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d0llpett · 3 days ago

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ough... soren/ike feeder/feedee mutual gaining with soren gaining primarily in his bottom half and ike gaining in his belly... domestic as fuck, it starts small but quickly balloons, ike breaks so much furniture with his bulk and is like super immobile by the end and soren is bordering on immobility himself too...

So I really loved the idea of this and so I wanted to try and segment the story by time which I'm like not the most confident when I do it lol But I hope you enjoy this! Probably not the most domestic fluff but there are some big fucking bitches here.

Warning: This is a fetish story!

"Hey, uhh, Soren?" Ike calls for his husband from the safe security of the two's shared room. The two of them haven't had an officiated wedding, the couple simply viewed each other as life partners and started referring to the other as their husband when speaking to others, both of them finding it as simple as that.

The Radiant Hero — well, retired Radiant Hero — has clearly indulged lately, the budding bundle of belly fat that bulges from his too tight pants that's somehow snugly snaked its way all around Ike's waistline to give him a noticeable muffin top. Faint starter love handles protrude from the sides of his pants, flab creasing against the thick protective material while also being softly caressed by the softer, less starchy material of Ike's shirt. But only some of it, a bit of Ike's pudgy love handles seeping past the hemline of his shirt. Ike's stomach much the same, the soft belly flab refuses to allow his shirt to go all the way down.

After leaving Tellius to get away from all the fame and recognition, Ike simply left with nothing more than his sword and Soren. And though he loved adventure and sightseeing, settling down did have its perks. So far away from anyone who could possibly hear about either war Ike took part in, he was now just another guy with a sword, granted an Adonis of a man but a relatively normal man nonetheless. And the same is true for Soren as well, the branded nothing more than a fixture of life far out here.

"Yes, Ike?" Soren reflexively responds with only the bare minimum of a glance before returning to his morning routine. Nearly done, he fixes and brushes his hair: he skips braiding or putting it into a ponytail, allowing his hair to be more loose now that there's far less fighting to be done.

"Hmmm," Ike grumbles to himself. Looking down at his pudge, he grips his belly fat with both of his hands. Despite the frown on his face, he also has the faint embers of a blush on his face.

"Well?" Soren now done, he turns away from his vanity. He gets an eyeful of Ike. His eyes immediately gravitate towards his husband's tummy, the bottom bit of his soft stomach visible. "Oh that? I don't mind that you've put on some weight. Heaven knows that you deserve it, Ike," Soren shrugs. He reaches into his dresser, grabbing one of the pouches of gold hidden in the two's home. Ike had originally intended to not accept most of or any of the gold offered to him as thanks for saving the world twice, but Soren's pragmatic nature had him taking it all, using it to fund the two's journey.

"Still, I shouldn't be allowing myself to pork out so much. I know that we've been learning to properly cook, but still," Ike sighs. Grabbing his belly again, he can't shake the warmth in his face.

"Afraid to end up looking like Duke Tanas?" Soren swipes at a good amount of gold and places it in his own spending pouch. Soren scoffs, head tilted to the side with a grin. "Oh please, you've more than earned this bit of indulgence. And, it's clear to me that you seem to be enjoying this," Soren saunters over to Ike. Standing in front of his husband, he uses one hand to pinch at the stomach fat. "And,,,"

"And?" Ike's grumbling has only grown; his body feels uncharacteristically warm. His face feels the worst, burning up as Soren grins at him. His petite husband seems to feel as if he has him by the throat, Ike feeling so parched and in need of anything to alleviate it.

"And perhaps maybe I'm enjoying it," Soren's face has its own little blush. But before either can wallow in it, he gives Ike's belly a small, little pat. "Now, let's go to the market. I may still be learning how to cook, but even I couldn't possibly be so inept as to need and redo so many "failed" recipes," Soren tugs at the hem of Ike's shirt, the fabric snapping back and hitting Ike's tummy. He walks on ahead, knowing Ike will follow him.

________

"Damn it," Soren pulls and tugs at his pants. The small war with his briefs earlier had been a challenge but he had allowed himself to enjoy that victory; unfortunately, that didn't mean the war was done. The fabric of his pants have nearly no give to them. He had already surpassed the monumental task of getting his pants to go past his wide, chubby thighs — something that involved several attempts of shimmying side to side — but his pants refuse to climb past his bubble butt, the doughy curvature of his bubble butt digging into the waistband. His fingers tightly grip his pants, holding them as tightly as he held his tome back in the once ruined Serenes Forest, everyone had felt something raw and unholy during such an excruciating gauntlet of a mission. His hair seems to want to drown and choke him, the now infuriatingly long hair clinging to his skin like faint scratches that refuse to go away while he struggles with his pants. It takes him a couple more minutes of pointless yet agonizing effort before he gives up, Soren’s breathing sounding more like puffs of air. He slowly shimmies off his trusty clothes, clawing at the clothes in his dresser to pull out a more suitable pair — as Ike would say when needing larger clothing, much unlike Soren’s far more crass and blunt mannerisms. With the larger pair of pants in his hands, they easily come up his curvy, pudgy thighs and his doughy rear; they come up so well, that the pants look rather baggy on him. The same is true for the waistband but Soren immediately rectifies that by putting on a belt. He pulls at his hair and lazily ties it in a loose ponytail, an unprofessional style that Titania would always chide him for.

Now semi properly dressed for the day, Soren allows himself one last glare at his and Ike’s currently vacant bed. While the two preferred more intimate moments, the option of having space was highly valued for the two; and so, the early decision to get a massive bed paid off nicely as their stay in such a remote village grew as they did. Well, mostly Ike, the man taking to Soren’s cooking far too well and also appreciating flaunting his girth at Soren. The second decision of getting a frame made from the sturdiest material, proved equally invaluable after Ike managed to make a chair’s leg snap off from leaning back a bit too much on it, a decision that had been funded by the gold they had that neither even knew how to properly spend such a vast amount even after Ike gave so much away.

Walking towards the kitchen, Soren holds back his scowl. He maintains his usually neutral expression — that of plain disinterest — to hide his earlier irritation.

Ike already in the kitchen, he grins from his spot by the stove. "Looks like all our cooking has caught up to you," Ike returns his attention back to the sizzling griddle in front of him. He lifts up the last pancake with a spatula and plops the generously portioned pancake with the rest of the stack, the always unfortunate looking first pancake already eaten by Ike to tide him over. Ike having not changed, he still wears his smallclothes, the thin material clinging to his meaty frame. He does at least wear an apron, the strings tied at the very end of the fabric as they struggle to reach each other. The stretched out material of the fabric follows the natural plump curves of Ike’s gut. The sleeves of his shirt are taut as they wrap around the girth of his arms.

Clearly eating well, Ike’s gut has proven to positively react to the excessive calories. His stomach sports some serious heft to it. The jiggly mass of lard sags down, past the waistband of Ike's tight shorts and even further past that by a decent chunk.. His love handles jut out on both sides of him, each of them easily grabable with the amount of flab on them. They even sag down a bit from their adipose, Ike's waistband slightly obstructed from them. The sagging shape of Ike's belly is visible even behind the apron, his wide stomach slightly jiggling as he brings the platter of pancakes to the table. The table is covered by an array of plates, all made by Ike who took advantage of waking up early to make his favorite breakfast.

A multitude of different breakfast plates, the usual of eggs, hash browns, pancakes, bacon, ham, and several other staples line the table — all in heaping portion sizes of course.

Soren still stands at the entrance to the kitchen, looking down at his plump figure with something akin to a grimace.

"Don't tell me you're the one having second thoughts now," Ike chides with the bare minimum of a chuckle. Standing in front of his husband, he still looks decently fat next to Soren's pudgier size. His ball for a gut presses against Soren's small amount of flab on his tummy. "You look good like this," Ike smiles down at his husband. "Besides, it makes me happy to see you enjoy my cooking.

"I guess I deserve this after pushing you to eat me," Soren pokes Ike's belly, his index finger sinking into the tender flab. "Not that you need much encouragement. Fine then, I guess I better be grateful and not let all your effort go to waste," Soren goes and takes a seat. He begins to serve himself without waiting, eyeing Ike while he serves himself his usual plate of food.

Ike joins him, the two of them not wasting a single ounce of their breakfast.

_______

The couch creaks underneath such an intense weight. Nearly seven hundred pounds of flab sit atop the poor furniture. Already broken earlier, the couch is completely broken down the center, wooden frame snapped by its user.

Ike sitting on the couch, the only feature of him resembling the once great hero is his blue mop of hair. All of his powerful musculature is now hidden under a great pile of blubber. Large overall, Ike's gut is his most monumental feature. His belly is no longer contained by his shirt, the hemline resting above his deep belly button. Even with Ike leaning as back into the couch he can, his stomach blankets his large thighs that would be perfect to sit on if not for all the stomach flab in the way. His gut even seeps off the couch cushions, gravity coaxing it to try and touch the floor a few feet below the lowest point of Ike's gut. Ike's chest not having received the same amount of attention, his still sizable breasts press against his shirt, his rack nicely stacked on top of his belly. Ike has his arms resting on top of the couch's backrest, the sizable biceps blanketed by nice rivulets of arm fat. His thighs are spread at a slightly awkward angle with him having broken the couch, the sides of the furniture curving upward. His ass is smooshed together as he sits in the couch's cracked divot.

Ike currently takes deep breaths. His cherubic cheeks jut out. His eyes are partially lidded, heavy eyes using the bare minimum of energy to focus on his husband.

Said husband having also gained weight, Soren still weighs less than Ike by several hundred pounds. At a nice, hefty three hundred pounds, much of Soren's weight has gone to his lower half. Weight that his shorts show off. Soren has found himself with new struggles. Mainly walking, Soren not quite used to the sensation of his thighs rubbing and chaffing against one another or feeling his ass jiggling behind him. A definitive pear shape to his figure, Soren's wide thighs stretch out all his clothes, the legs also a tight fit for most chairs as well. The rest of his body has also gained some weight, Soren having a sizable stomach and a chest that he can't ignore even with the largest shirt.

Soren is also slightly out of breath. Having cooked dinner and feeding Ike immediately afterwards, he also stuffed himself in between moments of giving copious amounts of food to his huge husband. He distracts himself from his full state by rubbing Ike's gut, the taut stomach grumbling from his touch.

Indulging clearly having gotten out of hand between the two, neither can bring themselves to care.

Instead, after the gurgling in his own gut dies down, Soren reaches for Ike's hands, slowly bringing up his massive husband into a standing position after Ike swings his bulging form to build up enough momentum to do so. They pass by the cracks in the wall where Ike rested a bit too much along the wall from tiring himself from walking, as Soren helps Ike waddle to their bedroom, the two of them out of breath.

_____

Soren is a mess of wheezes as he enters their shared room. His shorts are at their absolute limit. Tears litter the black elastic fabric, bits of Soren's blubbery cellulite seeping out of the various sized holes. Unable, more like uncaring enough, Soren always hard pressed to say no whenever it came to Ike, to stop his husband’s indulgence, the two had massively blown up. While Soren is the smaller of the two, the comparison between them means nothing when Ike is absurdly fat. Soren’s thighs have taken on the brunt of his weight, both of his once barrel shaped thighs are fat enough to where he takes up the entire width of a couch from them. And that is only if Soren can even fit on a couch, a task made impossible with his tremendously large ass. An ass so large that it juts out behind him like a personal attendant, his rear wobbling behind him with furious vigor whenever Soren bothers to make the effort to waddle like he does now. He has to bring one ponderously wide thigh past one another, dimpled calve fat that oozes down to smother his ankles which in turn covers most of his feet make his task far too difficult. Soren is a bundle of warmth, warmer than even the dreaded entrance to the Kauku Caves. He pushes a cart in front of him. He mostly uses his stomach to push the cart, his arms having gotten tired a while back and needing to rest his weight a bit. Soren’s thighs brush against the side of one wall; before, his thighs would brush against both sides but that issue had been promptly remedied by remodeling their house — remodeling meaning tearing down walls, their room losing two out of the four walls to accommodate them. A good portion of Soren’s stomach rests on the cart, his still generously sized gut squishing onto cold metal. His love handles make it hard for him to keep his arms at a straight angle, the two overencumbered flour bags for arms, resting on the side fat of his breasts. His breasts are large enough to smother his own face, the large chest exposed with Soren going without a shirt.

“Food —haah— is ready,,,” Soren takes in deep breaths of air. Finally making it to Ike, Soren rests his engorged digits that lack the flexibility they once had on his husband’s sagging fat. Soren can feel himself get warmer despite the enchantments he made with his wind magic to keep a constant draft going; if earlier it had felt like outside the Kauku Caves, next to Ike, he feels like he did back when the gushing lava spewed out its rocks, so unbearably warm. A ludicrous amount of staves litter the room, so many tossed on the floor or leaning against Ike.

Ike is a complete, abundant mess of rolls. Having taken to engorging himself far too well, his body took to the food just the same. The two’s once massive bed is nothing more than a now flattened cushion for him. His stomach sags off three sides of the mattress, both the sides and the front. His ass is smothered against the wall, the mattress positioned against it. The bed frame no longer creaks like it used to. Not when Ike had smashed it after a particularly exhausting binge, the frame giving warning creaks for a few days at the very least. The task of removing all the crushed wood had been an excruciating and awkward ordeal, Soren paying well enough to keep the helpers silent. Ike’s gut rises high into the air, above even his normal standing height. The mountain of flab rises high like a pile of dirt, Ike’s rolls of stomach fat oozing down like melted ice cream. His stomach has a considerable amount of rolls, each fold of flab considerably large enough to grab and feel the heft of, each only an incredibly small portion of Ike’s tremendous weight. The belly fat spreads out past the mattress and even onto the floor like a wave of lard, the wooden tiling privinding an additional cooling feeling to him. Ike’s stomach used to press against the wall, lard climbing up the wall as he grew. But Soren had that wall promptly destroyed before Ike’s enormity could break, giving his husband ample room to comfortably grow more. His navel is covered by the lurching upper rolls of his gut, surging forward to blanket a good portion of the middle bundle of rolls making his gut. Ike’s thighs are completely smothered by his oceanic stomach, the useless limbs only good for providing a cushiony layer for his gut to rest on top of. Ike’s breasts are nowhere near the size of his monumental gut, the two breasts sitting on the cascading upper hill of his stomach, tantalizingly close to being big enough to sag down and splay out to the sides, but instead they provide a nice table of breast fat. A table that Ike can’t even take advantage of, his arms useless several sizes ago. His massive arms are sunken into the rolls of arm flab, elbows lovingly embraced to lose all their mobility. His face is a sunken treasure trove of more lard, his massive jowls for cheeks pooling onto his fatty shoulders. Ike’s eyes are partially closed, the amount of fat piled on his face making even that difficult. His breath comes out in short bursts of air, his body a mess of wobbles from the action. Despite having eaten a few minutes back, his body already craves its next meal.

Ike doesn’t bother responding to what should be Soren’s hopeful statement, more food always a great thing for the two. All Ike does is let out a helpless moan, stomach beginning to grumble from the scent of the buttery steak that wafts to his nose.

“Damn,,” Soren grunts, still catching his breath while resting a sinking hand into his husband’s gut. He mindlessly crams food into his mouth with his free hand, needing to regain all the energy and calories he lost from the minimal walk. Soren lets out a small huff as he knocks back an entire tray of eclairs in record time. Glancing at Ike’s enormity, Soren can see the cracks forming in the back wall of the room, Ike’s ass fat starting to break that wall much like his stomach. “Another —hngh— expense,” Soren lets himself get in a few more moments for a breather, this time only allowing himself to eat half a tray of sweets.

But after that, he finally takes the time to get himself fully ready. He reaches for the nearest staff and recites the incantation, a rather verbose and tedious one that Soren knows by heart from needing so often nowadays. Casting the rewarp staff, Soren finds himself several feet in the air now. He sits on Ike’s chest, a large dent in Ike’s crushing lard where Soren’s own significant weight rests. Soren can feel his ass sag down Ike’s stomach, his thighs also squishing against so many rolls of fat underneath him.

“Love you,,, Ike,” Soren barely finishes his sentence, his body on fire from expending so much physical and magical energy. Instead, he uses the last reservoirs of his magic to cast another spell; he enchants the food, the piles of overindulgent meals rising to the air. More food comes rushing through the door, Soren only able to find the energy to push one cart in. The plates find their targets, a myriad of forkfuls flying to both Ike and Soren who far too happily accept whatever ends up in their mouths. All the while, Soren gets a good look at Ike, smiling as he sees his adorably fat husband eat and get fatter.

Ike thinks the exact same, the two enjoying their small snack before dinner.

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