#batfat

With great power came great responsibility or something like that. It was the catchphrase for the big fancy superheroes flying high in the sky and them alone, because down here in the dirt and dark, Bane didn’t play like that.

To Bane, great power was just great power. It was a tool. It was an asset. It was an advantage… and damn, it was addictive.

He could still feel the adrenaline pulsing through his veins as he sat his ass back down onto his old, beat up couch with a big sigh before dropping the boatload of goodies held in his arms all over the small, small spaces in between his massive self and the armrests on either side of him. His stomach rumbled nearly as loudly as him as he grunted and groaned his way through making himself comfortable on the couch’s dented cushions.

His weight settled into the grooves that he had begun to leave behind once he had found the best spot, and the back on the couch sunk under the arm he slung over it as he reached across his lap with his free hand and rummaged through the pile of snacks he’d managed to snag after his latest run (or walk, more like) through town.

Damn, his old man and forgotten henchman would have had a fucking fit if they saw him right now. His big old pot belly all but spilled out onto his lap, forcing his thighs apart in a dramatic man spread just to make room for the extra weight hanging off of his gut. His massive chest—previously built like an iron wall of muscle and holding up as hard as a rock under the force and pressure of thousands of fists that had attempted and failed to punch through him before—had softened all over under the weight of empty calories and cheap, shitty fast food.

It made quite the sight, his new soft, fat physique, but damn, if he didn’t love the new changes. The serum had changed him in recent months, and in Bane’s opinion, it had changed him for the better.

He was still big, of course, though nowhere near the walking, talking impenetrable fortress he used to be. If anything, he was practically the opposite now—all fat and just enough muscle to help him bust down walls and shove his fists through glass windows to get to the snacks he so desperately wanted inside.

Chinese takeout, cheap city pizza, pop-up food stands and the best all-you-can-eat buffets around… you name it, and Bane had become obsessed with it. Gotham wasn’t just facing an all new era of crime anymore; it was practically facing a food crisis on top of the disaster Bane left in his wake, and it all pointed straight back to him every time.

Him, the living muscle machine. Him, one of the best and strongest monsters around. Him, the death of the streets and Batman’s worst nightmare.

He wasn’t into petty crime or usurping his unnatural strength on the city of Gotham anymore. Now, he had found something else to devote his time and attention to… and god, if he wasn’t absolutely disappointed in the fact that he hadn’t moved onto it sooner.

The couch creaked under his weight as he leaned back, its cushions sinking even further into a straining frame that only had a few more days left to spend trapped under him as he stuffed himself full before it gave out completely. Bane gave no attention to the pitiful sounds as he propped the first bag of snacks he’d snagged from the corner store onto his belly and tore it open with a giddy grumble of laughter and glee.

“Oh yeah, there we go,” he mumbled as he shoved his hand inside and grabbed out a fistful of chips, the corners of the bag tearing along the sides as he pulled himself free. “It’s been a damn shame seeing you off of the shelves. About time I got to make up for the bags I never got to eat…”

Bane’s words trailed off as he shoveled the entire handful into his mouth. He moaned aloud as he chewed, his dusty hand already snaking its way back into the bag and tearing the edges even further as he rummaged around for the biggest fistful he could get in one go.

He had gathered enough food on his quick dash through town to feed an entire family of four for the day, but he knew that by the time he was finished with this, he would still be hungry for more. His appetite was endless, his inhuman strength seemingly turned into a bottomless hunger that left him growing bigger and fatter with every new night he spent lounging on the couch and shoveling his face full of whatever he could find. It was, however, the best start to his villain legacy, as far as he was concerned.

The more he ate, the bigger he got. The bigger he got, the hungrier he became. It was a constant vicious cycle that had taken hold of him, and so far, Bane was more than happy to give in.

He patted the curve of his swollen belly after the last of his bag of chips had been devoured with a big, smug smile spread across his face. This was the life for him now, he realized, and it was a damn good one to live. With his reputation established and the fear he already instilled into the city, there was no one to stop him from getting bigger and bigger…

Killer Croc wasn’t just big—no, he had always been big—he was huge.

With a big, bulging pot belly, thighs for days and soft, chunky arms to match, a jigging chest that shook with every roar of laughter he let out as he pinned his latest victim and refused to get up for the love of the game, Croc had a thing for his new size, and as far as he was concerned, it was only going to get better and better from here.

Batman had fallen prey to him once more in the similar fashion that always went down whenever Croc was pulling his weight around, but this time, it wasn’t the big beast smashing Batman through walls or pounding his cowled head into the concrete. No, this time, Croc was pinning him.

All several hundred pounds of fat and blubber that clung to his softened frame crushed Batman deeper against the ground as Croc cackled above him with that deep, guttural roar of a laugh starting up low in his throat. His belly was spread out across Batman’s back, and his chest forced Batman’s head down to the pavement below while Croc kept a heavy arm wrapped around his neck just for good measure.

“Miss me, Batman?” Croc growled, his fat face splitting into a wide smile. “I’ve been waiting to see you again… I’ve been waiting a long time for this!”

Croc hadn’t always anticipated on filling out his frame like this, but hell, when the pounds first started sticking after he found an easy shortcut to getting free food in the middle of each night, he wasn’t all that disappointed to see it. Stuffing his face with as much cheap street trash as he could find payed off in more than one way, as by morning each day, the bright headlines and blaring news reports were talking all about him—the mystery man as they called him, the one responsible for stealing weeks’ worth of supplies.

In the beginning, it was a simple way for him to get what he needed. Now, it was a source of boasting. He was big; he was fat; he was completely and utterly massive, with his gut swaying with every step and the ground all but rumbling underneath him where he walked.

Croc was a big guy, but after the extra meat he’d put on his bones? He had to have gained a hundred pounds at least, maybe even two hundred. He could feel it in the way his body squished around Batman’s struggling form beneath him, his weight and heft easily pinning his enemy in place and leaving no room for a struggle unless Croc allowed it… and boy, did he.

Everyone was afraid of him now, and not just because of his appearance. Croc was massive, and he was only growing bigger by the day. He snarled this aloud into Batman’s cowl as he leaned forward, hearing Batman’s body creak from the change in pressure when he moved.

“I’m your biggest enemy now, Batman,” he said, joyful malice dripping from his words with every pop from Batman’s back. “Your biggest and your fattest… ain’t that a great surprise?”

He had been waiting weeks for this moment—weeks he spent eating and gaining and glowing under the anonymous spotlight he set out for himself. He loved it. He loved every second of it. Batman hated it, of course, but Croc loved that, too.

It had started out as a simple bulk and cut at first. Calories in, calories out, and heavy on the exercise when his goal weight had been reached. With you by his side, though, and your hands feeling up his curves and whispering sweet tempting words in his ears… well, as it turned out, there wasn’t much cutting to the bulking this time around, and soon enough, his bulking became much of a ballooning.

Sweeter than the pastries you brought to him from that little mom and pop shop hidden in the city and more addictive than a heavy dose of Poison Ivy’s aphrodisiac, that feeling of your hands on his body—on his ample hips, on his chubby thighs, on the rolls of his belly and around the flabby sag of his soft, drooping—was something even he couldn’t resist in the end. It hadn’t been intentional, going from Gotham City’s finest to the biggest man around, but it was hard to resist with you. You just had a way with words, a way with the kitchen, and a way of drawing him into “just one more bite” that left him pinned to the mattress and begging for more despite the raging war of food already stuffed inside of his belly every. Single. Time.

At first, it had only been a day. It was a couple hours, more like, but Bruce had pushed off the beginnings of a weeks-long intensive workout regiment all the same. Instead, he had opted to lie around in bed with you for a little while while you encouraged him to polish off the last of the homemade goodies you had brought. There were no regrets there aside from the brief disappointment he felt when his fingers brushed across the empty cookie tray, but even then, seeing your smiling face as you assured him you would bring some more over—after he was finished with the cutting part of his bulk, that is—left him wanting to lie there and snuggle you close for just a little longer.

He was technically still bulking in a way, so long as he didn’t start exercising. It was something he told himself over and over again when you returned the very next day with the same cookie recipe, this time having baked twice the amount you had the day before. The extra treats wouldn’t really hurt anything for him to have if he stuck to the original plan is what he had told you while scooping up one cookie in each hand, and at the time, you could only laugh and nod along.

You knew better than that… and secretly, so did he.

One day of slacking off and stuffing himself on everything you brought over turned into two, and two days eventually turned into three. By the end of that first week, Bruce was coming home from night watch looking red in the face and feeling desperately hungry for whatever you had prepared as the midnight snack of sorts (because at this point, you were practically there permanently), and as always, you happily provided.

The latest new routine went on for ages, and with every new dish you made him, his resolve for his slim build and strict diet faded. Now, after months of slacking off in the name of a good bulk, Batman had finally met his match. His greatest rival wasn’t some supervillain haunting the streets and bringing evil down everywhere they went, he realized. No, it was you, with that sweet tongue and even sweeter food pushed past his lips and clinging to his once toned frame.

He was far beyond just a little fat anymore. Hell, he was teetering on immobility. He was stuck with the luxury of lying in his king-sized bed where he took up almost all of the room or being sat down in the comfort of his nearly broken office chair in front of the monitors when he insisted on being “active.”

There wasn’t much action going on anymore—not with him in the state he was now, near immobile and out of breath after a single step in any direction. His gains were all but gone, replaced with layers of pesky fat that grew and grew with every massive meal you prepared for him.

While he was always droning on about finally following up on the second half of his health crunch—the whole cutting part where he took the dad bod of a gut he’d put on in the beginning and chiseled it down into rock hard abs and a godlike figure—he never made any move to step away from the new life he had carved out for himself with the help of your wicked hands and those impressive cooking and baking skills you never failed to boast. He didn’t seem to mind the new look, clearly, even when his old suit no longer fit (and believe him, he had tried… he’d even showed off the results to you in several dozen sexy close-up pictures) and his nightly vigilante routine was all but a thing of the past.

No, Bruce hardly seemed to care about that anymore… and quite honestly, why should he? He was a billionaire after all, and he was a genius. He had connections, he had skills, and he had his ways to keep the streets clean of crime while he did what was most important now—which was, of course, sitting in the comfort of his bed, his hiked up over his massive belly and his fitted clothes barely clinging to his frame, moaning around each bite of that delicious new cake recipe you fed him while your hands worked to fondle every new inch of size on his big, beautiful frame.

The old Bruce was gone, replaced instead by a big, blubbery mass of a man who couldn’t care less about his new looks in the eyes of anyone else. He simply loved the way you fed him up too much, and he loved the way you loved his new look even more.

Immobility was on the horizon with the direction he was headed, but for him, that was nothing more than an exciting path to take. You made as good a feeder as you did a lover, and Bruce loved both things equally, just as he loved them both over anything else.

Killer Croc didn’t dabble in candlelit romances or sweeping you off your feet relationships. He wasn’t made for them. He was quite literally built for the opposite, in fact—finding the occasional fling amongst daring monster lovers who didn’t mind a little blood and guts in between the lines of good and evil when they came around for a fuck here and there.

He knew how he looked. He was a danger in the eyes of Gotham, and he was a villain in Batman’s mind. He didn’t claim to be anything other than that, either, because… well, why wouldn’t he? He was built for the danger. He was fueled by disaster and revenge. He wanted something rough, something short, something hot and fiery that fizzled out when his temper got the best of him…

…but instead, he got them.

A fearless little thing, hardly reaching up to Croc’s knee and yet desperate to be all over him. They were infatuated. They loved him. They didn’t mind his looks, his scars, his scary snarls or the threats he growled when they crawled across the couch to sit in the little space left on his lap that his belly didn’t already occupy.

This wasn’t going to be anything longterm, Croc had told himself from the start. He had too much on the line for that, and he was his own person and his own responsibility. He didn’t have the patience in him for little… flings. He didn’t have the time for humans in love with monsters that wanted to feel up his soft, pudgy body or stuff him slowly and lovingly while he all but purred under their touch. He didn’t have time for them to drop in and stay longer than they should’ve been welcome, even if they had only lingered long past midnight because they had brought more food and they knew he couldn’t resist.

He shouldn’t have… Christ, he really shouldn’t have, but he was in the spirit of treating himself these days, and the big, growing belly he sported with all of the added soft, fat features to go with was a damn good reason to convince himself to say “fuck it, why the hell not?”

Croc would have never let his guard down like this in any other situation, but with this golden opportunity sitting in front of him (and feeding him, and praising him, rubbing his belly as he worked to digest then massive meal they had brought all the way down for him to enjoy), he just couldn’t resist. They made a damn fine helper when it came to making his latest goals possible, after all. Who could ever blame him for taking full advantage of the opportunity presented to him?

All of that pompous talk was nothing when it came down to being fed, though. Croc was a melted puddle of squishy fat and scaly skin as he moaned under their ministrations, his taut belly relaxing ever so slightly more while they worked their fingers into the tight pockets and helped the digestive process on.

“Urgh, you…” he managed to groan, his eyes half-lidded and his lips parted as he panted beneath them and awaited the next bite. “Damnit, you’re too good at this.”

The laughter he got in returned sent his belly fluttering as he shifted beneath them, but another bite of food lifted up to his face for him to take set his mind at ease. A thick slice of steaming Chicago style pizza sat hovering in the air inches away from him, its sauce glistening under the dim lighting and its strings of hidden cheese seeping out from the bottom. It would be his fifth slice out of eight so far, and god, he was feeling it now.

“Come on, big guy,” his pretty little partner teased as they held the slice closer. “You’re the one who wanted to gain another ten by the end of this week. How are we gonna do that if you don’t let me help?”

Croc groaned at the reminder, his head falling back against the couch cushion behind him. Fuck, that was right… and according to his latest weigh-in that morning, something his new boyfriend insisted they do on the regular, he was only a measly four pounds up from where he had been before.

He opened his eyes again after a moment, only to find them still sitting there, staring at him. The pizza wasn’t the only thing they had brought for him tonight; on top of that, Croc had already downed a couple two-liters of soda and three party-sized bags of chips. He wasn’t anywhere near full on food like he’d usually be, but when he had someone following him around and stuffing him silly throughout the day, his appetite was left in a constant state of strain.

He groaned again, the sound low and guttural as he cupped a massive hand against their back and pulled them closer. Even with his legs spread wide and a bench to prop his legs up on, there was hardly any room left for both his boyfriend and his big belly.

It was no problem for them when they had no qualms about crawling up his belly and holding his head in place so they could shovel the next slice of pizza into his mouth. Croc’s chest rumbled with a sound of disapproval, but his grip on their back only tightened as he worked to chew around the massive mouthful.

“There,” they said, their smile growing. “Now you only have three more slices to go.”

“Damn you,” Croc growled out around the mouthful he worked to swallow, but the venom in his voice was lacking.