#bulk solids handling

[ansburg]

yall ever read da meta and know that op thought they were cooking. but the post is like this

[impulsedigi]

The dynamics of industrial bulk material handling systems demand high-efficiency, safe, and clean operations. At Rieco Industries, we rise to meet these challenges, delivering innovative, energy-efficient, and fully automated bulk material handling solutions that optimize productivity and enhance sustainability.

[anantaru]

big cock alhaitham / wrio trying to fit his cock inside you mfmfmfmgmfmgm

synopsis. he's trying to fit his cock in you (struggling) <3

including. alhaitham, wriothesley

warnings. size kink & size difference, big dick genshin characters, dirty talk, petnames used: baby, fem! reader

— alhaitham

"it— it's not working," you gasp, nails wretchedly scraping at alhaitham's bicep and your knuckles dwindling with how tightly you were holding him against you, at all times needing your boyfriend's heavy weight close, despite his solid cock not even slipping an inch inside— no matter how wet he's gotten you earlier.

he tries again, tries to nudge his fat tip into your little hole, all desires and doubts banished from his mind, only a single aim in mind, a crystal clear focus flashing in his eyes. ultimately, your body relaxes at how gentle his face was the entire time, as if he's got it all under control and you shouldn't worry about a single thing right now, only enjoy the pressure pinching at your core and how it threatened to break you into a million pieces.

he won’t fit he won't fit alhaitham won't fit but he so desperately wants it and so do you— your mind shouts out alarms to warn you yet again, repeatedly inform you that there wasn't a chance that you'd be able to get filled up by his heavy load tonight, not even get a taste of his swelling erection sticking mercilessly to your walls.

he's failing, his cock head messily brushing up into your folds, roughly enough to scratch a sob from your throat. but that's not a sound alhaitham wants to hear, he craves the noise you make when he slips it in, until you're overfilled with his cum and it's running down the insides of your thighs, staining the mattress.

for all that, instead of growing frustrated, alhaitham decides to gently cup your cheek with his free hand to pull your gaze against his, holding you like the most delicate glass threatening to break— then you feel it, right there, his heavy breathing even heavier and that look in his colorful eyes.

for a second, you relax and let him handle you, awaiting his next move as he looks down at you with a watery, toothy smirk, sighing deeply into his chest and exhaling through his mouth, a tender sound you never grow tired of hearing before his palm holds one leg further apart, your hole spreading for him.

the swell of your pussy lips and the glistening arousal on top of it made the scribe feel like he was on cloud 9, drunken by your beauty and so hard working to please his sweet darling— never any less excited to receive his heavy bulk inside your warmth.

your lungs burn when he goes slow again, chillingly so, even more undemanding that your curves melt like dough beneath his hands.

he's got you now, pushing forward yet always alarmed that it wouldn't fit again as in this one single moment, it finally did, and alhaitham almost eclipsed by the roaring of his blood in his ears when he's got to hear your pretty moan for real now— not just the frustrated ones of you wanting to have him already, but that one particular sound you'd always make whenever you, yes, take him, all of him.

— wriothesley

"that good? you can take it?" hearing those words, it felt like the oxygen in your lungs was melting the moment you can hear wriothesley whisper once more, his wet lips ghosting over your ear shells and erecting goosebumps from your neck, "slowly baby, slowly, you don't wanna hurt yourself," he says, your body convulsing in both an ache and relief— and it's truly important for your health to keep breathing and stay content, even when you're fed up with his erection not fitting inside you that night.

"you're supposed to relax, okay? leave it to me, yeah?" he whispers, a slip of eminence soaring from his tongue to right beneath your trembling flesh— and ugh, it practically sparks all your excitement through your body and multiplies it by ten— your wet core and your puffy, little cunt waiting so patiently to be filled by him, only him forever and ever and ever on end.

"y-yeah.. that's it, baby, see.." nothing could ever prepare you for the feeling wriothesley manages to arouse from you each time, and you could certainly never get used to the feeling of his cock either, despite this not being the first time the two of you have been intimate together.

your back arches as your hole spreads around his erection pumping into your core when he manages to fit it inside, his massive shaft pulsing through your walls and sending shockwaves coursing into your veins, slick and sweat streaking on your skin.

his breath freezes on your wet lips with relief flaring through the watery gloss in your eyes as wriothesley kept his promise to you— starting out with experimental, little thrusts as his eyes closed of their own volition, his muscles tightening, his limbs moving while shifting back and forth a little, snapping his hips against your ass in all the right places.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[hoshifighting]

jeonghan + military thoughts a/n: from someone who dated a soldier WARNINGS: smut, fingering, sensitive scalp, fluff, mentions of soldier jeonghan, jeonghan already in the military, bulkier!jeonghan 👀.

every day without jeonghan feels like a lifetime, like someone pressed pause on everything except the longing you feel. when he finally takes his break, it’s like you can breathe again, even though the sight of him at your door in that military uniform always steals that breath right back.

god, the things that uniform does to him—and to you.

the first thing you notice is the knock on your door. it’s not even loud, but your heart leaps anyway. you know it’s him before you even see him. and when you do open the door, there he stands, wearing that damn military uniform, too fitting. your breath catches because, damn, he looks good. his body’s filled out in ways you didn’t think possible, and it’s all you can do not to jump him right there.

“you miss me, baby?” he asks, a grin pulling at his lips, already knowing the answer. his voice, deeper now, makes you bit your bottom lip.

“every fucking day,” you finally say, and you mean it. you lean in, hands finding their way to his arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath his sleeves. he chuckles, low and rough, before he sweeps you off your feet like you weigh nothing.

your hands are already on him, feeling the bulk he’s gained since he enlisted, tracing the firm muscles that weren’t there before. he’s different now, stronger, more powerful. when he pulls you to the bed, it’s like you weigh nothing. his biceps flex as he pins you beneath him, and you can’t help but moan when his fingers find their way inside you, curling just right, just like he knows you need.

you’re already gone, lost in the way his biceps flex, the way he commands your body like he’s memorized every inch of you.

“fuck,” he groans, pulling your hair just the way you like it, making you arch into him. “you’re so good, baby.”

you can’t help but love what the military’s done to him. the way he moves, the way he handles you—it’s addictive. and when you dig your nails into his scalp, short hair prickling your fingertips, he shudders, his breath hot against your neck.

“shit, do that again,” he murmurs, voice thick with need, and you do, dragging your nails over his scalp, feeling the way his body tenses against yours. his hair’s so soft now, healthier without the dye, and you smile because it’s a part of him you’ve missed.

then there’s the hickeys. gosh, you used to have to be careful, always mindful of his idol image. but now? now he begs for them, wants you to mark him up so everyone knows he’s yours.

“leave something for the boys to see,” he whispers, and you do, pressing your lips to his skin, sucking just enough to leave a bruise, a memory for him to carry back with him. “want everyone to know,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you, “that i’m yours.”

he sends you nudes, nasty ones that make you blush and bite your lip, but it’s the letters that get to you. the ones he sends when he’s away, words filled with everything he can’t say in person. they’re raw, honest, and so him, and you read them over and over until the paper’s worn and soft.

but nothing compares to having him here, in your arms, on your bed, whispering dirty things in your ear while he makes you feel like the only person in the world. “can’t wait to do this again,” he says, and you know, no matter how long he’s gone, you’ll be waiting. always.

[julik0vatay]

Look who escaped into the real world!!!

A Menace that plagued my mind for past month — The Beheaded!!!

Sir, are you aware that you're a Menace?

Rude!!!

He ended up slightly taller than I intended bc I kept playing around with proportions but I'm not gonna go back on that and change it now.

He has alt heads bc ofc he would — blank, star and round eye, plus two sizes of flame. Initially I tried to make eyes fully interchangeable separates but failed to make it reliable bc of small scale. So I opted out to stick them on with scotch, and make alt designs with eye added directly on the head (another alternative — googly eye >.>)

My color choices are in reference to that cool figure, Poisoned one (and obv bc I have only so many filament colors). Not 100% sure with some of them buuut whatever, its done!

About outfit: some of my choices were made specifically with real pants in mind, that's why I didn't bother searching for more realistic leg alternatives. Also obviously the fact that I used fabric means that there's less range of motion where it gets in the way, mainly knees. But I consider this a fair trade bc it looks cool AF! Also tying all those wraps was NOT EASY!! (they became abit loose after handling so I had to redo them several times x_x)

Mods I made: -flame was edited to be solid, added neck cutout, added eye variants -changed shape of arm a little, original was even more buff (if someone would want him to be absolutely ripped, that would be the choice, haha) -changed proportions of chest armor to balance out arm bulk -made abdomen frame longer for better joint mobility (honestly, my solution isn't perfect, there are couple of places that would benefit from sanding but at least its done and working) -made legs longer to balance out longer torso and arms -edited feet to match new proportions -made pauldron from scratch -made Balanced Blade from scratch -edited Dagger -edited Frantic Sword

I will put this mod up later too!

…That said I have my concerns about the fact that I used fabric for pants. Unlike with Drifter, this one required alot more sewing in a very small scale. Should I like.. include pants pattern with this mod... Would that be Weird for printing site… And Im not really interested in writing sewing instructions as for me personally most of it can be summarized in "keep your stitches small, its all very fiddly". But I do have experience in miniature sewing and some random person online probably wouldn't?????

[reformhim]

Clara’s feet pounded against the treadmill, steady and relentless, her black leggings and sports bra soaked with sweat. The gym was nearly empty—just the low hum of machines and her own breathing, deep and rhythmic. She stared ahead, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in focus.

Then it hit her—like a wave rolling through her body. Her stride faltered. She grabbed the handles as a strange heat surged through her chest, down her arms, through her legs. Her muscles tensed, bulked, expanded. She watched in wide-eyed disbelief as her arms swelled with powerful veins, biceps stretching taut, shoulders broadening. Her chest pushed forward, flattening and hardening into slabs of dense muscle.

Her legs thickened beneath her, thighs growing massive and solid, calves rounding into thick cords of power. She stumbled off the treadmill, now standing taller, heavier, stronger. Her ass had transformed into two round, muscular globes, bouncing with each step. Her feet—larger now—burst from her shoes before reforming into sleek black gym trainers. Her leggings and bra melted and reformed, flowing into black sweats and a snug tank that hugged his now immense chest.

Between his legs, there was a new weight. Heavy, thick, undeniable. He reached down instinctively, grunting under his breath. A massive cock, firm and real, hung heavy, matched by full balls that rested warmly against his thighs.

He staggered to the mirror, staring in awe. A clean-cut man stared back—strong jaw, confident eyes, soaked with sweat and raw masculinity. The power he felt was electric. His body thrummed with testosterone, virility, dominance.

He thought of his husband. Small, soft, sweet. Fuckable.

A smirk curled on his lips. “He’s mine now,” the man muttered under his breath, voice deep and commanding. “Things are gonna change.”

He grabbed his water bottle and headed for the exit, thick arms pumping at his sides. There was no fear. No confusion. Just purpose. Hunger. Lust.

And no going back.

A special thank you to @rowdy317 for the awesome graphic to this story!

[averycutesalamander]

that ask made me realize that i haven't really put all of my headcanons in a cohesive place lol, which is probably kinda confusing. the bulk of this is explored in ddbb. these are all pure speculation, and im pretty sure at least one of them is now unambiguously not canon, buuuuut whatever. canon is my oyster and damn am i allergic to shellfish. obligatory reminder that my takes on things are not the be-all and end-all, you're welcome to disagree with me, etc etc

All of his visible body is artificial. Yes, even his hair and skin. I think the only organic parts of him are the majority of his brain and parts of his nervous system. (Probably my most controversial headcanon. I don't know why, but this just feels right to me. At an absolute minimum, I think he has a reinforced skull; it feels a little weird for him to turn his entire body into an indestructible war machine only to leave his head, perhaps the most important part of his nervous system, vulnerable.)

He can feel things on his body. He has an extremely complicated "nerve net" beneath both his body and his skin that lets him sense pressure. His skin is more sensitive and can better differentiate between textures. (Also controversial, but I struggle to believe that he can't feel anything. It would be difficult to navigate the world in general if you can't feel where you're walking, and I can't imagine him having so much dexterity with his gun if he couldn't feel his hands. This is just personal preference, though.)

He can drink, but he can't eat. When he drinks things, they're basically just stored as-is inside of him until it can later be emptied. The only solid he can eat is his rounds, and anything else just gunks up his systems. (My logic here is that it seems like it would be way harder to handle the variety of textures and materials in foods than just liquids, and that would be a lot of space taken up that could've otherwise been dedicated to weapons or utilities. Also, thematically speaking, there's something extra tragic about sacrificing something as culturally significant and comforting as food.)

He doesn't really digest things. They just go into that aforementioned storage. This makes him immune to all kinds of poisons and drugs and whatnot. This also means he can't get drunk, unless he finds some kind of wacky program to simulate the feeling. (I think it's safe to say that this is officially non-canon. There's the line he has on the Express about the vomit-inducing agent, and in 2.6 he mentions drinking to numb emotional pain, which unambiguously implies that he has a stomach capable of digesting. I formed this headcanon before he even came out, and I'm quite attached to it and all of its implications, so uhhhhh... Whatever.)

He has a little bullet factory inside of him, specifically for his explosive rounds. When he eats his regular bullets, his body recycles the materials to create the exploding rounds that we see in his ultimate. There is, in fact, a step in the production specifically to print the shark faces on the cartridge. He does sometimes have to refresh resources (usually gunpowder, because sometimes the bullets pop in his mouth when he chews them), but it's self-sufficient for the most part. The only thing he has to add is phosphorus, which makes the bullets explosive.

He's waterproof in the sense that he can go dunk himself in a lake if he wants, but there are a few issues. First is that, in order to prevent water from getting into his internals, he has to seal all of his external vents; this is risky for temperature management reasons, but if the water isn't cool enough, he has emergency heat sinks internally. Secondly is that water degrades his body rather quickly, especially his joints and other small components. All this means is that he just has to make an extra visit to the mechanic. (There's some ambiguity on canon compliance here. He endures rain in Penacony like it's no problem, but that's also within the dream, so we can't be sure.)

Other miscellaneous stuff: he can hold his breath way longer than a human can (his system doesn't use very much air); he's quite tenderheaded; he can go quite a while without sleep, but he still needs it in addition to charging; he's tasted a truly insane amount of inedible things, including gasoline, gunpowder, crude oil, dirt (honestly not that strange, because if you work outside for long enough, you will eventually get dirt in your mouth no matter how hard you try to avoid it lol), the liquid inside of a battery, lighter fluid, charcoal, mercury, gallium, hand soap, and antifreeze, just to name a few; he has a spectacular singing voice; he keeps his gun immaculately clean; he has two gay dads (let's pretend Graey is a man, it's gender neutral enough); and probably some other stuff I'm forgetting.

Edit: also I hc him to be like 300 lbs total but it's super flexible depending on what I feel like doing lol.

Edit 2: actually now that I've thought about it longer I'd wager he's closer to 250 lbs. Still hefty but y'know.

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Hiii saw your requests open and i thought why not give it a shot. I love your stories, I'm more attached to your style of writing melancholy like on floret, counting coins, better left unsaid and always the angel never the god. So, just a random idea to throw out there you can do whatever with it:

Hiccup and yn were engaged early on. Yn is a bit older and fitter to follow around Stoick to learn how to defend and manage Berk. Yn feels sorry for Hiccup and tries to make him enjoy his youth and time with his friends more while she made him handle the rest. Leading to a misunderstanding that he didn't feel needed when in fact he did have a crush on her with how she doted on him and how cool she looked fighting dragons and ordering people around. While she liked him for his thoughtful caring side but still envied his freedom and creativity.

That's pretty much it idk lmao it was just a word puke. That's just the gist no need to be word for word, if it's too much i completely understand but truly want to praise your eloquence and how you caught me right in the feels augh. Thank you for your time! 🦀

Wildflower

Pairing: Unrequited!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Fiance!Reader

Words: 2113

You never asked to be here.

Tags: Mild age difference, fem!reader, heavy exposition, non-canon politics, original characters

Next>

His arms ached, heavy and stiff as if the body of a sapling had been shot right through the bone. They loosened slightly and dipped under some hefty weight- he paid them no mind, eyes drawn to the wild world on the outside even as he grunted and struggled. 

With a jerk, dropping the sword, he with a strength he’d never really been able to spend on the all things that really mattered. There was a hefty clatter and a clang, the sound no less thick than the bang of a heavy bell or a gong, long metal body slamming and dancing against stone.

 His feet and legs stuttered as he stepped both forwards and back, palms roughly meeting the wood of the counter, bouncing eagerly as if he might begin to run or be startled into action.

There had been a shout- something indignant, deeper than normal, not so much a battle cry yet no less defiant and sure. He thought he might have known it- he had to look. 

The feel of smoothed, aged wood beneath his palms, both flatter and rounder than liquid, solid and uninterrupted- the sound of warring battle-cries from the world outside and the sweltering feel of heat from both the forge and the terrible reign of dragonfire and sharp teeth and clawed mouth- all of it came secondary to his searching, the bulk of him overshadowed by the hefty forge window

It was too early in the battle and the warriors of Berk had been too prepared for there to have been a line outside the door, and well- most of everyone had already left for the other side of the island, where the assault had been most violent.

He felt the burn on the side of his hand as he brought his hand back, grazing it against the side of the table- he’d accidentally pressed it against the face of the sander’s belt. It’d stung and buzzed with a thickness not unlike the feeling of folded cloth crusted in dragon spit or the hard skin on the bottom of an old foot, though the skin on his own palm, he knew, wasn’t so thick or stubborn.

Past raging orange flames and scorching yellows he saw you, lonesome, outlined like a shadow in the light across the clearing. 

Your shoulders were stiff and your stance full as you swung the hard, metal-rimmed bottom of a bucket against the head of a beast- a Gronkle, its thick, green-brown head giving way to a wide maw as it bellowed.

 It bled, its blood splattering across your face as if it were naught but a shock of light or darkness made liquid; as if, instead, it was you who had been violently cut and not it.

There was no vicious, beautiful Astrid here to ogle at- not now, as there had been in the before times and as there would be later- no, just you. 

You, who had been meant for him… At least, he thought so. 

He wasn’t completely confident in the fact- the whole thing went rather unspoken of. It wasn’t a taboo per se, more something that lay heavy, made clear through few words a long time ago then made obscure by the lengths of time and age.

Still, there came a suresty with it even if there wasn’t much of a bond between the two of you, something that, for him, acted as a heavy comfort. In times like these, he leaned into it, felt the lump in his chest beat against it like his bones were nothing but taut leather and wood.

-

Blazing red hair, nearly imperceptible against the raging fires as she swung an axe- it took you a while to find any of the others.

Before you was fiery Tove, a tallish Viking girl-woman from a house named ‘Alfson,’ not so influential as it was just there and nearly forgotten. In it, she was like a polished gem among a lot of plain, unassuming stones. She was also a member of your peer group, aged older by about nearly a winter. She’d been born in the warmer month, when the sun was at its hottest and the earth was at its greenest.

You settled by her with crossed arms, close enough to be recognized as part of the group and yet not close enough to hint towards any one specific alliance. 

It was the darkest of nights above yet the fires rendered it light as day. You tried your hardest not to inhale any of the soot as you watched the rest -the two of four, really- fooling, knocking into each other with rough shoulders as you worked where it really mattered.

Your peer group was a large one. The number of you here was only a smallish fraction of a whole, the rest drawn away in the moment by other troubles and politics.

They’d grown complacent in the chaos, used to the raging fires and battle as you all were, carelessly leaving the fires around to burn and eat away at everything. You kept yourself still and casual in spite of it, knowing that, here, words and tussles were just as dangerous as the rock-shattering jaws of any beast.

Brigading was a task born more to temper the fires of the eager younger men more than it was to assure the sanctity of the village, though no task was without its uses- more often than not, however, you all ended up taking up a weapon and battling to your own ends.

Still, you took it seriously. 

You’d not so much been invited into the brigade as you’d one day picked up a bucket and started helping along in silence, though you probably would have been asked along eventually. 

Approval from the others had been slow to garner and yet it was strong, anchoring- you’d no intention of trying to shake it, though you believed it would be hard to.

With the thick wooden handle lying clenched within one hand, you stopped above the smooth, round top of a viking helmet, resting your foot against it as if you were at the edge of a cliff with a sword.

You’d rather be, at least in the day, when the smoke would be blown out and the air fresh and clear.

“-Codswallop!” The one with the protestant words was Duckmaw, who belonged to a set of intimidating burly arms and short-cropped, burned blonde-ish hair typically hidden under a helmet that had made him look bald, soot darkened face scratched and laying posed under your fuzzy brown boot. 

He was unusually brawny and bold for his breed but was also just as soft- he was an Ingerman. Ingermans, though bustingly fierce as any other Viking, also tended to be the most tempered.

“You lot are all the same- tubby poets, you are!” Bjorner spoke back with sharper words. He was the second, and a Thorston, though his second name, Evenson, did not quite match his ties. He also didn’t quite stand on par with his blood, a bit thicker and more prone to jumping into battle than the rest of his clan, who preferred a good bit of taunting first. 

His family was a branch-off- one of many, as there tended to be with the Thorstons. “Gooey hearts and even weaker swords.”

“Your words are of poor taste, though I’d expect no less from a bastard!” Duckmaw shrugged aggressively forwards, jerking away, half turning before he thought to face Bjorner again, stepping closer this time. He looked quite silly with his rounder, younger face and slightly more plump body, standing nearly chest-to-chest with a man who was about two winners his senior.

Absent from your lot were a Hilde and an Arne, who was a plump and tall, honorable nearly-man with blonde hair who was suspiciously absent. Away in a fashion that remained unexplained or pondered was a Jorunn, Frode and Hjerson and a Njal.

“Agh, the lot of them,” Trove spoke appealingly, panting slightly, having brought herself to your side, nudging you in the shoulder. She was thicker than you by about a half and a great deal taller, so her elbow landed more against the top of it than along the side, “We womenfolk know better, yes?”

You gave her a skeptical, apathetic eye before turning your attention back to the conflict, standing still and firm- she hadn’t knocked you hard enough to unbalance you though she had given you quite the hard jab, albeit half of it must have been without intention, the other half with surety and mild competition.

Trove didn’t take so much offense, probably more used to your silence and your stoic behavior now than before, when she also used to grace you with a gruff, judging eye.

“I’m no bastard!” Bjorner barked deeply, squaring his shoulders and stepping forwards again. You couldn’t make out all of it, the sound of splintering wood and the white noise of cooking everything raging for but a moment. “But at least my mother’s no manky whore!”

Gritting his teeth, Duckmaw didn’t back down, even as the thin brown furs still attached to Bjorner’s leather overcoat brushed up against his jaw. His arm- the one facing you- twitched up and down as if he’d wanted to lift it, meaty fists clenching uproariously. “Don’t speak of her that way, you-! You-!”

Your even face did nothing to hide your apathy, even as your eyes stayed trained on them.

Their argument went beyond petty bonds and snippish words- it was, in truth, not their argument at all- more an argument of their house, monoliths of Vikings to which they were of little consequence. It was some tiff over land and the excuse was woodstock. The conflict had grown itself into a mighty feud. 

“Tis the hobby of fools, to spend all their time arguing about their mamies,” Tove said, her freed red hair still doing wonders to blend her in with the fires, some sticking to skin and face, red, pale and slick with sweat like fish’s skin.

You nearly rolled your eyes. As you did, you caught something from the corner of your eye.

“How’ve you lot been doing?” You heard, nearly lost under the crackling of fires and crumbling of houses, the sound of battle-cry off in the distance. He had a plaintive, respectable voice, still somehow smoothe even under the assault of smoke and ash, all male and deep. 

…Ah. Here came the cavalry with a bucket of his own.

You graced swept blonde hair with a nod, what should have been wheat made russet by soot and fire, bursting from the back of Arne’s head where the front was covered by a metal mask- a hazard, as it was, metal being prone to heat and melt under the vicious might of dragon fire. 

You suspected, in a few years, he might have one mighty burn scar running down the side of his face- if he made it out of the whole ordeal alive, as it was. 

His clothes were torn and he sported a bloody gash on one arm- he’d gotten caught up in some battle, then. He was the only one of them who’d already been accepted by the warriors as one of their own, who’d taken up a sword with quiet determination as the rest of them stayed managing buckets.

You occasionally joined him- you hadn’t received any fuss either, and yet… Well, the others needed managing… Watching, more than anything.

He nodded back at you as you levied up your bucket, grasping it by the bottom.

You huffed a breath of hair, blowing away a heavy tuft of soot as it threatened to hit you in the face, unusually large yet very thin, almost enough to be called a burnt wood scrap.

“-That’s what I thought,” Bjorner said maliciously, distantly- he’d jerked forward, and during the time you’d been distracted, Duckmaw, younger and more naive, had faltered. 

You stilled. It didn’t matter so much who was what in this minor, petty battle of wills. It wouldn’t change the outcome. 

It was only by an odd fluke of politics that you’d ended up here, a fisher’s girl from nowhere island, and so while not at all illicit in origin, you were no better than a bastard. 

Here, in this world of blood and fire there was no room for the girl in the woods. You knew that with a quiet, simmering surety, painfully aware of the small square booklet in your back pocket, padding against your thigh as you moved, fresh leather delicately held shut with a clasp, pressing deeply the dulling, colored faces of soft, pressed flowers.

[bigification]

Inside Out - Mo

"I'm so sick of this shit!" Mo yelled as he got home from work. "Everyone treats me like I'm not even there. Even my friends won't shut the fuck up about how I'm just a little guy." He continued, annoyed. He grabbed his gym bag and rushed back out the door. He sat in his car and whipped out his phone and googled a workout routine for bulking. He just wanted to not be a twig that anyone could push around. While he was scrolling through article after article, he saw an ad for a new app 'Inside Out'. He figured it was some sort of workout regiment app, so he downloaded it. He put his phone down and drove off to the gym, figuring it would be downloaded by the time he got there.

Mo pulled up to the gym he hadn't been to in years, despite the fact that he's been paying for the membership. He walked to the back and into the locker room. The stench almost made him regret coming, but he was determined. He got changed and was about to head out the door when he remembered the app. He pulled up the app, hoping to find a routine that he could follow, but he was met with a screen that simply said 'continue'. He shrugged and pressed the button. Almost immediately after, his body froze in place. He could see and hear and feel, but everything seemed hazy. Suddenly his body felt warm.

His clothes tightened around his body as muscle poured onto his frame. Twig like arms grew large and defined as his hands thickened. A flat chest plumped up into a solid pair of pecs. A flabby skinny fat belly turned into rippled abs. His clothes became tighter with every surge of growth his body went through, until his six pack showed under his ridden up shirt. His ass became round and plump, filling out his shorts, and his thighs thickened. The bulge in his pants grew larger and larger until there was not much left to the imagination. Even his feet grew to the point of ripping through the front of his shoes.

Even though Mo couldn't move, he could feel the strength in his body. It felt good. But that wasn't it. Just as fast as his six pack showed up, it was gone under a thick layer of fat. Soon it became a full on pot belly, riding up his shirt and making him look pregnant. It grew and grew into a round ball belly that hung over his waistline, with matching love handles. At this point his shirt looked like a bra, but that too did not last. His once solid pecs softened as they turned into thick man boobs, ripping right through his tiny shirt. His moobs grew to the point of sagging onto his gut. His arms and hands plumped up as fat covered the definition they had. His ass plumped up even further, bursting through his shorts and leaving him naked. A fat pad grew around his dick, but his dick had grown long enough that it still looked massive. His thighs thickened to the point of constantly rubbing together.

Mo's face started to fatten up, matching the rest of his body as his cheeks puffed out a bit and his jawline disappeared. Though a thick beard quickly covered up his soft jawline. Tattoos appeared all over his plump body, making his look tough but soft at the same time.

Mo finally relaxed as he gained control of his body again. He immediately felt the weight of his gut pull him forward, but his newfound strength kept him upright. He looked down and saw his hulking body. His dick jumped at the sight, and he smiled. Though he grabbed a towel to cover up his member now that his clothes were in pieces on the floor. He wrapped the towel as far around his waist as it would go and walked toward the mirror.

He chuckled in a deep rugged voice, before grabbing another man's clothes and leaving the gym a different man.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera Ch 36 - Lost

What went before

If you’re new to this madness It might make sense to read at least chs 28 & 29 to meet Bez and find out what Scott’s deal with dogs is… and maybe 35 as that happens literally just before this and will explain why he’s wobbly. Alternatively, yolo - dive in and see if you can make any sense of this mad little scene which wasn’t even in the plot outline but once I pictured it refused to be left out. ☺️

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Despite the early hour, the streets were busy with folk on whatever missions drew them out into the late spring sunshine. Most of these appeared to involve heading downhill, towards the seafront, but at a frustratingly ambling pace.

Bez carved a path through the crowd and Estera weaved her way behind while Scott, unused to feeling like the bulky member of a duo, tried to follow in her wake before the gaps closed after her. He found himself continually apologising to the various beach-equipment-laden people he bumped with a shoulder or an elbow.

Of course if he considered them a trio, he’d arguably have to concede the majority of the bulk was with the four legged one… even without the floof, the Pyr was a wall of muscle that even Virgil might think twice about opposing.

Despite that, and despite the extreme drool and (he suppressed the urge to shiver at the thought) the perfectly-normal-amount-of-teeth-for-his-species… Scott was beginning to genuinely warm to the creature. Not least because in the half hour following Scott’s embarrassing wobble and their ‘moment’ of understanding over his drool-soaked peace offering, Bez had barely left Scott’s side.

Though he would deny it vehemently to most anyone who asked, it was kind of comforting being shadowed by a giant teddy bear. Solid, mostly immovable, but enthusiastically (overwhelmingly) affectionate. As long as you didn’t try to make him do anything he hadn’t already decided to, Bez was pretty much benign. Kind of a cross between Virgil before 9am and Gordon on a sugar high, he mused, only rather hairier and maybe marginally less coherent…

Yeah it was going pretty well. The faint scratching at the edge of his consciousness was ignorable. Hopefully if he could handle a dog this size, then others would become ok too and he would get back to a place where they didn’t even have to be a consideration. He just needed to get enough of a grip on himself not to completely fall apart when he was taken by surprise…

He felt a hot little prickle of shame flow through his face as he recalled Edith’s concerned face at the window. It had barely registered at the time but she must have heard Estera call out to him. If only he’d managed to get inside before… ugh. Strangely he couldn’t find he was so bothered by Estera seeing that kind of weakness in him... perhaps because she had before. But other people… he couldn’t afford for other people to know. It wasn’t… just… no. He needed to be stronger than that.

He was sure he hadn’t made a sound but Estera suddenly gave him a look over her shoulder, a mildly raised eyebrow and then a slight frown as if she could hear the direction his thoughts were taking and disapproved.

He gave her his best reassuring smile.

She smiled faintly back, clearly unconvinced, but was forced to return her attention to not falling over a large pushchair that stuck out across their path.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he was being too hard on himself… after all it was always going to be a tricky day. Perhaps the trickiest in a string of hard days in the hardest season - the time of year when he was less able to ignore the quiet truth that despite being rescued there was a little part of him that had always remained lost.

But the rest of him was alive and so was she. And the air was warm and the sky was blue. He took a deep appreciative breath then mumbled another apology as he twisted sideways to edge past a person hefting two enormous drinks coolers and a large rucksack.

Anyway, he refocused his wandering mind, it was good to have Bez there, because any passers by who might have any attention to spare them were looking at the enormous white dog-mountain and not the awkwardly tall man with the face people often seemed to find oh-so-familiar. As ever, he was hiding behind his beloved aviators and a nondescript baseball cap but for once he felt perhaps he didn’t need to. That felt good too.

He chuckled as Estera put on a sudden spurt of speed, dragged forwards by her beloved hellhound then startled as they unexpectedly veered to the right down a side street. Scott, unable to change direction in time was carried along by the crowd for a few moments before he was able to battle his way back up the narrow sidewalk, apologising still more as he pushed against the flow.

He found his friend crouched in front of a tiny child who was sobbing out a garbled explanation of why she’d let go of her brother’s hand and how badly she wanted her mama and daddy. Bez had curled himself around her back and she seemed entirely unworried by this despite the dog being taller than she was. In fact Scott could see a small hand clinging tightly to the longer fur by the his neck.

Scott dropped to his knees next to Estera “Hey there, we’ll find them for you. What’s your name?”

The little girl peered up at him and wailed:

“T-T-Twaceee. I’s Twacy an’ ‘m lost!”

Huh. What were the chances of that?

He looked at Estera and she nodded agreement. Leaving them there, the little girl having buried her face back in Bez’s furry shoulder while Estera chatted soothingly. The cars were moving fairly slowly and he rated his chances of being seen reasonably highly, what with the height and all. He hopped off the kerb and jogged down the road, calling out to people as he passed:

“Excuse me, has anyone lost a Tracy?”

“We have a little girl called Tracy back there, does anyone know…?

“I need to find Tracy’s parents?”

“Sorry, I’m looking for Tracy’s Mom and Dad?”

“Tracy’s Mommy and Daddy? No?”

“Tracy? I have a lost Tracy?”

Some sympathetic looks but not a glimmer of recognition. This wasn’t working. And he was getting too far away. He stopped and waited for a cyclist to swerve around him then yelled at the top of his voice:

“I NEED TRACY’S PARENTS!”

Scott paused, suddenly overcome by a hollow feeling in his gut and a bitter taste on his tongue.

He huffed a small laugh to himself. Didn’t he just?

He rounded a corner and came upon a kerfuffle up ahead as people tried to bypass a blockage on the sidewalk. In moments the blockage resolved itself into a wild eyed and clearly panicking couple dragging an overladen trolley and a slightly older child in a large sunhat who was dragging his feet with an air of mutiny. He didn’t really need further confirmation but the man’s gasp of “Did you say Tracy? Thank God!” provided it anyway.

Excited giggles greeted them as they rounded the corner and then at a high pitched cry of “Skacz! Łapa!” Bez leaped into the air then landed on all fours and shook himself vigorously.

“Well done! He likes you!” Estera patted her on the back and little Tracy clapped in delight. The smaller of Scott’s companions pushed past and ran over to join them.

“Bez! Miss H!”

“Oh hello, Jeff!” She looked up and smiled warmly. “Is this your little sister?”

“Your kids are Jeff and Tracy?!” Scott’s reaction slipped out before he could stop himself.

Belatedly recognising the young lad from the rescue and worried he might recognise him in turn, Scott tugged at the peak of his cap and slouched a little. Fortunately Jeff was entirely absorbed by ruffling Bez’s ears.

The father laughed and tilted his head with a fond smile towards his partner who was fussing over their toddler. Tracy seemed disinclined to be parted from her new bestest fwend and the pouting bottom lip trembled as Estera called him to heel.

“The missus is a bit of a fan.”

Scott summoned the pleasant, professional smile he used time and again when forced to pretend to strangers that he was entirely comfortable with the topic of conversation.

“He was a great man.”

“He’s not dead.” The woman cut in forcefully without looking up.

Scott blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t say ‘was’. He’s definitely still alive. That leaked explosion footage was a deep fake. The GDF were trying to silence him before he exposed widespread corruption in the World Government and so he had to go undercover to escape. It’s pretty common knowledge, is all over the internet.”

Well. That… that was a new one. Scott made a mental note to have a little chat to John about what filters were being applied to his weekly media summaries.

How on earth to respond though? Should he correct her? Agree? Laugh? They should have a Line for things like this. He should definitely say SOMETHING but all words escaped him and the best he could do was force a generic interested noise around the lump in his throat. The dog brushed against the back of his legs and pushed a damp nose into his limp hand.

“Now love, not everybody is as committed to the conspiracy websites as you are.”

“They aren’t conspiracy sites!”

Estera coughed and interrupted to apologise but said they had an urgent appointment. When had her hand tucked around his arm? He wasn’t sure but was grateful it was there - at least now despite the sudden light headedness he might not float away. He echoed her hurried goodbyes and they returned, side by side this time, to the busy main street.

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Next: Chapter 37 - Warmup

[mehbles]

The bear bar

From the end of senior year in high school, Ethan had always been that effortlessly lean guy. His 165-pound frame was defined without being muscular, wiry enough to hint at strength but slim and comfortable. But after graduation, with no workouts scheduled and a lot of freedom to eat what he wanted, he started to change. When college began, his life of convenience foods, late-night snacks, and indulgent weekends quickly became the new normal.

At first, the difference was subtle. He could feel his stomach softening, a small layer of flesh rounding out where his abs once used to be. He’d catch himself adjusting his shirt over the slight swell, aware of a newfound warmth there. When he walked, he could sense an unfamiliar jiggle in his step, a movement that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t much, but it was there—a gentle reminder that his body was evolving. By the end of freshman year, he’d settled around 180 pounds, and everything just felt… different. His stomach didn’t lie flat anymore, and his thighs brushed together, a new sensation of soft friction with every step. He noticed the way his arms looked rounder in T-shirts and how his jeans pinched a little when he sat down.

He took a job at a local bar, and there, he met Eric—a regular with a sturdy, muscular build who often hung around the bar’s bear crowd. Eric liked big men, which surprised Ethan at first, but he liked it. Eric didn’t just accept Ethan’s softening frame; he reveled in it. With every approving glance and lingering touch, Eric made Ethan aware of each new curve and bulge. When Eric’s hands traced over the small layer of fat that now cushioned Ethan’s waist, Ethan felt something shift in him. The softness was no longer something he ignored; it became something he embraced.

And as his weight edged closer to 200 pounds, he felt that embrace literally. His belly, which now curved forward with a soft heft, became a comforting weight against his shirt. When he sat, he felt it crease into rolls that warmed under his hand when he rested it there, a plushness he’d never felt before. He felt his chest losing its lean shape, softening into a pair of slight curves that moved with him, something Eric loved to press into when they hugged. His arms, once wiry and narrow, began filling out with bulk, the skin rounding, less defined but solid.

With Eric’s encouragement, Ethan started noticing his growing body in new ways. His thighs became so wide and solid that sitting down felt different. They spread out under his weight, each motion coming with a slight, pleasant resistance. He had to adjust his stance just to stay comfortable when standing for long hours at work, which was becoming more of a workout itself as he shifted his weight to accommodate his increasingly sturdy frame.

Sophomore year marked another turning point, as his job at the bar took on a new level of support. Management started encouraging Ethan to show off his gains. The other bartenders went shirtless, but Ethan was shy at first, unsure how his soft middle would be received. But when he took the plunge, the reaction was instant. His once-lean chest had grown into thick, plush mounds that jiggled slightly with each movement, and his belly, round and full, hung over his waistband in a soft, undeniable curve. He felt the way it bounced gently as he moved, how it jostled with the rhythm of his steps, and how he could press into it with his hands, feeling the plushness.

By junior year, Ethan had reached 230 pounds, and every ounce was tangible. His belly, now rounded and protruding, had a warmth to it, a fullness he felt with every step. When he moved quickly, he’d feel it sway slightly, the weight a constant reminder of his changed body. Even his walk had adjusted, a more deliberate pace to handle the new mass in his thighs and belly. His chest had softened further, and when he’d reach across the bar or lift something, he could feel the flesh shift, a satisfying give under his hands, which Eric delighted in.

At work, his body had become part of the atmosphere. He’d occasionally catch sight of his own reflection and be struck by the difference—where he used to stand with lean, angular lines, he now saw a man with broad, thick limbs, his belly a plush focal point under the dim bar lights. When he turned, his sides would press against his shirt, creating small rolls, his arms swinging slightly heavier at his sides. Every movement felt more substantial, each step a reminder of the size he now carried.

By senior year, he’d reached 265 pounds. His belly was now a full, jiggling expanse, hanging forward with a weight he felt with every motion. Sitting down, he’d feel the way it creased and folded into warm rolls, each one a cushioned, soft reminder of his transformation. Standing for long shifts required a stance that allowed his thighs to spread out comfortably, solid and warm under his hands when he adjusted his stance. His arms and chest, too, had thickened, his shirtless form something he’d come to wear proudly as regulars cheered him on.

In the last stretch of college, he reveled in his size. He loved how his body felt as he moved, how each step came with the soft bounce of his belly and the constant warmth of his rounded, fleshy frame. His world had become one where each roll, every jiggle, every fold was cherished—a testament to the years he’d spent growing, expanding, becoming a version of himself he’d never imagined but now wouldn’t trade for anything. With Eric by his side, he knew he’d never stop loving every soft inch.

[rosesradio]

Quick Bulked Percy Thought 1, based on a true story: With all his extra weight, and frequent, vigorous activity, Percy actually breaks the bed he and his romantic partner use. Immediately after, instead of getting a new bedframe, Percy's roommate insists Percy keep the matress on the floor on top of a pile of noise-cancelling mats.

Quick Bulked Percy Thought 2, based on a true story: At his peak bulk, Percy is so horny that he and his romance partner marathon for a solid day, finishing fourteen times all told. Quick Bulked Percy Thought 3: He outgrows all his clothes; seams pop on his less stretchy clothes, he fills every loose garment he had to the brim. He eventually has to get a new wardrobe to accommodate his new shape. Grover never stops giving him grief (laughing the whole time) about the time Percy blew out his seams at the fire at camp. Quick Bulked Percy Thought 4 (last one, I promise): Stretch marks. They pop up everywhere on him, and Frank gives him some good noisturizers to help soothe them and make them less livid. Would Percy be embarassed or proud, do you think? Also Percy just looks at Frank like "You live like this all the time?" Frank just smiles. Final Bulked Percy Thought 5: Who's the one to put a sticky-note in the middle of Percy's back, which is now so broad that he can't reach back and pull it off himself? Bulked Percy Thought: Would Percy feel a little self-conscious about losing his abs? Going from sculpted to smooth and fluffier? Bonus points for how the other characters react to the loss of abs, romantic, platonic, spicy, or otherwise. Bulked Percy Thought: Absolutely ridiculous Halloween costumes that he can wear/pull off with all his extra mass Another Bulked Percy Thought: Cake. Before he got his new wardrobe he blew out the seam of his pants when he bent over.

compiled all 8 asks into one post (next time please just try to send 1-3 longer asks 😭🙏)

i don’t have a lot to add other than answering the questions:

i think that percy would probably feel a little insecure about his stretch marks the same way that he’s insecure about every other changing aspect of his body, but once he sees that frank has them too, he feels a bit better. bonus points if his partner(s) trace along those marks with smooth fingertips followed by their lips, making percy melt with how loved he feels 💌

he probably feels the same about losing his abs, knowing that he’s going from a “just for show shrink wrapped abs” to a much stronger more practical lifestyle. bonus points if his partner (i’m picturing piper here) buries her face in his stomach and squishes his love handles, going on about how his stomach is her favorite pillow 💌

idk about Halloween costumes (uhh thanos lmao) but leo definitely put the sticky note on percy’s back. easy to say that percy got him back for that though, and if there’s one thing about leo it’s that he loves when percy uses his strength to pin him up against the wall 👀💌

[rensworld29]

i've said it before and i'll say it again. yes, holloway & broberg are excellent for this team and this organization. they showed potential in edmonton, but nothing close to what they're producing now. some of it comes down to ice time, but i think the bulk of it lies in circumstance and how this was handled by the blues (particularly army & monty). the offer sheet boys were never going to get the opportunities with the oilers that they're getting here. they're incredible, but the fact that they're unlocking that here & now speaks volumes about this team. we needed them both for different reasons. i love our stacked defensive core, but you have to concede that none of those guys are getting any younger. experience isn't everything. broberg is 23 and makes relatively few mistakes on the ice. that's enough to be a solid defensive player — quick with a good hockey IQ. but in colton's absence, i think they've also been working with broberg on his scoring ability. the blues are changing their play style as they're rebuilding and it's causing teams to underestimate us. historically, from what i can tell, the blues have rarely been able to use speed and rush chances to get the jump on an opposing team. we were more of a grinding, defensive, hard-hitting team who used puck possession and lights-out goaltending to tire out teams. who's gonna bother shooting the puck when it never seems to find the back of the net anyway? that's how we got the cup in 2019. and everyone remembers that. all the teams in the league remember how their opponents did it. that's their whole job. so when we go up against a team now and we're firing on ALL cylinders — defense, offense, goaltending, chemistry, coaching, play styles, systems — i think it takes them by surprise. there is no way in for other teams. we have two incredibly solid goalies. we do not tolerate dirty hits. we win fights (mostly). we make it exhausting for a team to get to our end in the first place, and we take it right back to their doorstep as soon as possible. holloway and kyrou have really found something special together and kyrou is suddenly having a career year. those two are having a mutually beneficial effect on each other. i think that kyrou can see how talented holly is and wants to have the same success, and holly now has a springboard for his own speed and agility on the ice. nobody can stop them. nobody's fast enough to even try. this team is a fucking nightmare, and i love it so much.

[kawarikisaki]

So a while back I made a post that speculated that to someone (specifically Hakuba in the post, but I do feel that it could apply to regular people as well) unfamiliar with the Detective Boys they may assume that they're all like Conan, and that if they also saw Haibara in her element they might come to the conclusion that each of the kids is a specialist of some kind.

At the time I didn't really think much further on it about what each kid would specialize in, but I've found myself thinking about it again.

As a detective team, they don't have to all have similar knowledge sets, and in fact will actually benefit from having different perspectives that can be brought to the table.

That said... this isn't so much me trying to say they're currently like this, but thinking about what I would want to see as a dynamic if they continued to be interested in being detectives years down the line. (Also just acting with the assuption that Conan and Haibara stay part of the team. So something like an OVA 9 AU, not something I expect to really happen.)

Conan is the team's generalist. He's skilled, but he spreads his knowledge base out so he can maximize his understanding of everything. If anything, his speacilties are flexible thinking and understanding the interactions between people and objects. He's a skill monkey and the defacto leader handling all coordination and planning.

Haibara is of course the medical specialist. If something has to do with medicine or chemistry she's going to know more than anyone else. First aid and forensics are her job. Conan can check the cause and time of death, but its more accurate when she does it.

Also it's definitely secondary, but she also has a pretty solid knowledge of fashion and brand name items.

Now for the more speculative ones:

Mitsuhiko is the outdoorsman. Specializing in orienteering, insects, disaster and outdoor survival. If that seems like its coming out of left feild we've already had a few where Mitsuhiko shows some wilderness experience: Mushrooms Bears and the Detective Boys, Mitsuhiko's Mystifying Forest just to names some early examples but there are plenty of others. And while a fair bit of it is stuff directly stated to have been learned from Conan, he still often ends up being the one taking the lead in survival situations when the children don't have Conan or Haibara around. So I think that could be a fun direction for him to develop into.

As for Genta... I'm sure he has plenty of potential in different directions, but just looking at the current Genta the only specialization that I think he would willingly go into is food. Which isn't super useful, but in certain circumstances it could be really helpful. The case is hinging on the alibi of a head chef that claims he was in the kitchen preparing the main dish for the last 2 hours- Genta can tell by smell and colour that that soup is canned soup from his favorite brand. A case where someone had an allergic reaction in a restaurant Genta can tell that the 'red snapper' is actually Tilapia that's been dyed.

Also could potentially be good for him to get into wrestling or something that would let him put his bulk to use to be the teams defender when they inevitably fall under threat.

Though in an ideal world I would prefer that defender role go to Ayumi- she has plenty of strong women in her life that could encourage her to take up a martial art for self defense. I think it would be nice for her to learn from them and go being a precious protected princess to the cheerful knight that keeps the team safe.

More realistically Ayumi's specialization would probably be something on the more traditionally feminine end of things, but this post is also just for me to have fun.

And I think another direction that would be fun for her to take would be if she could ends up specializing in spirituality and myths. Leaning back into all those times that the Detective Boys have gone to investigate supposedly haunted locations. Knowing all the local legends so when they run into supernatural cases she could be the one to point out that something doesn't match up with the stories. She could learn from Kazuha how to make protective charms, or on the more extreme end she could encounter Akako and learn fortune telling or basic magics.

I just think that would be fun.

[cranberrymoons]

can we get into the daddy of it all. it was definitely a passing thought for buck1.0 right, when girls would call him daddy and he rolled with it because he aims to please, right, and it's just a word 🤷‍♂️ he called taylor daddy as a joke and she absolutely told him to keep calling her that and goaded it out of him when she used the strap. and with malr partners....well. it did happen on screen. i think he likes a little man handling to go with it 😁

yay. okay. i love the idea of past partners calling him daddy in his earlier days when he was working sooooo hard to not look like a twink but still looking like a twink even though he dressed like a frat boy. exuding jock energy and swagger while secretly being an enormous loser nerd. and they would call him Daddy because he did not allow them to know or perceive the truth, and he was just like hell yeah i guess. i <3 getting people off and if this gets them off....

Taylor. hm. I feel like I have talked about this before or maybe it was in someone's dm's. but I think he starts calling Taylor daddy yes as a joke, but it's things like. she will buy him a coffee and he'll say 🥺 thank you daddy (in a lol way). and then once that is a silly habit, one night they're out to dinner and she takes the check and when the waiter walks away he kind of kicks her ankle under the table and is like :) thank you daddy <3 (less of a lol way). and that becomes normalized until they are having sex one night and she is actually not even fucking him with the strap, he's fucking her. and he calls her daddy in the heat of the moment and they both go insane.

also yes re manhandling; it is true in my heart that part of the reason he bulked up so much is because it is extra hot if he has a partner who can throw him around when he is like a solid 220lbs of muscle

[your-divine-ribs]

Kinktober 🩵 Surrender

"Think you can handle me?" He smirked down on you.

Words: 2.3k // Sam Fender // maybe size kink idk // inspired by that video of Sam boxing 🥊

Kinktober Masterlist Main Masterlist

🩵 You hated gyms. You much preferred going for a run to keep fit, hearing your feet rhythmically pounding the pavement and feeling the sun on your skin and the wind in your hair. You were alone out there with your thoughts, not cooped up in a sweaty room with those insufferable posers who spent more time checking out their reflections than working on their fitness. But still... here you were.

🩵 You reasoned with yourself that there was good reason to keep paying your local gym's extortionate monthly fees despite your aversion to the place. It wasn't the promise of that unattainable gym body or the high tech equipment or even the high energy cardio classes that saw you keep coming back though. It was something else far more alluring.

🩵 You watched him now from across the room, head down whilst he drove his gloved fists into the trainer's cushioned pads. Over and over again, harsh and precise, his face a mask of determination and concentration.

🩵 He was the fuel of your recent fantasies, almost a stranger if not for the frequent loaded glances you two shared across the workout space, the casual smile of greeting as you slipped past him on your way to the changing rooms, often feeling more heated from watching him train than your own workout.

🩵 You'd been following his progress for months now, you'd watched his slender frame transform as he'd bulked up. He looked so strong now with his big broad back and those powerful arms, the muscles in his biceps evident as he drew back to take another swing at the trainer's pad.

🩵 Just imagine what damage that powerful body could do to a little thing like you, you thought, heat rising in the most inappropriate places. You squirmed lightly against the narrow seat of the exercise bike you were perched on, temporarily forgetting you were supposed to be working out.

🩵 "Ever tried boxing? It's great cardio ya know, much better than those bikes." His warm Geordie twang carried to you across the gym, snapping you out of your sordid thoughts. "Mind you, you'd probably find it more effective if ya actually peddled on it."

🩵 "Oh... I... err... I just got distracted for a moment," you stuttered, your cheeks blazing at being caught staring, your feet reaching for the pedals.

🩵 "Oh aye?" He cocked his head at you, playfully cheeky in a way that flustered you even more. "Well why don't you come and join me then? Mike's got to leave early so I need a sparring partner. Maybe I could teach ya a thing or two? Get yer pulse racing more than that bike ever could."

🩵 Oh... this boy was trouble. The glint of mischief in his eyes, the smirk on his face that made his dimples pop. You found yourself climbing down off the bike automatically even though you weren't sure if it was such a good idea. "Sparring? Me? I hardly think I'd be any good at that!"

🩵 "Come on, it's easy," he urged, holding out the gloves to you. "I'll go easy on ya... promise. I'm Sam by the way."

🩵 So there you were ten minutes later, both not caring that the gym had started to empty out so close to closing time. Your fists were clenched inside the boxing gloves and you tried to stand tall even though Sam dwarfed you in his stance, not quite athletic but certainly solid. You may as well have been standing in front of a brick wall. As you were a complete beginner he'd assured you that he wouldn't fight back. "Just come at me," he grinned encouragingly. "Let's see what ya got."

🩵 "Aren't you gonna wear any protective gear? Maybe I'm tougher than I look!" You giggled, knocking your gloves together, bouncing on the balls of your feet, enjoying the blatant flirtation between the two of you.

🩵 "I don't doubt it," he smiled, fixing you with a challenge in his eyes as he made a show of bracing himself. You weren't a violent person so fighting didn't come naturally to you, but your fiery side was undeniably sparked.

🩵 The first punch you threw had little strength and Sam dodged it easily, the second connected with his forearm but he swatted it quickly away. You huffed out a laugh, loving the playful chemistry that crackled between you, cursing as you fired a few more blows and they glanced off him like they were thin air.

🩵 "Feisty little thing ain't ya?" He chuckled, swerving to the side as the drive of your fist nearly made you stumble over the mat. You swiftly righted yourself, pulling another few punches to his gut in quick succession which made him suck in a breath.

🩵 "Don't judge a book by it's cover, I might be small but I'm deadly!" You laughed, shooting your fists out again and again, satisfied when they connected with the plane of Sam's chest. He was right, boxing definitely did get your pulse racing. You were already working up a sweat, a ticklish bead of perspiration trickling down from your collar bone to your cleavage which Sam's eyes hungrily followed.

🩵 "Good girl, that was a solid hit," he said, and you tried to ignore the way his words of praise travelled straight down between your thighs. "Now why don't you really come for me? Give me all that ya got. I can take it!"

🩵 "I hope you're ready!" You warned with a grin. The air between you was thrumming, the heat rising between you certainly not just from your physical endeavours. The gym had fully emptied and you were both red-faced and panting into the silence. Sam ducked and he twisted, deflecting blow after blow and you were sure that you'd never land a hit on him again until you caught his eyes raking down your Lycra-clad frame and you took your chance.

🩵 You barrelled into him with all your might, fists pistoning, letting out a growl of exertion. You caught him unawares and heard his breath leave him in a shallow grunt, your momentum carrying your body forwards as Sam stumbled and tripped on the mat, flailing backwards, spitting out expletives whilst you tumbled clumsily on top of him.

🩵 "I did it, I got you! I got you down! You'd better surrender!" You cried triumphantly. You scrambled up to straddle his waist, acutely aware of the solid thickness of him through the thin material of your skimpy gym shorts. So he was big everywhere.

🩵 "Hey, not so fast!" He countered, and in a swift motion he'd grabbed both your wrists, flipping you over so you were the one lying on the mat whilst he knelt above you, hands secured at your sides. "Ya can't just attack and get complacent," he smirked down on you. "Ya always gotta be ready for a retaliation."

🩵 "But you said you wouldn't fight back!" You protested, trying to wriggle your arms free but it was no use. Just as suspected he was much too strong, his broad frame hovering over you, his blue eyes mesmerising as they bored into you. His gaze alone could probably pin you down just as effectively as the tight grip he had on your wrists.

🩵 His smile widened, lips curling into a devilish grin, teasing. He was enjoying this just as much as you, having you lying there beneath him in submission. "I said I wouldn't fight back but I never said anything about letting you win did I? Now I think you'll be the one surrendering."

🩵 Your breath caught as he allowed his body to sink down closer to yours, your hips almost touching. You needed more, feeling bold, arching your back a little off the floor so your bodies met, giving your hips an experimental roll into his. You looked him dead in the eye. "Make me."

🩵 That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips were on yours in a second, capturing the hungry groan that bubbled up as he let his body weight sink down fully on to yours. He pulled your wrists up above your head, still pinning them to the mat as the gloves got discarded. His tongue explored your mouth as desire buzzed through your body.

🩵 "Been dreaming about this," he muttered as he pulled back, remaining close with his forehead still pressed to yours. "How you'd feel beneath me, how your lips would taste. It's all I've been thinking of if ya must know."

🩵 "Me too," you admitted, gasping as his lips travelled down your jaw to find your neck, blood rushing to the surface as he nipped along your collarbone. "I want you... right here and now. There's no one around... it's just us, c'mon..."

🩵 He felt so big pressing down on you, your legs spread achingly wide for him as he began to slowly grind against you, his flimsy gym shorts not much of a barrier against the feel of him hot and hard and eager for you. "Really fucking want you," you gasped out.

🩵 "We can't do it here," he said, frustration and desire lacing his words in conflict. "What if someone comes in? We're in the middle of the bloody gym! Security'll be here to lock up at any minute."

🩵 "Changing rooms!" You blurted out, rocking your hips up harder into his, forcing a growl from his lips that made you almost come undone there and then. "C'mon, no one'll see us if we hurry."

🩵 It wouldn't be your first choice of location for an intimate first time hookup, soaked in sweat and pressed up against the wall of a gym changing room by a practical stranger.

🩵 “Fuck... I can't believe what we're doin'!" He hissed as you both hurriedly shed clothing, racing against getting caught in the act but also desperate to feel each other's skin on your own. It was wild and risky and crazy but that just added to the thrill.

🩵 He picked you up like you weighed nothing, your body sliding against the cool tiled wall as you wrapped your legs around his hips. There was something so raw and carnal and downright filthy about it, it made your cunt clench, you wanted him to ruin you in the best way possible.

🩵 "Think you can handle me?" He smirked down on you. Just as you suspected he was big and you almost balked at the sight of him, your hesitance quickly chased away as he pressed himself hot and snug to your entrance, his tip breeching you temptingly as you clung to him. "Give me all you've got," you whispered, eyes meeting in a moment of pure lust as you recited his earlier words. "I can take it."

🩵 It was a struggle, the thickness of his cock making you burn and stretch tight around him, your eyes watering as he pushed inside with a guttural groan. Your fingers clawed at his broad back, scrambling to find purchase as he filled you to the brim. "Goddamn... you're so fucking tight. Feels so good... shit..."

🩵 You didn't think you'd ever been filled this good before, every slow push of his hips pressing his cock impossibly deeper inside you until you felt like he could split you in two. It was sublime, the reality of him taking you like this so daringly in a public place everything that you'd been fantasising about.

🩵 "So... are ya gonna surrender after all?" He breathed down on you, delighted at the little choked whimpers you stuttered out as he began to rut his hips at a powerful pace, pounding you into the wall. In truth you were already too overwhelmed to speak, half-formed garbled words melting into sobs of pleasure as his hands slipped between your sweat-slicked bodies to rub at your swollen clit.

🩵 "Harder... please... fuck me harder!" You choked out, begging unabashedly. His pace increased in tune with your grunts and moans until stars were bursting behind your eyelids, your comparatively slight frame wracked with shudder after shudder.

🩵 He had you coming soon after, the blissful barrage of sensations too powerful to bear, the imposing feel of him fucking you up against the wall everything that you'd dreamed of. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your fingernails digging hard enough to leave crescent moons on his bare back.

🩵 "Ahhh... fuck," he groaned, your tight cunt clenching him just right, triggering his own release as you rode out your high. You watched in awe as his gorgeous face twisted in pleasure before his head fell into the hollow of your neck, lips pressed feverishly against your skin.

🩵 You stayed like that for a moment, locked together panting breathlessly, your hands buried in his scruffy curls. "Are ya okay?" His voice was quiet, almost timid compared to the heat of before. "I mean I didn't hurt ya did I? I got a bit carried away." A gentle laugh before he raised his head to look searchingly into your eyes, smile fading as genuine concern surfaced. "I'd really hate to hurt ya."

🩵 Your own smile was reassuring, coaxing his back. The realisation of what you'd just done was starting to filter through your post-orgasmic haze but you were still on a high, on top of the world, soaring to dizzying heights. "I'm good... actually I'm better than good. I really like you Sam."

🩵 "Good," he grinned, lips hovering over yours. "'Cause the feeling's definitely mutual... if it wasn't already obvious." You both laughed against each other's lips, sealing the start of something wonderful with a searing kiss.