was always studious. Or wanda, you knew she always recieved top marks. "And finally Ms y/l/n, you'll be paired with Mr laufeyson. Find your partners and get started." He said sitting behind his desk as you looked at Loki, leaned back in his chair smirking at you. "Shit." You muttered, going up to Mr. Banners desk.

"I'm sorry sir, but is there any way I can get another partner?" You asked as he looked up at you. "And what's wrong with Mr. Laufeyson? You two seem to get along fine." He said, looking back seeing Loki watching you "Sir, Loki is an egotistical jerk, and I would rather work alone then with him, please I'll do anything." You pleaded "y/n, you need to learn to work with people who you may not get along with, it's part of life. I suggest you suck it up and try to get along with him, this project is a large part of your grade." He said "yeah, I know." You sighed, heading back to your desk as Loki gestured to the desk next to him with a smile. "This is going to be a long three weeks." You sighed, grabbing your things.

"So, what were you thinking about doing?" You asked him sitting down. "Well, there's lots of things I was thinking about doing." He purred wiggling his eyebrows "do you have to be a pig all the time?" You asked as he laughed "why don't you harass your girlfriend." You huffed opening your laptop "I don't have one." He said looking at you "Well that's surprising." You said pulling up a reading list of Shakespeare's works. "I have several. I'm a bit.....insatiable." He smirked "eeww, could you not." you said glaring at him. "Can we just get this over with please?" You sighed as he smiled.

You spent the rest of class deciding to do Romeo and juliet, slightly cliche, but popular nonetheless. As the bell sounded you grabbed your things and quickly left class without looking back. "Y/n...y/n wait!" Loki yelled making you stop. "What Loki, I want to go home." You said crossing your arms. "D..did you want to come by practice? We can go over the assignment after?" He asked slipping on his jacket "no I don't think so, I'm just gonna.." you started "Looooki, baby there you are." You heard a girl yell behind him as she ran towards you both.

"Hey Stacy, what are you up to?" He asked as she leaned up, pressing her lips to his as you looked away. "I came to find you, I wanted to walk you to practice." She said, running her hands up his chest. "Whose this?" She asked looking at you "this is y/n, she's in my English class, we were paired up on a project." He said looking at you. "And i was just leaving so.." you said as she ignored you "come on loki, let's go." He said grabbing his arm dragging him off.

You shook your head as you turned to leave, missing the glance he gave you as he was pulled away. This was better you thought, you were not about to be another knotch in his bed post. You made it to your car, throwing your bag in you climbed in. You looked up seeing the soccer field, your eyes immediately finding him. His hair pulled back into a bun, his uniform showing of his muscular frame.

You sat staring as he jogged around the field, until that girl, Stacy, ran towards him jumping up as he caught her kissing her. "Uugh...." you sighed, starting your car as there was a knock on the window making you scream. "Thor, what the actual hell!" You yelled rolling your window down. "Sorry y/n, I was just wondering if I could catch a ride, my brother had practice so he needs the car." He said smiling. "You don't have practice." You asked. "Nope, no football today, coach wants us to "take a day" Whatever that means." He air quoted making you laugh. "Sure, jump in." You said smiling.

You dropped Thor off, making your way home, if you call the closet of an apartment home. You plopped on the couch, scrolling through your phone as you opened Instagram. You followed Thor so occasionally pics of Loki would pop up if he was tagged, this time it was him and that Stacy girl, it looked like she had taken a selfie in the car as his face was hidden in her neck and her hand was on her breast as she sat on his lap. Scrolling down, seeing the caption "this girl gettin lucky tonight" with a winky face, and she apparently tagged eveyone be knew.

You rolled your eyes and tossed your phone aside before making your way to bed, preparing for the longest three weeks of your life...

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

If I missed tagging anyone let me know please!!

@lokisninerealms @lokiprompts @high-functioning-lokipath @vbecker10 @lonadane @buttercupbestie @lulubelle814 @tjellisworld @sinsandguilt

#loki #loki imagine #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki au #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x female reader #loki odinson imagine #loki odinson fanfiction #loki odinson oneshot #loki oneshot #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x y/n #loki odinson #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson one shot #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson angst #loki angst #loki odinson angst #loki request #request #your asks

[growingexjocks]

Outgrowing Spiderman - Tom Holland x Andrew Garfield: Ch 1

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 3.5, Ch 4

Tom Holland and Andrew Garfield meet on set for their newest Spiderman film. Together, they start to learn to indulge and redefine the role of Spiderman.

(edited photo creds: https://www.tumblr.com/chubbycelebs85)

One day in Hollywood, the two famous actors, Tom Holland and Andrew Garfield, found themselves drawn to each other. Though initially just friends, their shared experiences of playing Spider-Man in different movie adaptations brought them closer together. 

As their relationship deepened, the two spent more time together, often enjoying cozy nights in, watching movies, and indulging in their favorite snacks. Andrew, in particular, had developed a fondness for the simple pleasure of binge-watching Netflix while devouring pints of ice cream. It was during one such evening that Tom noticed his boyfriend's once-chiseled six-pack abs were slowly disappearing beneath a soft layer of newly-formed pudge.

Tom couldn't resist teasing Andrew about his new physique. "Hey Andrew, looks like someone's been enjoying their snacks a little too much lately, huh?" he said with a cheeky grin, poking at Andrew's midsection. Andrew blushed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and a surprising surge of excitement from the gentle teasing. He could feel his dick twitch in response to Tom's words.

Throughout the next few days, Tom continued to playfully tease Andrew about his weight gain. He even started calling him "Piggy" as a pet name. Initially, Andrew was unsure about how he felt being called that, but he couldn't deny the thrill it gave him. His dick reacted to the teasing, and Tom, realizing the effect his words had on Andrew, decided to push things further.

One night, after a particularly indulgent meal, Tom sat down next to Andrew on the couch, his eyes filled with mischief. "You know, Piggy," he began, "I never thought I'd see the day when Spider-Man would turn into a fat pig. But I have to admit, I like it." Tom reached over and gently pinched Andrew's side, causing him to squirm and giggle.

Andrew, feeling more aroused than ever, pulled Tom in for a passionate kiss. Their hands eagerly explored each other's bodies, with Tom making a point of focusing on Andrew's softer midsection. The more Tom touched him, the more Andrew wanted, and he whispered in his lover's ear, "I want you, Tom."

Tom, ever the tease, replied with a devilish smile, "As you wish, Piggy." He quickly left the room, returning moments later with a pint of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. He sat down on the couch and placed the ice cream on Andrew's belly, causing him to shiver.

"Tonight, my dear Piggy," Tom said, scooping a spoonful of ice cream and bringing it to Andrew's lips, "we're going to have some fun." Andrew eagerly consumed the cold, sweet treat, feeling his excitement grow with every mouthful. His dick ached with anticipation as Tom continued to feed him. Andrew's belly filled and bloated, making him feel more turned on than ever before.

Once the ice cream was finished, Tom moved in closer, the heat between them intensifying. Their hands roamed each other's bodies, with Tom paying special attention to Andrew's swollen belly, and his throbbing dick. He licked Andrew's fat belly, nibbling on it gently. Tom slapped his fat ass, making Andrew moan with pleasure.

"I want you to get even bigger, Piggy," Tom whispered seductively into Andrew's ear. "I want to see you rip out of your Spider-Man suit."

As the weeks went by, Tom and Andrew continued to explore this newfound aspect of their relationship. Tom took every opportunity to tease Andrew about his growing size, and Andrew found himself more and more turned on by the attention. His dick would twitch with excitement every time Tom called him "Piggy" or made a comment about his expanding waistline.

One evening, as they sat down to watch a movie, Tom brought out a large bag of snacks and a mischievous grin spread across his face. "I think it's time we see how well that Spider-Man suit fits now, Piggy," he said, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Andrew's heart raced at the thought of trying on the iconic suit in his current state. He knew it would be a tight fit, but the idea of bursting out of it sent shivers down his spine. His dick throbbed at the mere thought of it.

He slipped into the suit, struggling to pull it over his now considerably larger body. As he finally managed to zip it up, he could feel the fabric straining against his expanded frame. He looked at himself in the mirror, the once perfect fit now stretched tight across his soft belly and rounded ass.

Tom entered the room, his gaze filled with desire as he took in the sight of Andrew in the too-tight suit. He approached his lover, running his hands over the stretched fabric and marveling at how much Andrew had grown. He could hardly contain his excitement as he whispered, "You're so close to ripping out of this suit, Piggy. I love it."

As they kissed passionately, Tom's hands wandered down to Andrew's ass, giving it a firm slap that made Andrew moan with pleasure. The couple continued to explore each other's bodies, with Tom focusing on Andrew's bulging belly and his rock-hard dick, barely contained by the tight suit.

As the night wore on, the tension in the room only grew. Tom fed Andrew more snacks, watching his belly expand and the suit grow even tighter. Andrew could feel the fabric straining to contain his ever-growing body, and the sensation drove him wild.

Finally, as Tom whispered heatedly, "I want to see you rip out of that suit, Piggy," the fabric of the Spider-Man suit gave way. The seams tore apart, and Andrew's soft flesh spilled out, no longer restrained by the tight material.

The sight of Andrew bursting out of his Spider-Man suit sent Tom over the edge, and the couple shared a night of unbridled passion, fueled by their love for each other and the exhilarating thrill of their newfound desires.

Outgrowing Spiderman - Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 3.5, Ch 4

More WG Stories by me - Tumblr, Wattpad

Other stories by me with Tom Holland:

Stuffing on Set - Ch 1, Ch 2

#Outgrowing Spiderman #tom holland #andrew garfield #ex jock #ex jock story potential #fat male celebrities #gainer stories inspo #fit2fatcelebrity #exjock #weight gain edit #fat #fat belly #chub #gaining

[denimbex1986]

'If Peaky Blinders made the Irish actor a household name, will Christopher Nolan’s nuclear blockbuster send him into the stratosphere? He talks about extreme weight loss, hating school and why his next character won’t be a smoker.

Cillian Murphy is struggling with what he can and can’t say about his title role in Oppenheimer, the latest Christopher Nolan epic, such is the secrecy surrounding this film. Murphy is under “strict instructions” not to talk about the content. Which is awkward when you’ve flown to his home in Ireland to interview him specifically about playing the physicist who oversaw the creation of the atomic bomb, later detonated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It’s not clear who issued these instructions. Nolan? The studio? The US government? All I know is that as well as Murphy being gagged by hefty NDAs, I am not allowed to see it (“bit unfortunate”, he concedes).

So, yes, here we sit in an empty upstairs room of a restaurant near his house in Monkstown, Dublin, working out how to do this. The room is dark, the sun shining through a solitary Velux lighting his features like a Géricault. The only background noise is the low hum of a wine refrigerator. Murphy loathes interviews, looks visibly tortured at points. But he relaxes when I ask if he’s pleased with Oppenheimer. “I am, yeah,” he says. “I don’t like watching myself – it’s like, ‘Oh, fucking hell’ – but it’s an extraordinary piece of work. Very provocative and powerful. It feels sometimes like a biopic, sometimes like a thriller, sometimes like a horror. It’s going to knock people out,” he adds. “What [Nolan] does with film, it fucks you up a little bit.”

Nolan wouldn’t disagree. The director recently told Wired magazine that some of those who’d seen it were left “absolutely devastated … they can’t speak”. Which sounds like a bad thing, but is related perhaps to the thought of the 214,000 Japanese people, overwhelmingly civilians, who lost their lives when the bombs were dropped. Kai Bird, the historian who co-authored American Prometheus, the 2008 biography of J Robert Oppenheimer upon which the film is based, said he was still “emotionally recovering” from seeing the film, clarifying that it was “a stunning artistic achievement”.

Murphy’s portrayal is said to be astonishing (“Oscar-worthy” is the buzz). This is not unbelievable. While Hollywood might not know him as a leading man, this quietly intense actor has long been celebrated in the UK and Ireland, most notably for his nine-year stint as Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders. When he first appeared on our screens, looking like a renaissance painting of Saint Sebastian – chiselled head contrasting with translucent blue eyes – it was impossible not to be distracted. He appeared first on stage in Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs, then the screen adaptation. Then 28 Days Later; Intermission; Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley. Previous collaborations with Nolan include the Dark Knight trilogy, Inception and Dunkirk, “significant milestones in my career,” he says, adding that Nolan “might be the perfect director”.

It was Nolan’s wife, the producer Emma Thomas, who called Murphy one afternoon at the home he shares with his wife, artist Yvonne McGuinness, and two teenage sons. Nolan doesn’t actually have a telephone, or an email, or computer for that matter: “He’s the most analogue individual you could possibly encounter.” So, Emma said Chris would like a word and passed the receiver, then the director came on the line. “Cillian, I’d love you to play the lead in this new thing,” he said. Murphy tries to recreate his response to this news. “I was lost for words. But thrilled. Like beyond thrilled.” It is characteristic of Murphy that the modulation of his voice barely changes as he expresses this. He was so stunned, he had to sit down. “Your mind explodes.”

In the absence of the three-hour feature, I scrutinise Oppenheimer’s three-minute trailer. It’s a rush of snapshots against the crackling of a Geiger counter. There’s Murphy, short back and sides, lifting 1940s eye goggles; blue and red atoms coming at him fast; orange light; white light; blackout; silence. Massive explosion against the backdrop of space. Overlaid is Murphy’s narration, “We’re in a race against the Nazis / and I know what it means / if the Nazis have a bomb.” There’s Matt Damon looking porky as army general Leslie Groves, director of the Manhattan Project: “They have a 12-month head start.” Murphy, pointing with cigarette: “18.”

He has put back on some of the weight he lost for the part, I’m relieved to see; his skin isn’t quite so taut over his skull and there are freckles over those eagle-wing cheekbones. He was determined to nail the scientist’s silhouette “with the porkpie hat and the pipe”, testing himself to see how little he could eat. “You become competitive with yourself a little bit which is not healthy. I don’t advise it.” He won’t say how many kilograms he lost, or what food the nutritionist told him to cut out. NDA? “Ach, no. I don’t want it to be, ‘Cillian lost x weight for the part’.”

Then again, the hurtling speed at which Nolan worked, crisscrossing the US, made it easy to skip meals. Murphy began to forget about food in the same way he began to forget about sleep. “It’s like you’re on this fucking train that’s just bombing. It’s bang, bang, bang, bang. You sleep for a few hours, get up, bang it again. I was running on crazy energy; I went over a threshold to where I was not worrying about food or anything. I was so in it, a state of hyper …” he gropes for the word, “hyper something. But it was good because the character was like that. He never ate.” Oppenheimer subsisted on little more than Chesterfield cigarettes and double-strength martinis, rims dipped in lime. “Cigarettes and pipes. He would alternate between the two. That’s what did for him in the end,” Murphy adds, a nod to the scientist’s death from cancer in 1967. “I’ve smoked so many fake cigarettes for Peaky and this. My next character will not be a smoker. They can’t be good for you. Even herbal cigarettes have health warnings now.”

I raise method acting and Murphy tilts his head and frowns. “Method acting is a sort of … No,” he says, firm but with a half smile. Oppenheimer had many defining characteristics, not least walking on the balls of his feet and a vocal tic that sounded like nim-nim-nim, but Murphy didn’t want to do an impression. Nolan was obsessed with the Brillo-texture hair, so they spent “a long time working on hair”. And the voice. The real question for Murphy was what combination – ambition, madness, delusion, deep hatred of the Nazi regime? – allowed this theoretical physicist to agree to an experiment he knew could obliterate humankind. “He was dancing between the raindrops morally. He was complex, contradictory, polymathic; incredibly attractive intellectually and charismatic, but,” he decides, “ultimately unknowable.

“Listen, it’s not like a spoiler,” he says, checking himself before he leans in, “but there are incidents in his early life that were quite worrying; very erratic.” They are in the film and the book, he steers. I suspect he is referring to Oppenheimer’s postgrad at Cambridge in 1926, when he placed a poisoned apple on the desk of a tutor towards whom he harboured complicated feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Arguably, this was attempted murder. But Oppenheimer’s rich New York parents rushed in to bundle him into psychoanalysis. He was diagnosed with “dementia praecox”, a term describing symptoms associated with schizophrenia.

Murphy likes these complex characters; they’re his meat. People that don’t necessarily follow the – yawn – traditional transformative arc of storytelling. Not villains, exactly (although he’s played a few, including Scarecrow in Dark Knight and Jackson Rippner in Red Eye): “Villains are good if they’re well written, but if it’s one note or a trope, then they are dull.” He likes a script to stretch leisurely into all corners of the human condition, “all the shades”. At the same time, you have to understand his exceptional ability to portray interiority, physically manifesting intense human emotion without a word, radiating fierce, consuming energy. Which he does today, actually, when I stray off track.

Although Nolan is usually, shall we say, antiseptic in his approach to romance, Oppenheimer represents a significant shift. He told Wired the love story aspect “is as strong as I’ve ever done”. It features prolonged full nudity for Murphy and Florence Pugh, who plays Oppenheimer’s ex-fiancee, as well as sex, and there are complicated scenes with Emily Blunt, who plays his wife, “that were pretty heavy”. Murphy turns coy: “I’m under strict instructions not to give away anything.”

He asks if I’ve heard of chemistry tests. “They put two actors in a room to see if there’s any spark, and have all the producers and director at a table watching. I don’t know what metric they use, and it seems so outrageously silly, but sometimes you get a chemistry and nobody knows why.” This is a roundabout way of saying his scenes with Blunt and Pugh conjure this magic. His established bond with Blunt (they co-starred in A Quiet Place II) meant “the audience gets something for free”, he says. “You can be immediately vulnerable and open, and try stuff. There were moments where I remember saying, ‘I couldn’t have done that if it wasn’t with you.’”

Murphy, 47, grew up the eldest of four in Cork. His father was a civil servant, his mother a French teacher. They were a middle-class family, musical; his father “can pick up any instrument”, his brother played piano, and they regularly got stuck into “traditional Irish sessions”. Bookshelves were stuffed with literature, the radio often on, the “shitty” TV set not so much. Home life was busy but his parents taught him French and Irish, and sent him to an all-boys academic, rugby-playing private school. “I got all the education” he says, drily.

The story of how much he disliked the Presentation Brothers College, the hard-drinking masculine emphasis, how he found solace playing guitar in a band, is much rehearsed and he says today he doesn’t want “to slag the school off. I hear it’s great now.” Something about this experience seems nonetheless unsettling. He had one friend, who is still his best friend, “so I wasn’t, like, an outcast”. He played rugby for the first couple of years, but abandoned it “because everyone was all of a sudden towering over me.” Was it an unhappy time? He shifts. “It was OK. I was a bit of a messer, like I’d get in trouble and say nothing. It wasn’t the ideal school for me.”

He enrolled in and dropped out of a law degree at University College Cork, which created some friction with his parents (when I ask if his own sons will go to university in Dublin, he says, “Whatever they want”). He continued with the band, his first creative love but the one that got away. When they were offered a contract with Acid Jazz records, he turned it down for a number of reasons, he says, crucially that he didn’t feel good enough. He still writes and plays at home but, no, you won’t be hearing any of his recordings, ever, he says.

It’s a funny thing talking to Murphy. He’s at once garrulous (on the craft, or literature, or ideas) and reticent (pretty much anything else). I sense in previous interviews that he skates over issues close to his heart – such as the expression of emotion in Ireland and the need to teach empathy in schools. But when I try to drill in to these topics, get to the root, he clams shut, emitting energy like a nuclear reactor.

Later, in a different context, he will tell me a truth: “I’m stubborn and lacking in confidence, which is a terrible combination. I don’t want to put anything out that I don’t think is excellent.” But he clearly hates the pantomime of publicity, asking why I am returning to certain topics and repeating lines I’ve read elsewhere. I can almost see him at home with its views towards the Irish Sea, complaining to his wife as they tuck into supper: “Another one, asking the same fucking questions.”

If he could get out of going to Cannes, of standing on red carpets, dressed as is his habit for a funeral, hair shellacked, hands in pockets; if he could turn his back on the coloured-foam mics thrust in his face, he would. He really would. No, it dawns on him now, there’s something even worse than the red carpet; there’s the talkshow rounds. The very word “talkshow” comes out of him like a pain from his ribcage, as if the parcelling out of amuse-bouche anecdotes, offering them up to the forced laughter of that false god of show business, the studio audience, is in itself the most cheapening experience known to mankind.

“I do them because you’re contractually obliged to. I just endure them. I’ve always found it difficult. I’ve said this so many, many times.” Then there’s the double wince of realising that, yes, he’s done it again. He’s laid into the industry that feeds him. His hands raise slowly in surrender. “I want to just caveat this by saying, I’m so privileged. I’m so happy to be doing what I love. I’m really lucky. But I don’t enjoy the personality side of being an actor. I don’t understand why I should be entertaining and scintillating on a talkshow. I don’t know why all of a sudden that’s expected of me. Why?”

There’s an awkward silence. I say that he reminds me of Naomi Osaka, the tennis player who refused to talk to journalists after the French Open in 2021. He says he feels “100%” sympathy with her, “because why should she have to perform?” Then he relents. “But I get it. I get it’s a kind of ecosystem where the film feeds the publicity which feeds the talkshows which goes back and feeds the film, so, like, that’s how it works. I suppose I’m just not good at it. At interviews, at this stuff,” he gestures at me. He says after he leaves me today he’ll be going down the stairs thinking of all the things he’s said and worrying it’s come across all wrong. “Do you know what Sam Beckett said? ‘I have no views to inter.’ I love that. That should be the interview.”

We return to his art, the tension falls away and he’s back to his charming self, charged air evaporating. Since Oppenheimer, he’s also wrapped Small Things Like These, an adaptation of Claire Keegan’s brilliant novella set in 1985 in a small Irish town on the edge of which is a convent and “laundry”. Murphy is a huge fan of Keegan. He remembers reading her 2010 novel Foster on a train and having to pull his hoodie over his face because he was crying so hard. Anyway, he’d wanted to work with the Peaky Blinders director Tim Mielants and they were throwing ideas around in his sitting room when Murphy’s wife suggested Small Things. “No, there’s no way,” Murphy said. “That’s going to be gone already.” But when he called the agent, he found it was available. “I went, ‘No, you’ve got to be fucking kidding.’” Murphy pitched the idea to Matt Damon, who has set up a studio with Ben Affleck. “From there it all just happened really quickly.”

Murphy plays Bill Furlong who, funnily enough, is a man of few words. Keegan’s light-touch writing is everything he loves in art – the sense that you are not being bashed over the head by an idea. That’s how he tries to act, he adds. “I’m always trying to cut lines in scenes, because I feel like you can transmit it. Like when you see a person on a train thinking, or driving a car, and you are purely observing someone and feeling the energy that is vibrating from them. That’s the sort of acting I love. In a lot of film and television, they want to cut those bits to go to the action. I like films that pose the big questions and then leave it to the audience.” Perhaps this is at the heart of his reticence in interviews? That he doesn’t feel the need to explain.

He still finds it “nuts” that the last of the Magdalene laundries closed in 1996, that it was illegal to buy condoms in Ireland until 1985, that divorce was made legal only in 1996. He remembers vividly thousands of people still going to see moving statues in Cork when he was growing up. “Crazy. But, like, how far the country has come since then, we’re so socially advanced now compared with where we were. But you must look back. And art is a better way of doing that than reading all these reports [into the laundries].” (Afterwards, he emails me: “The nation is actually dealing with an unresolved collective trauma. Who knows how long this will take to heal, but I feel strongly that art, film and literature can help with that process. It’s a kinder and gentler sort of therapy. I hope that our movie can help with that in its own little way.”)

Because he’s a nice man, because he doesn’t want me to feel bad about our encounter, and because he’s generous and hospitable, Murphy finishes by telling me some of the best places to visit in Ireland. He and his family are staying here for the summer. They’ve had it with air travel and his home town of Cork is only a couple of hours away. He supplies me with other recommendations: a great book he’s just read, Brian, by Jeremy Cooper, oh, and there’s the Francis Bacon studio exhibition I should catch on my way out.

But before I go, what has he learned from playing Oppenheimer? Foremost, he says, that scientists think differently. He knew this already from playing physicist Robert Capa in Danny Boyle’s Sunshine (2007) and hanging out in Cern, home of the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, for research. “I had dinner with all these geniuses. I’ll never understand quantum mechanics, but I was interested in what science does to their perspective.” He sought their opinions on subjects that matter – love, politics, our place in the universe, “infinity, or whatever the fuck. Because they have a completely different way of taking in information than we do. I remember one scientist saying, ‘I don’t believe in love. It’s a biological phenomenon, the exchange of hormones between the female and the male. That’s all. Love is a nonsense.’” Murphy taps the table with his hand. “I couldn’t go along with that, obviously.”

#Cillian Murphy #Oppenheimer #Christopher Nolan #Emily Blunt #Florence Pugh #Danny Boyle #Sunshine #Brian by Jeremy Cooper #Small Things Like These #Claire Keegan #A Quiet Place II #Peaky Blinders #Tommy Shelby #Disco Pigs #28 Days Later #Intermission #The Wind That Shakes The Barley #The Dark Knight Trilogy #Inception #Dunkirk #Scarecrow #Jackson Rippner #Red Eye #Bill Furlong

[sillyblues]

Yoo, can I request a fic/hc's of Miguel with a Black Cat variant Male Reader?? 👉👈

Enemies to lovers, antagonizing, flirting, banter ykyk

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i am finally done resting and im taking a break writing with that one fic HELP i swear its coming out but n e ways I LOVE THIS i had fun writing this aaaaaaaaaa!!! im thinking of making this a multi parts again bc i so SO love this dynamic and the possible scenarios

okay so reader here, you, becomes Black Cat after growing up in the slums, seeing the brutality of poverty and the greediness of capitalist pigs. you said enough was enough and it was time to eat the rich!! 

so you joined underground rings, fighting for mostly the experience and money when people bet on you so could survive. but it wasn’t enough you needed to learn more and it was a good thing you caught the eye of someone strong. you saw him before but you figured he was just a crazy homeless dude but boy you were wrong when he showed you to his house, a whole ass fucking mansion, in the Nueva York City. apparently he was the infamous Black Cat and you got his attention and bam, now you became the heir to his name and got a father as an extra. there, he taught you all he know, all martial arts, and even shared information about the celebrities and criminals that resided in the city.

after years had gone by, he faked his death and lived somewhere place far away because he was old and retired. you finally made your official debut as the Black Cat by ransacking the money drawers of a corrupt well-known Judge who accepted bribes and let criminals run free. the whole world’s eyes were on the newest Black Cat who made another robbery headline. you know who got his eyes on you as well? Spiderman.

colour you surprised when the next time you decided to steal from a known rich man who planned to destroy Atlantica for some project he wants, a big burly man with wide shoulders and hella sharp tons started chasing after you. not really, you were expecting to see him as your father warned you about him.

“Put those bags away.” He warned with a growl after he shot a spider web at you to try and get you stuck. “Now.”

You were in the middle of running away after stealing bags of cash from the rich man’s vault of money but the sudden entrance of Spiderman blocking your exit greeted you. It didn’t matter because it was one of the multiple exits you had planned beforehand anyways. And even if you run out of exits, you could always create one.

“How about no, Mr. Spiderman?” you grinned, showing off your pearly whites to him.

“I wasn’t asking.” He took off and ran immediately after you, hot on your tails. Like a cat, your reflexes were fast enough to move the second he moved as well and you ran down the hallways. You ran, sometimes pushing some obstacles for him to enjoy. It did nothing to slow him down of course, but it did annoy him and that was all you wanted. 

He let out a frustrated growl and with enough anger as his adrenaline, he jumped at you and got down to the ground.

“Oh? You’re this excited for me even though we just met, Spidey?” He grabbed your arms and pinned you against the floor.

“Aren’t you a confident one?” His mask disappeared and he revealed his handsome chiselled face, his hair falling down onto you. He opened his mouth, fangs sharpening to bite you but you knew this beforehand.

“Save your bites when we’re in bed,” you smirked at him, “and when there isn’t a whole ceiling coming down at you.” He immediately looked up to see a swinging ceiling clearly about to fall. The moment he looked up, the strength in his hands lessened a tiny bit but for you, it was enough. You kicked him and pushed him away and yourself in different directions, not forgetting the bags of money you were after in the first place.

As the ceiling got destroyed, you had long gone with another successful heist and left an everlasting impression on Miguel O’Hara with a need to chase after you again.

#blue writes! ✧˖*°࿐ #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader

[deadmandead10845]

Mikey just moved to a new city and he is excited to finally be able to live his dream of becoming a fat man. He has always known he was destined to be a gainer and he couldn’t bring himself to gain in front of his friends. He made the choice to move to a new city and cut everyone off so he could get fat without judgement.

Within two months he already had a dad bod. His gym chiseled abs were long gone and he had put on about 25 lbs.

Within 6 months he had gone past dad bod into bear territory. He was already 50lbs heavier than when we last checked in on him.

Mikey had gone such a rapid transformation he found it hard to sit up straight because of all the extra weight. He was probably 315lbs at this point.

After a full 18 months of gaining he had gone from 195lbs to 360. He blew out of his L, XL, 2XL, and was getting tighter by the day in his 3XLs.

Crossing 400 was a breeze. Mikey ate 10,000 calories a day every single day and he was massive.

He was getting less and less active and within another 6 months he had broken 450lbs. He was now a 6XL and it was not fitting the way it was 3 months ago.

Exactly one year since we last saw Mikey at 450lbs, now he was 620lbs. He was living his dream as a nearly immobile pig. He would cross 700 easily within the next year and be completely immobilized by his gluttony.

#ai chub #bhm #exjock #gainerart #gay belly #gay moobs #ssbhm belly #beer belly #gainer stories #gainer story #weight gain stories #weight gain story #weight gain #male weight gain #feedee belly #ai gainer

[lovelybucky1]

High on Your Own Supply

Kinktober Day 8- Choking

warnings: drug use (fear toxic), choking, rough handling, dry humping, 18+ minors DNI

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kinktober masterlist

"Taste of your own medicine, Doctor," Batman says before spraying Crane's fear toxic into his face.

Crane kicks and writhes, but Batman's firm hold on his neck keeps him from getting far. Batman can't see what Crane does, but from the frantic, fearful look in his eyes, he can tell it isn't pleasant.

To Crane, Batman looks like a monster. His eyes and mouth ooze black liquid that drips down his face, coating his skin in the ink. The teeth are sharp and the angles of his mask are sharper. Batman is always intimidating but like this, mere inches away from Crane's face, he is terrifying.

Crane has studied the body's reaction to fear extensively. Of course the basics of fight or flight, but he also knows that fear can trigger arousal as a response. So it’s not his fault that Batman’s grotesque face leaves him hard in his slacks.

Batman notices because it’s difficult not to when Crane’s crotch is pressed up against his thigh. He looks down and scoffs at the sight. “Fucking creep,” he mutters.

Batman squeezes the sides of Crane’s throat tighter, eliciting a moan from the man. Crane’s hips wiggle in search of friction from Batman’s thigh and unfortunately, he finds it.

Batman is disgusted, but for some reason, hasn’t thrown Crane to the ground and kicked him in the stomach. Sick fuck would probably like that too.

“Batman,” Crane gasps. His eyelids flutter like he’s barely holding onto consciousness, weather from the lack of oxygen or the fear, Batman is unsure.

Batman carries Crane over to the wall from his neck with ease, like he weighs nothing, and pushes him roughly against it. Crane knocks his head back against the cinderblock and whines.

Crane wraps his legs around Batman’s middle, pressing his crotch against the chiseled abs of the suit. Crane’s mind is terrified, but his body needs Batman close.

Crane bucks his hips, relishing in the friction on the hard plains of Batman’s body. Crane has forgotten all about his henchmen that went scattering when Batman arrived, or that poor woman who was going to be his guinea pig. All he could think about now was the creature that’s taken Batman’s place.

Batman, the real one, snarls at Crane. He can’t believe Crane would be so twisted as to get off on a terrifying hallucination, but here he is rubbing his clothed cock all over him.

Oddly, Batman is enjoying this. Not sexually, but he enjoys seeing his arrogant and irritating enemy reduced to a desperate mess. Crane craves the fear of his peers, of everyone, but he has the most to fear of them all. And apparently, he thinks those fears are hot.

But Batman can’t deny there’s something arousing about a man so desperate for stimulation he would hump his enemy’s abs like this. Batman wonders what it would be like if Crane was naked. Would he leave trails of precum on the suit with each upstroke? Would he keep going until white ropes covered it?

Batman doesn’t have to wonder what Crane’s o-face looks like for much longer, because the man is quickly cumming in his pants after a bit of light grinding.

The doctor apparently has a hair trigger because it barely took anything to have him staining his charcoal gray slacks. It would be endearing if Batman wasn’t disgusting both with Crane and himself.

Roughly, Batman tosses Crane on the concrete floor. “I better not see you in this city again,” he says gruffly.

Crane only looks up at him with a dazed expression. Then, with a whoosh of his cape, Batman disappears into the night just as he came.

#scarebat #scarecrow #jonathan crane #batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x jonathan crane #batman x scarecrow #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #nolanverse #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[gilverrwrites]

Morning After

Black Mask/Reader, 1.5K words

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AN: This is a slightly updated repost of a fic I wrote in 2016. This is the only time I've ever written Roman with a removable mask.

You overhear a discussion not meant for your ears, the morning after hooking up with Roman Sionis. Rating: 18+

CWs: Swearing, graphic mentions of torture & death, death threats, mentions of sex, suggestions of drinking, manipulation, (mild) blood.

Please remember: You can do anything you set your mind to.

“I always knew we couldn’t trust that bastard. Call Tupeng, send him down to that backstabbing bastard home and make him pay for ever crossing me.” “Y-yes Boss, but what would you like ‘em to do to ‘em.” “Burn him, skin him, skin his whole damn family for all I care, just make it hurt. Make that pig regret ever squealing on us.”

Your hand clasped over your mouth but not before a startled gasp escaped your lips. What had you gotten yourself into? When you’d gone home with Roman Sionis for the night, you knew he was dangerous. Truthfully it was exhilarating to know you were in bed with someone so influential, so wicked, but you were suddenly realising that being close to his world was maybe a little more then you could handle.

When silence fell from the other side of the door you knew you were trouble. They’d heard you, they must of. Hastily, you scurried across the room to the window, hoping to make some kind of escape, the view from the window reminding you that you were on the third floor. Panicked, you began to search for a hiding place, only to be stopped dead in your tracks as the bedroom door was wrenched open.

What you saw next nearly shook you to the core. You’d recognise Romans white suit pants anywhere, you knew the way his muscles flexed beneath his tight black shirt, and even the white tie was familiar. It was the chiseled black skull that sat over his face that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You! You’re Black Mask!?” You stutter, attempting to get a grip on yourself. You’d heard rumours about this man, you’d seen his hard wooden face on the news, but you never actually thought you’d be standing face to face with him. More importantly, you never thought you’d wake up one morning to discover you’d slept with one of Gotham’s most notorious felons. The very idea of it simultaneously terrified and excited you in ways you knew were wrong.

Roman seemingly takes no mind to your realisation as he closes the door behind him and begins to focus on rolling down the sleeves of his shirt.

“Oh god. I knew you were… But THIS! This is… oh my god.” You wrapped your arms around your chest. The cotton of the shirt you’d stolen from him to sleep in now acted like a morbid comfort blanket.

Fastening the last button on the cuff of his dress shirt, Roman finally looked up at you.

“Exactly how long where you listening to that conversation?” His tone was abrasive, the mask did little to muffle out any of his anger and suddenly you remembered what was going on.

“I-I- only the end. I swear. I don’t even know who you were talking about. I promise.” You stammer. “I woke up and you weren’t here so, so I got up to look for you and as I reached the door, I heard you talking outside. That’s it. I-I didn’t mean to listen, I promise.”

The gangster didn’t say anything for what seemed like forever, he just stared, the subtle rise and fall of his chest being the only sign that he wasn’t a statue. You had no way of knowing what he was thinking.

“I believe you, Sweetheart.” He finally spoke up. His voice much calmer this time, the petname soothing you slightly. “I do.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, finally willing yourself to stop shaking.

“But,” he continued as he walked across the wooden chair situated in the corner of the bed. Suddenly, you remembered the loaded gun holster he’d left there last night, and your heart skipped a beat. With one hand he scooped up the leather holders and with the other he gestures for you to approach. “You’ve already heard what happens to snitches. How do I know you won’t go straight to the heat with this information? How do I know you won’t rat me out if the feds start asking questions? I don’t wanna see that good-looking face of yours get all cut up.”

By the time you were standing beside him you’d begun to shake again, even more so when he handed you the holster. Unsure what to do with it you held it at arms lengths, eyeing it warily. When Roman turned his back to you and stretched out his arms you figure that he wanted you to put him it on him. Cautiously you began to thread the straps over his arms.

“Well? Are you gonna answer me?” Roman prompted, shrugging his shoulders to make the holster sit a little more comfortably. You’d been so focused on the guns dangling in your hands that you’d forgotten he’d asked you anything. “I can’t have you wondering around when you know that kind information. Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not, I would never tell, I swear to you I won’t tell anyone. I promise and I would never break a promise.” You repeat the words under your breath as you step around him, your fingers brush against his chest as you reach to clasp the holster together at the front, only to discover that there is not clasp. You scrunch you nose up in confusion before a warm hand clasp around your chin and direct your face upwards.

A sense of dread fills in your chest as your stand directly in front of the famed Black Mask. The faint smell of polish fills your nose. He seems completely inhuman to you. You hear the stifled sound of him humming beneath the mask as his hand works across your chin, stoking your cheek before his fingers began to run through your hair.

You like the feel of his fingers, the way they move against your skin. Last night you’d been surprised to discover how soft they were, even as they’d dominantly explored every inch of your body. Memories of the night before ran through your head and sent a shiver down your spine. You’d be lying if you said last night wasn’t one of the greatest nights of your life, and before all this you’d considered leaving him your phone number. Now there was a voice in your head that keeps telling you what an idiot you are for ever falling into bed with this criminal. On the other hand, there was an undeniable attraction that made you weak at the knees, regardless of who he was or what he’d done. Besides, you’d already figured that Roman was involved with some dodgy stuff. His menacing attitude and ferociousness had been a big factor in what had attracted you to him in the first place.

Nervously, you looked up at him, wanting to make eye contact, only to be met with those unseemly shadowed out eye sockets. You sucked in a breath when you felt his free hand slide around your waist, roughly pulling you against his chest. You tasted the wood of the mask before you knew it was coming. The smell of would polish stinging your nose as he pressed the cold hard lips of the mask against yours. Briefly, you were taken back by this action, before you let go and kissed back, ignoring the swelling from last night’s kissing, you pecking the solid surface before pulling back.

Roman’s chest rumbled slightly, you heard an amused scoff come from beneath the mask before he untangled his hand from your hair to push the mask away from his face and resting it in the top of his head. Your lips twitch into a small smile when you can finally see his deep brown eyes. You notice a predatory glint, as he smirks back at you, before pressing his lips against yours. You the taste of last night’s alcohol was gone, but you welcomed the smoky wood flavours that filled your mouth. Gingerly, you rubbed his chest and he replied by be nipping at your bottom lip before, drawing blood and eliciting a quiet moan from you.

All too soon he pulled away, a look of self-satisfaction plastered across his face. Lifting one hand to your mouth, he wiped a small drop of blood onto his thumb before pressing it between your parted lips. Catching the hit, you dated your tongue out to lick up the coppery liquid. Once your tongue was back inside your mouth, he removed his thumb and replaced it with his knuckles. Gently pressing them against you bottom lip, and watching you expectantly. Less confidently you puckered your lips, lightly kissing each point, knowing this was considered a sign of respect or appreciation.

Once you’d kissed each knuckle, he pulled back his hand, releasing you from his hold and stepping back to retrieve his suit jacket from the back of the chair. He pulled the fabric on with ease then strutted across the room.  Bewildered by the sudden change of event you simply stood and watched as he pulled the door open before turning to you.

“Catch you later, Doll—lock the door behind me, yeah?” He grinned, shooting you a sly wink before pulling the mask back down. With that he exited, closing the door behind him.

#black mask x reader #roman sionis x reader #black mak #roman sionis #gilverrwrites #black mask imagine #roman sionis imagine #scheduled post

[trans-gainerism]

ahhhh I’m constantly torn between wanting to be someone’s super sized house pig who never gets off the couch - cascading rolls and mouth always full - and wanting to be a chiselled skinny feeder that constantly flaunts the difference in size between me and my enormous hog of a boyfriend - who I keep full to the brim constantly with my doting sweet treats 🥰

#the true duality of man #weight gain #fat piggy #wg text #trans feedee

[georgiapeach30513]

Kinktober 2022, Day 8: Hate Sex

What Ransom Wants

Summary:  No one drives you crazy like Ransom Drysdale

Pairings:  Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, sexual harassment, a bit of an obsession, smacking, brat taming, degrading, unprotected sex, PIV sex, orgasm denial, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  1.5K

Previous

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Hugh Ransom Drysdale.  That was all that needed to be said.  He had the ability to drive you absolutely insane, but he was carved by the gods.  Perfectly chiseled, handsome, stylish, wealthy, and then he opened his mouth.  Everything that slithered off his silver tongue repulsed you.  You found yourself passive aggressively rolling your eyes more often than not when you were around him.  

He let you know how above you he was.  Just a typical cart girl at the country club.  And he did not care about the side eye glances you gave him with every scathing comment he made about anyone.  Particularly you.  You were told Ransom was a pig, but he never acted on his comments.  Like that made it any better.  It was worse when he had his friends instead of his family with you.

And Ransom always requested you.  Calling you his sweet Dove, but you were anything but sweet.  He liked your fire.  Enjoyed watching you get riled up and angry, and it was not just words with you.

This particular day he had brought company.  Lance was shaping up to be just as pompous as Ransom, albeit a bit more cocky.  Ransom’s arrogance came from his words and the way he carried himself.  Lance’s came from his constant bragging.  You kept quiet.  Ransom always looked at you with every remark.  He needed to know if you were making a reaction.  If Lance’s words made your body move around like he did.  You thought he wouldn’t notice, Ransom noticed every little detail about you.

They were all the same.  Every last one of them that came to the club.  You just didn’t realize how deep and large this group was, or just how much the brotherhood protected their own.  Lance leans back on the cart, sizing you up, before lifting up your skirt a bit with his club.  You hit the pole down, and glare at him.  “Easy, princess.  Just wanted to see what was so special about you.  Drysdale here can’t quit talking about your beauty.  Was wondering if it traveled to what’s under the clothes.”

“You fucking asshole!  Just who do you think you are?”

“I’m the fucking god of gymnastics.  Who are you?  A lowly cart girl.  I could make your dreams come true.”

“Not likely, twinkle toes.  You two find your way back to the club,” you tell them as you get into the cart driving away.

“What the fuck?” He shouts at you, but Ransom comes to stand beside him, pushing him on the ground.

“I didn’t need you to piss her off that much.  Geeze, I didn’t ask you to do any of that.”

“You wanted her riled up, there she is.  I’m sure that pussy is just throbbing with anger.  Why don’t you fuck into her and see?”

“You were looking at what’s mine.  I haven’t done that to her, and I’ll be damned if you’re trying to sample the goods.”

Lance gives him a sinister smile, “Really?  What’s yours is…”

“Shut up!  I’m well aware of the bylaws.  Now I’m gonna have to walk my happy ass back to the clubhouse, and hope that she doesn’t fucking leave because of you.”

“If she can’t handle that, she’ll never be able to handle what’s to come,” Ransom haughtily puffs at Lance before walking back to the clubhouse.  He had to fix this.  You were just becoming the brat that he needed to tame.  Had this perfect repertoire of words flying between the two of you.  He even caught you smiling at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.  Ransom was always looking.

Marching into the clubhouse, he demands to see you that instant.  “Mr. Drysdale, what happened?  She came back alone.”

“I’m well aware, and now I need to see her and tell her how disappointed I am.”

One of the workers goes to fetch you, and you stand at the doorway, hip cocked out while you glare at him.  “Dove…”

“Don’t call me that Drysdale!” You glare at him, ready to quit your job all together.  The money was fair, but the tips were incredible.  He shakes his head at you, and walks to you, grabbing your arm, and pulling you away.  “Where the hell are you taking me?  Drysdale!”

“That’s Mr. Drysdale to you.  Or you can refer to me as Hugh,” what the hell was he going on about?  Your eyes search your surroundings, as you try and figure out how to get out of this mess.  “Now,” he shoves you into one of the suites, turning around to lock the door.  “What the hell is your problem?”

“You’re all pompous pigs!  You can’t treat people like that.  H-h-he was an asshole!  How dare you allow him to talk to me like that.  And he…you know what he did.”

“Oh, so you only like it when I talk to you like that?” Ransom gives you a devilish smirk, and starts stalking towards you.  “Is it me you want to have touching you?  Lifting up your skirt so I can see what tiny little panties you have on today?  Don’t deny it, sweet Dove.  I’ve caught you more than once bending over, and peeking back at me, just to make sure I saw your pretty little pussy.  I did.  And now I want it.”

“You’re a fucking lunatic.”

“And you’re not going to talk to me like that,” he gives you a little slap across the face, but you smack him harder.  Your eyes glowing red as you look up at him.  “You’re gonna wish you didn’t do that, sweet Dove.”

When you try to retreat, he gives the back of your legs a little kick, and you stumble to your knees.  “I don’t think you’ve earned the right to be in my bed,” lifting up your little bitty skirt off your ass, he gives the cheeks a little squeeze before moving aside the tiny gusset of your panties.  His fingers roam around through your drenched folds, and he gives your ass a smack.  “Deny it.”

“What’s that Mr. Drysdale?” You ask looking around your shoulder.  “That Lance soaked me, and I’m a mess for him?”

“You fucking bitch,” he spreads out your slit, watching you clench around nothing.  Slapping at your spread core, and laughing when you push back into his leg, whining when your skin meets his pants.  “What is it that you want?”

“Nothing from you.”

“You’re fucking lying.  What is it that you want?”

“Fuck me!!”

“That’s better,” Ransom yanks down his pants as fast as he can before crashing into your neglected cunt.  There was nothing sweet about this moment, just pure primal need.  Rutting into you like his life depended on it.  Angry that his cock can pound you, when it was your mouth that needed to learn to shut up.  “How needy have you been for me?”

“You’re so full of yourself.  You think I wanted this.  Shut your mouth, so I can envision it’s Jefferson behind me.”

“You little bitch,” he changes his pace to stab into you.  Adjusting his angle, and he hits your spot just perfectly.  Leaving you clawing at the floor, crying out at just how good it feels.  Watching your juices pour out onto the floor, and Ransom laughs.  “You think Jefferson could do it, like I do it?  You think he could feel this little whore hole like I do?”

“He could do better,” looking around your shoulder, you give him an evil grin, and he pushes into you harder.  

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Show me how much.  Can you go harder?” He proves he can when he leaves you gasping for air, getting right at the edge of your beautiful release, when he pulls out, squirting his spunk all on the back of your shirt.  “You asshole!”

“I tried to tell you that there were consequences for your actions.  You keep on, and I won’t even let you feel me.  I’ll have you spread eagle, while I fuck my fist.  I don’t even know how you’re still horny.  Did I not fuck you hard enough last night?”

“Don’t go around telling people we’re fucking Drysdale.”

“Don’t go around acting like you’ve got my shit figured out.  I told you in time there will be an initiation.  All the wives go through it.  Do you think you’re ready?”

“Are you proposing?” You bat your eyelashes at him, and he shakes his head no.  “Give me one of your fucking shirts since you ruined this one.”

“No, I’d rather you walk around with my cum all over you.  That way the others know that they better keep their greedy hands off of you.”

“How romantic.  If you came in my cunt, I could have had it dripping down my thighs.”

“Get on the bed, we’ll change that,” you slowly start to lay down in the floor, but Ransom’s arms wrap around your waist, flinging to you the bed, “You’re gonna have to start listen to what I say, Dove.”

“You like it, Drysdale,” you glance down at his cock, watching it get harder by the second, “At least that pretty thing does.  If you hate my fucking mouth so much, why don’t you make me breathless.”

“You know I can.”

“Prove it,” and he was going to.  He would leave your body spent and used in this bed all week if he wanted to.  You had no idea that Ransom always gets what Ransom wants.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @infatuatedjanes @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @peaches1958 @whimsyplaty92 @rebekahdawkins @johndeaconshands @thedarkplume @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @sgtjaamesbaarnes @missusbarnes-rogers @km-ffluv @mickeyhenrys @awkwardgiraffe726 @seitmai

#kinktober 2022 #kinktober #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x fem!reader #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale smut #chris evans

[itsmaybitheway]

omfg tell me about roommate au pls???

Akdkxjakdkkf when I tell you it’s May Unhinged™️ I mean it 😂😂 it’s the second one-shot I’ll post so in two weeks or so you’ll see it in its full glory but basically it’s lawstudent!Alex and phdstudent!Henry. Henry gets a sex injury jsjsjd and Alex goes down spiraling into a full blown sexuality crisis

Here’s a snippett!!

The scene plays in Alex’s head in full fucking HD. 1080p. Crystal clear. He can make out the sweat dripping down Henry’s forehead, making golden blonde strands stick, lips pink and bitten, swollen in an attempt to muffle all the pretty noises he wants to let out. His chest is heaving, breath hitching with each pump of his fingers.

He imagines in his head the way Henry’s dick twitches, leaking precome to his chiseled stomach. Then the snap happens. Henry’s entire body convulses, back arching from the bed, the round of his ass makes shallow thrusts into his fist, still grinding down on his fingers, riding out his orgazm. The force of it makes Henry slump down on the bed, come painting his chest and chin.

And with the Looney Tunes “That’s All Folks” tune, Alex’s brain shuts down. But the melody is not accompanied by Porky Pig but a cartoon image of his own dick, closing down the “Alex’s Sanity” show. Considering his dick is going to be the conductor of him for the foreseeable future, it seems about right.

#rwrb #wip #that’s all folks #wip game #firstprince #rwrb fanfiction #first prince #firstprince fanfic

[moonflower-rose]

The Shuffle One

Helloooo thanks for the tag @oflights and @stavromulabetaaa! I really like the music based tag games because I'm such a huge music slag.

So the deal is you shuffle the on repeat playlist and list the first 10 songs. The tagging 10 people part is where I will fall down because I know a lot of peeps have already done this one (sorry in advance, please feel welcome to ignore!).

The Beginning is the End is the Beginning - Smashing Pumpkins

Easy To Be Hard - Three Dog Night

Houdini - Dua Lipa

Nothing Fails - Madonna

War Pigs - T-Pain

When the War is Over - Cold Chisel

Tension - Kylie Minogue

One Of Your Girls - Troye Sivan

Venus - Lady Gaga

Grand Canyon - Tracey Thorne

Tagging: @holygnocchi @oknowkiss @citrusses @candybarrnerd @shiftylinguini @shealwaysreads @meredyth @sherribonne @nv-md @decaflondonfog

#music is medicine

[imhereformr]

For the prompt thing. Comparing hand sizes - Brella <3

AUTHORS NOTE: This story is set in an alternative season 1 where Brandon and Sky didn't switch places.

Despite her sometimes less-than-stellar relationship with her mother, Stella loved the Day of the Rose. She loved the festivities and traditions. She loved the crowds overflowing with joy and love. Most of all, she loved the markets and vendors that filled the streets of downtown Magix. This year, she particularly loved the company she had.  

A series of instances – that is, Riven storming off after Bloom rightfully dropped a bucket of water on his pig-headed ass, then Bloom going off to try to find him to apologise and Sky going off after Bloom so that she wasn’t left alone with Riven and his temper – left her and Brandon alone. Figuring that either Sky or Bloom would call one of them when they’d found Riven, she and Brandon decided to wander the market stalls.  

Brandon immediately started pointing out things he thought she’d be interested in. And, oh did he have a great eye. He pointed out beautiful scarves, iconic jackets, sparkly rings and stunning dresses. She ooh-ed and ah-ed at the beautiful items, but all she really wanted was to spend as much time as possible with him.  

Stella followed behind as he led the way through the crowd, wondering how she could make it obvious that she was basically in love with him. Her mother had always said that men should do the chasing, but besides some very overt flirting, Brandon wasn’t doing much chasing. Not that he needed to, Stella was wrapped around his finger and basically desperate for his attention. She knew it, her friends knew it, but she refused to let him know it. He would be lucky to get her and that was all he needed to know.  

But then again, she knew she’d be lucky to have him too. Brandon wasn’t only drop dead gorgeous, he was kind, optimistic, loyal, intelligent. And yeah, fucking gorgeous. Rich dark eyes, a jaw chiseled by the world’s greatest artists, silky brown hair, broad shoulders, arms that made her swoon, and height. Such height. Stella was tall and she loved heels, her man needed to be taller than her. She liked having to reach up when they hugged. 

If ever they would hug. No matter how much flirting they did, the physical was severely lacking. He’d kissed her cheek a month ago and ever since, she’d wanted nothing but to be close to him. She would “accidentally” brush her arm against his when they walked, but everything else seemed too desperate unless it was done with exaggerated flirtatiousness which cheapened the thrill of touching him. 

“I think that stand is selling jewelry made with awxinite” Brandon pointed out, drawing Stella’s attention away from the silk dress she was looking over. 

“What’s that?” 

“It’s a gemstone” Brandon replied, leading her over to the stand. “My grandmother had a necklace made of it. It’s a silverish colour in daylight, but it glitters in the dark.” 

“You mean it glows in the dark?” 

“No, it glitters. Yeah, see, they’ve got a box so you can see the glittering.”  

Stella peered into the show box, gasping in awe as she watched this otherwise unassuming stone sparkle like it had been hit by direct sunlight. “That’s beautiful.”  

“Would you like to try one on, ma’am?” the vendor asked, pulling out a small tray of beautifully crafted rings. Stella picked out a ring and the vendor, having impressively guessed that her ring size was a 6, handed it over. She slid it on her finger, admiring it, then cupping it to watch how it shimmered in the dark.  

“And for you, sir” the man said, pulling out a selection of mens rings. “An 11?”  

“I have no idea” Brandon replied, admitting that he’d never measured his ring size.  

The man pulled out a ring and instructed Brandon to try it on. It fit a bit tight, so the man pulled out the next size. “A 12, then.” 

“Wow, I never realised your hands were so big” Stella commented, watching as Brandon’s calloused fingers slipped on the ring.  

“Are they?” Brandon held up his hand, turning it over to inspect it.  

“A bit yeah” Stella laughed as she held up her hand to Brandon. She grabbed his wrist, holding his hand up to hers. He pressed the palm of his hand against hers. The bottoms of their palms lined up, but Brandon’s hands were significantly larger. He could even fold the tips of his fingers to cover hers without disaligning the bottoms of their palms.  

“Maybe you’ve got really small hands.”  

“Oh no” the vendor piped in. “Your girlfriend has perfectly average hands for a woman.” 

“Oh, I’m not -” 

“She does have perfect hands” Brandon agreed with a laugh. Stella knew she had turned tomato red – not a flattering colour on her – but she laughed anyways. Brandon’s smile was just so infectious that she couldn’t help it.  

She braved a glance at him and turned a brighter red when she realised he was smiling at her. Not one of those silly smiles he had when he joked around, either. Brandon smiled at her with the softest, sincerest smile she’d ever seen on him. She returned the smile as she tried not to melt at the way he looked at her – like she was the most beautiful sight (but how could she be when he was?).  

“So then?” the salesman asked, ruining Stella’s favourite moment of the school year so far.  

Brandon pulled his hand away from hers and started to remove the ring. “Not for me, thanks.” 

“I’ll take mine” Stella smiled.  

Later that night, she turned the ring over in her hands, remembering the way Brandon’s hand felt in hers and wishing she could feel him again. When she started to feel sleepy, she put the ring back in its box and placed it in a charmed jewelry box with the Ring of Solaria. Gods knew it was just as, if not more, precious than the family ring.  

#fucking 2 days in a row #look at me go #again unedited #so sorry if there are any mistakes #winx club #winx #winx stella #winx brandon #set in season 1 #prompt #writing prompt #fanfiction