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Moobs. Pecs. At the end of the day, I'm the guy with the comfy place to lay my head.

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Words of a Smith - Chapter 1 & 2

Something a little different, but I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 1

The town of Eldenwood was nestled quietly in the crook of two green hills, with cobbled streets, smoking chimneys, and a gossip line that stretched faster than wildfire. It was the kind of place where everyone knew your name—and your business.

Daniel Fairbairn was well-known among the townsfolk. He was sharp—too sharp, some would say—with a sarcastic smile and a lean, wiry frame that made him look almost boyish despite his thirty years. He wore snug vests over crisp shirts, always polished, always smug. He walked with the confidence of a man untouched by consequence.

“Ah, Mistress Bloom,” he called out one afternoon in the town square, watching an older woman pass sweeping the dirt out of her small stall that sold various herbal remedies, teas, and tinctures. “I see your broom’s finally getting some air. Taking it for a walk, or are you planning to fly it later?”

She did not turn to acknowledge his jape, but the surrounding townsfolk chuckled. That was Daniel—relentless, but charming enough to get away with it.

That day, though, he went one joke too far.

He had stopped by the market at the edge of town on his way home, where a small, crooked stand sold dried herbs and glass-bottled tinctures. Behind one of the stalls was none other than Mistress Bloom, draped in a cloak darker than night. Her angular brows, set deep and lined with the ridges of experience, drew together in a pointed scowl as Daniel approached jovially. 

He picked up one of her herbal tinctures and tilted his head in mock confusion “Now, remind me… is this the eye of newt beverage? Or is toe of frog I’m thinking of? Or maybe,” he said, his grin widening, “just snake oil with a fancy label?”

The woman said nothing.

“Oh, come now,” he went on, louder now, since a few villagers had turned to listen. “What’s under that cloak? You hiding horns? Or just a face that could turn milk sour?”

The laughter was subdued—awkward, unsure. Daniel’s grin faltered slightly. He gave a half-bow. “All in good fun.”

The woman’s voice finally emerged— from beneath her low and measured. “You think words are harmless things. That they carry no weight.” She stepped out from behind the stand and drew back the hood of her dark cloak fully to reveal a mass of tangled curls that she shook out slowly while she closed the distance between them. Her eyes, an eerie and steely shade of gray, fixed on him. “So I’ll make them heavy for you.”

Daniel blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’ll know it soon enough.” She stepped back, melting into the shadow of her stall as if she had never been there at all.

Chapter 2 

Daniel Fairbairn was known in Eldenwood for two things: his height, and his hands.

The former was more than impressive. He stood half a head above most men in town—an easy six-and-some feet tall, with long legs and shoulders broad enough to darken a doorway. The latter, though, were even moreso: thick, wide mitts with sausage fingers calloused and rough, coated in a light dusting of dark hair. The hands of a man who split his own firewood, rebuilt the town mill after the flood, and once hauled a cart full of stone uphill when the oxen gave out.

He looked like he’d been carved out of dark oak and sunburn—tanned skin stretched over corded muscle, thick dark hair always tousled from labor, not fashion. Every morning, he worked until sweat soaked the back of his shirt. Every afternoon, he strolled the town, quiet but confident, with that same relaxed, heavy-footed stride that turned heads.

Some remembered the days he and Mason used to work side by side at the forge—back when they were younger, louder, and inseparable.

Now, they barely saw each other.

Until today.

Daniel was walking back from the market, a fresh loaf of rye under his arm, when he spotted Mason outside the bakery. His heart jumped before he could stop it. Mason hadn’t changed much—still slender and fair, an open grin smeared with flour, and eyes that looked at him with something gentler than friendship… or, that used to. 

Daniel hesitated—but only for a moment.

“Daniel!” Mason called, brushing flour from his apron as he stepped outside. “Haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Daniel shifted his weight, raising an eyebrow. “That’s because I’ve been keeping my distance from your terrible bread.”

Mason laughed, an infectious, rolling sound. “That’s a lie. You’re cradling that loaf like it’s your firstborn.”

Daniel smirked, but didn’t disagree.

Then Mason’s eyes flicked down Daniel’s body. “You’re looking a bit different though. Getting thick in the middle, are you? Maybe all that hammer-swinging’s gone to your belly instead of your arms.”

It was a teasing jab. The kind they'd exchanged countless times over beers, sweat-slicked and laughing. But this time, it landed differently.

Daniel gave a weak chuckle, but his stomach dropped—literally, it felt like it did. His skin prickled. Heat flared low and deep, like someone had opened a furnace behind his ribs.

“…You alright?” Mason asked, watching him with concern.

Daniel blinked, jaw tight. “Yeah. Just hot. This sun.”

He turned quickly, waving the bread like a farewell. “I’ll see you around.”

“Daniel—”

But Daniel was already walking away. Something was wrong. Each step felt heavier. Slower. His shirt clung tighter under his arms. His vest pinched across the chest, threads whispering under strain.

He ducked into a side alley, one hand bracing against the wall.

Something was wrong.

The heat bloomed wider now, spreading from his core like molten honey. His breathing grew shallow. He reached up and undid the top button of his shirt  that felt like it was choking him. He looked down, feeling for the straps holding his leather apron taut around his middle, when he was stopped short by what he saw.  

His stomach had changed.

Where before it had been flat and hard—cut from labor and years of toil—now a soft curve pressed out beneath his ribs. Subtle, but undeniable. He undid the buckles and knot holding his apron in place and shrugged it off in jerky, panicked motions, cupping one hand on either side of the small mound forming in his middle. The swell was smooth, warm, and gently pliant under his fingers. Like it had been there all along.

He reached behind, feeling his flanks. His sides had begun to soften too—thickening around his waist. His chest, once firm and high, now pushed more heavily against the fabric, taking on a roundness it had never known. He could just make out the outlines of his nipples chafing against the rough flax tunic. 

He grunted in disbelief and attempted to tug off his vest, which was already on the tighter side this morning and was now fitting like a second skin. The back seams stretched before giving way with a quiet tear.

“No. No, no, no.”

He leaned his shoulder against the alley wall, breath shaky. His powerful frame—still huge, still towering—wasn’t just changing. It was softening. Rounding in ways that defied explanation.

And it had started the moment Mason said he looked “thick in the middle.”

“You’ll know it soon enough,” the witch had said.

It hit him like a hammer to the chest.

It was a curse.And it had already begun.

A tremor passed through him.

“Okay,” he whispered, backing out of the alley, gripping the bread tighter. “Okay. You’re not panicking. You just—maybe it’s stress. Maybe it’s bloating. This could be anything.”

But he didn’t believe it.

As he walked home, he kept tugging at his shirt, feeling it cling more with every passing second. Every step felt heavier - in his body, and in his heart. Little did he know, this was only the beginning.

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Coach's teambuilding methods were unorthodox, but the team had to admit they had never been closer.

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Go on, little guy. Cop a feel. It won't hurt ya.... yet.

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Assume the position...

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OK ImageFX, I see you. There are definitely some things here that bing is doing better, but for sheer realism... dang, the quality is way up.

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My roommate had to custom order a triple-wide King bed, but the order got delayed. I contacted housing services, but they said for the meantime we'll just have to share.... hope I don't wake up a pancake tomorrow! Full galleries as always available on Patreon!

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Someone asked for some close-ups where the smaller guys weren't being treated quite so nicely... here's a couple from some earlier iterations of the doorways & dorms prompts :) It is surprisingly hard to get really good realistic expressions like these... and somehow triggers the filter as well, which is... interesting.

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I don't know what my roommate's new workout regimen is, but it sure works... maybe a little too well. He just keeps GROWING.

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One other from the caving series that I never published... enjoy! Full galleries as always available on Patreon!

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When you try to welcome him back from break with a hug, but he's gorged himself so much you can hardly reach his sides

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Final stages of the Growth Shower takeover - the men of the town don't know how they lived without them at this point. The smaller ones now live a life of pure servitude to their titanic counterparts... and they wouldn't have it any other way.

Check out AI Gay Size Diff Patreon for full galleries!

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Hey, remember how I said I was going to play with doorways more? Anyway. Larger collection of these up now on Patreon! Link in bio/pin

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Welcome to the team...

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I've been awol for WAY too long- sorry everyone! As a treat, here's a double post and a preview of a new theme coming out next month: Renfest! But with some Folsom vibes too... you'll see what I mean. ;)

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It ain't gonna service itself... what are buds for?