#weight gain fanfiction

[plumperific]

Dessert - feedism/belly kink fic, Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Hilda x Marianne

Publishing my second kink fic two and a half years later. It's Fire Emblem: Three Houses again, though I anticipate this fandom is not quite as popular as it was in this space 2 years ago.

This one sat in my drafts for about as long as my last kink fic was published and I never did anything with it because I thought it was too similar to my first kink fic. But then I opened it recently, realized it was almost finished, and decided I didn't care. The feedism kink community needs more sapphic content and I am here to deliver! I only hope it is decent lol.

Anyway, I'm hoping to be a little more active on this blog and in the kink writing space in the future, so please read and comment, read my first fic, and send me asks/messages! I'd like to get more comfortable in the kink writing community.

Also, follow me on Twitter! Not sure how long I'll stay there since it's a cesspool of a website, but I'm there for now! https://twitter.com/plumperific

[massivematsus]

Karamatsu’s Discovery - One Shot

[Weight gain/fat kink, mentions of health problems, mild gas from both ends, vague allusion to past not really incest and current mobility issues]

Karamatsu had been playing with his hard yet smooth gut when the thought came to him.

Why was his belly firm whilst his brothers remained squishy and jiggly? Karamatsu’s belly shook too, but only up and down and all in one motion. Osomatsu and Choromatsu wobbled like jello, Jyushimatsu’s fat rippled across his immense body in waves when smacked or grabbed and the bottom heavy brothers’ rear ends shook with each and every step.

Needing to do something with his hands while he thought of how to figure this out, Karamatsu continued his belly play. Unable to reach all the way around the dome of his middle anymore (that had stopped being feasible a little over a month ago), he could no longer finger his ever deepening belly button, not like how Ichimatsu would during their feeding sessions.

Was this something he could ask Mommy about? No… she had been acting out of it lately and wouldn’t be any help. Daddy? Ugh, for some reason the thought of talking to his father about anything related to his developing kink icked him out. Choromatsu was smart, right? Maybe he’d know! No… knowing him and his own fat fetish, he’d just turn red, pop a boner and run away. Chibita worked in the food industry! He must have seen plenty of fat men at his stand! Maybe he would know about Karamatsu’s hard fat? No… the nosy bastard would just prod him for info on why he and his brothers had grown so fat so fast.

As he tried again uselessly to reach his belly button, suddenly it hit him! He could ask Todomatsu if he could borrow his laptop (something he’d saved up for with his increased allowance and small paychecks) to do some research!

With a grunt, Karamatsu began to heave himself off the floor. It took a few tries and using the wall to push off of but eventually he was on his feet (not that he could see them anymore) sweating and panting. God, that was getting harder wasn’t it?

Karamatsu smirked at the thought of telling his girlfriend that it took him four tries this time to stand from the floor, instead of the usual three. His ever decreasing mobility got the two of them going like no tomorrow.

Having barely caught his breath, Karamatsu waddled up the stairs to the brother’s shared bedroom. It was one of Totty’s days off and the rest of the brothers were out and about for various reasons. It was the perfect time to ask his youngest brother for a favor!

Sweating and overheated just from ambling up the stairs, Karamatsu opened the door and entered.

Todomatsu was sat on his huge ass cheeks, legs forcibly spread apart by his obscene thighs scrolling mindlessly through what looked to be some kind of social media app.

“Good evening, Brother! I have a request of moderate proportions to ask of you!”

Todomatsu didn’t even bother to look up from his phone. “No.”

Karamatsu’s glasses fell askew. “B-But, you didn’t even get to hear what I was going to ask…”

Todomatsu looked up now, considered his older brother for a few seconds and sighed. “Fine, ask me. Maybe if it’s funny enough I’ll say yes.” He didn’t bother putting his phone down, prepared to start scrolling again at a moments notice.

Karamatsu adjusted his sunglasses and huffed in satisfaction. “You see brother of mine, I am in need of doing research today and you’re the only one with a computer. I would humbly ask you if I co-“

“No.”

“B-But!”

“I said no, Nii-san!” Todomatsu sighed returning to his scrolling. “I don’t want to risk my laptop being damaged by anyone let alone my idiot brothers, full offense Bee Tee Dubs.”

(Secretly, Totty didn’t want anyone on his laptop because the risk of them finding out about his streaming career was too high.)

Deflated in his disappointment, Karamatsu left Todomatsu to his perpetual scrolling and waddled back down the stairs, an easier feat than going up for sure.

Where else could he acquire the use of a computer? He wondered.

Embarrassingly, it took Karamatsu several minutes of thought before he realized that the local library had a couple old computers he could use.

Totty is right, he thought deprecatingly. I am an idiot brother after all.

Grabbing his keys and wallet, Karamatsu slowly left the house, carefully making sure his shirt didn’t ride too far up his middle section.

The library didn’t have much in the way of modern amenities, being unsurprisingly underfunded. But due to a moderate donation from Mr. Flag a while back, they were able to afford to update some of their most out of date features and purchase and maintain two old desktop computers. Last he heard from Choromatsu, they thankfully had internet capabilities (his brother would use them to type up and print his resumes).

Thankfully for Karamatsu’s decreasing mobility and stamina the library was close by. Panting heavily he plopped his chubby ass down on a memorial bench located out front of the building to catch his breath.

“Damn, I’m out of shape.”

It took a few minutes to make himself more presentable, needing a handkerchief to wipe away his sweat, but Karamatsu was ready to tackle the general public.

Being a Monday, the library was open and bustling. Despite its lack of funding, the establishment was a popular place.

Using his gut to push open the door for him (he could no longer reach past it to use his hands), Karamatsu burped behind his fist politely and entered the building.

To the right was several shelves of books and an audio/video section. To the left was the check out and late fee payment registers. A few librarians were seen helping put away carts of books and talking to patrons.

Locating an employee who didn’t seem too busy, Karamatsu approached them.

“Excuse me,” he glanced at their name tag and spotted a she/her badge. “Miss, I am here to utilize your computer system, in particular the internet. Where might I find them?”

The librarian did a double take at the sight of the obese man talking to her. How the fuck did someone get that fat?!

Shaking her head she tried to remain professional, but for some reason her eyesight refused to stop staring at the shorter man’s rotund middle.

“Uhhh…” She stammered briefly. “In the back to the left. They’re hard to see from here cause check out is in front of them. But walk far enough and you’ll find it.”

Turning 180 degrees, she power walked away from him, leaving behind a confused yet appreciative Karamatsu.

Making his way to the back of the library, he couldn’t help but notice, well, people noticing him. He’d be the first to admit that his body… wasn’t what it used to be. He was no longer attractive in the traditional sense. So it made sense that his unique form might cause a stir. But this was kind of ridiculous!

Men and women alike were open mouth staring at his beach ball sized gut as it swayed with each of Karamatsu’s heavy steps. The floor boards creaked and his nasally breathing sounded especially loud in the quiet atmosphere of the library. Strangers whispered to each other, kids pointed and he even heard a phone camera go off behind him.

If asked prior to this experience how he would feel being singled out like this in public, treated like a zoo animal on display, he would have said he would feel embarrassed and upset.

In the moment however, he couldn’t help but thank Akatsuka-sensei that his weighty belly hung down in front of his crotch cause holy shit this was super hot!

Being judged in public was exhilarating! The disgusted stares riled him up like no tomorrow! No wonder Choromatsu read degradation porn mags all the time. Karamatsu now understood the appeal.

Taking his time getting to the computers, he breathed heavier on purpose and even scratched at his underbelly, causing his sweatshirt to ride up significantly. The whispers intensified and his arousal spiked.

Shit, okay, get yourself under control. You’re in public, Karamatsu. You can jack off later.

Face flushed from both pleasure and movement, Karamatsu made it to the computer section.

Uh-oh, seems like there was yet another problem.

The chairs were tiny.

Even for a normal sized person these would be small! Karamatsu knew he was belly heavy but he also knew that his rear end had grown quite padded over time as well. There was no way his ass wouldn’t spill over the edges of the seat.

But would that really be so bad?

It could be something to tell his girlfriend about… how her morbidly obese boyfriend struggled to fit onto regular furniture? That he’d grown too big to function properly?

The thought turned him on again and he quickly began the process of sitting down.

Gripping the table with one hand, he reached behind him to grab the back of the chair with his other, hoping to lower his bulk down gently. Who knew how old these chairs were. The last thing Karamatsu needed was to break one in public, no matter how hot that would be…

Arm fat quivering, Karamatsu lowered himself about half way before gravity kicked into full gear and he lost control of his decent. Plopping his wide ass onto the small seat caused his cheeks to sag significantly over each side. The chair groaned loudly, covering up the small squeak of a fart that slipped out from the impact.

Sighing in relief from being off of his feet, and releasing a bit of gas, Karamatsu booted up the computer and got to work.

Why is my fat belly hard?

Was what he typed into Gooble. A surprising amount of results popped up about the topic. He thought it’d be harder to find information than this! Man, technology was awesome!

Clicking the first link he saw, Karamatsu began to read.

-

Oh jeez.

Visceral fat. Also known as Abdominal Obesity.

Fat located underneath the layer of muscles in your abdomen. Fat surrounding and squeezing your internal organs.

Too much of it can lead to severe health issues such as diabetes, heart disease and stroke.

Karamatsu swallowed thickly before continuing to read.

How to get rid of-

He stopped reading.

Did he want to get rid of it?

Not really… He liked being this big. He actively wanted to grow bigger. He was aroused by his obesity and having just read about the potential consequences of his unhealthy lifestyle caused him to pop a boner so fast he didn’t even know what to do with himself.

Why the fuck did the knowledge of health risks turn him on so much?!

The thought of one day having to use a cane to get around, or take blood pressure medication or sleep with a c-pap machine… Why was that making him so horny?!

Was it the idea of letting go and not caring about the consequences? Was it the idea of metaphorically spitting in society’s face about what lifestyle choices are considered acceptable or not? Was it the risk of danger getting him off? Or the knowledge that he had grown so fucking fat that even his own body couldn’t handle it anymore?

Shiiiiiit he was hard.

Deleting his search history just in case, Karamatsu turned off the computer and speed waddled to the men’s bathroom to jack off.

Hey, don’t judge him! This wasn’t the first time he or his brothers beat the meat in public spaces…

Regardless, Karamatsu had some thinking to do, and a nearby buffet to visit…

End.

[naivemlnd]

Posted a wg fanfic, thought I’d share here too!

[beefrobeefcal]

you are dieter’s new personal chef and you’re supposed to be responsible for making sure he eats fairly well just to maintain his current weight while he shoots a movie… but you can’t help how much you like it when you make him something particularly indulgent and he melts at the taste of your food, spewing compliments left and right and a couple of flirts here and there too 🤭

To Nonnie Love Beefro

A LONG TIME COMING, BUT HE'S HERE NONNIE! And I hope he lives up to the hype.

I-just-want-to-thank-you-sweet-baby-for-getting-me-through regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

--------<3----------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Dieter One Shot

Please welcome Dieter Bravo to Beefro's Bistro!

a 'Dieter Bravo & Cookie' One Shot: Contract Conundrum

Pairing: Dieter Bravox F!Reader

Summary: You're hired to get Dieter ready for a heavyweight role.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 4,274

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), talk of eating, belly praise, self esteem, weight gain, mention of porn, loads of dirty talk, table top sex

Author's Notes: FINALLY! I know.. I KNOW. Between sinus infections depression and house guests, Dieter took the brunt of my willy-nilly gumption. I'm sorry, my babies... I hope he lives up to the hype and you're left sated.

Major thanks to @neverwheremoonchild for beta-ing the hell out of this for me, and to @theywhowriteandknowthings + @rebel-held for being champions!

--------<3----------

Generally, when you are hired for a new job as a private chef, it’s to help your client lose weight or introduce a new lifestyle – like veganism – to their household. But this was new; Dieter Bravo needed to gain weight for a role, and you were the one hired to help him do it.

Before you had even been introduced to him, you were handed an NDA by his manager along with the contract and the job requirements. Outlined in both were the meal plans, expectations, conduct, and specifically the amount he had to gain and time frame in which you had to help his achieve this. You sat across from his manager, Dan, while you read through the documents.

“If you have any questions…”, Dan started, voice pleasant but sounding like he really didn’t want you to ask him anything.

You looked up from the paperwork and nodded politely, then your eyes went back down. You noted under Requirements, it stated that you would be living on site with Dieter, and you would not be compensated for any adult activities you chose to engage in, nor would you receive any additional compensation for anything produced because of them. You had a good idea what that meant and any confusion as to why it was written in your contract evaporated when you remembered who you would be working for.

Dieter Bravo had a reputation based on rumours, and this contract just confirmed them all to be true. You smiled to yourself as you finished reading the documents. You picked up the pen and signed your future for the next year on the last page.

*****

You had a finite time to get Dieter heavier, and he was making it difficult. You were just over a week in, and his picky eating habits were hampering your efforts to do your job. He’d told you he liked fancy food, but everything that you made him had come back to the kitchen barely touched, and he’d refused, like a spoiled child, to tell you what he actually wanted.

According to his assistant, Frank, Dieter took this movie role for a paycheque and sighed the contract before being told he’d have to gain weight for it. His vanity had come into play, but the amount he would have to pay to get out of the contract was ridiculously high. After tantrums and screaming matches with Dan, his manager, Dieter finally agreed to do the role, but he wanted a private chef.

“He swore me to secrecy.”, Frank whispered to you in the kitchen. He took a look at the door then turned back to you. “Don’t tell him you heard this from me, but he’s a classic stoner… grilled cheese, burgers, pizza… y’know?”

You gave Frank a grin and motioned your lips being sealed. “I heard nothing. You were never here. I just happened to take a chance and hit the jackpot.”

That evening, Dieter wandered down to the kitchen to rebuke whatever five-star dining experience you’d conjured up.

“Hello, Mr. Bravo. Dinner will be served in just a few minutes.”, you said, looking up and smiling at him.

“Evening, Cookie....” He gave a half-hearted smile back as he went to the dining room and plunked down at the table. His grey t-shirt and black sweatpants had seen better days, and he fished a joint out of one of his pockets, lighting it up and taking a few drags.

You walked in, pushing a cart with a personal pepperoni pizza and garlic bread sticks on it.

“What in the fuck?!”, Dieter coughed as he blew out the smoke, his eyes wide.

“I’m… sorry, Mr. Bravo?”, you asked, placing the food onto the table.

“What… what’s this?!” , he asked, waving his hands at the pizza. “Cookie, where’s the… th-the fancy shit?!”

“Do you not want pizza, sir?” You were playing dumb and thankfully he was too flabbergasted to notice.

“Of course, I want fucking pizza!”, he yelled angrily. “That’s not the fucking point!”

He stared at you, chest and shoulders heaving with his deep breaths. You stared right back, beginning to question if taking Frank’s advice was a good idea… or even if it was good advice.

He slowly brought the joint back to his mouth and took a puff, holding your stare. You waited for him to throw you out of the house or berate you. Instead, he blew the smoke out of his nose and said in a sinister growl, “This better be the best goddamned pizza I’ve ever had.”

Apparently, it was the best goddamned pizza because he ate the entire thing. You attributed his appetite that night to the amount of weed he had in his system.

*****

This became the new routine: each night, you would make another one of his favourites for dinner and he would behave appallingly, then eat the whole thing. You were amused by his show each night, and he really wasn’t rude or mean to you, he was just loud with a lot of swearing, that was followed by him cleaning his plate.

It didn’t take long for this routine to start to make an impact on him. While he wore loose fitting clothing, after a few months of him indulging in your cooking, the softer jawline under his scruffy beard and the belly that would pop out firm under his shirt on occasion told you that you were doing your job well.

Over the next few weeks, he seemed to become more appreciative of the effort you put into the food you made. Dieter would often come into the kitchen while you were prepping for the meal and watch, commenting on how you were creating art for him to consume and how that was the perfect metaphor for a capitalistic society. While you appreciated his enthusiasm, you could not help but roll your eyes when he went on rants, waving his arms around, yelling about how life is fleeting, and art is forever or some other bullshit. Despite this, it was endearing how passionate he was, even if you had no idea what he was talking about.

As you spent more time with him, however, he started to make little passes at you that you would ignore and take in good humor, playing innocent to his flirting. It wasn’t anything serious or off putting at first; he would comment on how nice your outfit was or asking what you were doing after you were done your shift with an eyebrow wiggle. As of late, though, the harmless flirting and compliments started to become a little more aggressive. He was far more overt with his eyes washing over you and his hands finding their way to touch you, and he would ask you to sit with him while he ate. He eventually started asking you what you would do if he didn’t finish his dinner or if he was good and ate it all up, what reward he would get. It was definitely weird to begin with, but you came to accept it as part of working for eccentric artist who paid you very, very well.

You weren’t one to dip your pen in the company ink and breaking that rule for none other than Dieter Bravo seemed a little too cliché for you.

*****

“What’s on the menu?”, he called out from down the hallway as he walked towards the kitchen.

“Spaghetti and meatballs, Mr. Bravo.”, you responded casually, not looking up from the pasta sauce you stirred on the stove top.

“Gonna be enough?”, he asked with his hands in his pockets, watching you from over his sunglasses with a wide grin.

Looking up, you gave him a questioning look. “Mr. Bravo?”

His face looked over you as his tongue darted out quickly. He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “You heard me, Cookie.”

You hummed with a slight eye roll and nodded, then went back to the pot on the stove. This was obviously not the reaction he wanted because he came around the kitchen counter and stood next to you, his shoulder bumping yours.

“You ready to feed me?”, Dieter stated in a low, almost sultry voice, bringing his hand up to your lower back.

“Dinner will be ready soon, Mr. Bravo.”, you nodded again, trying to ignore his tone and touch, eyes down on the pot of pasta sauce you were stirring.

He huffed a laugh and moved behind you, nudging his nose against your neck, his hands gently holding your shoulder.

You shrugged his hands off you and turned around. You were not in the mood for him being so overt.

“Mr. Bravo – behave!”, you snapped, pointing the mixing spoon from the sauce at him.

Dieter grinned at you, his eyes scanning over your body.

“If I behave, do I get a reward, Cookie?”, he crooned with a flicker in his eyes.

You stared at him, trying to find words to tell him off, but the lookhe gave you had you feeling weak in the knees. You clenched your jaw – and thighs – and turned back to the stove top.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour or so, Mr. Bravo.” Your voice cracked, unintentionally letting him know he’d broken through the first layer.

*****

Prior to Dieter finding you in the kitchen, he’d been upstairs in his room, looking at porn and lazily stroking himself. Despite the debauchery on his laptop, his mind wandered to you downstairs. He thought about you often, enjoying the way you squirmed and flushed when he teased you and how you politely listened to his ramblings about ‘true art’ and the way your eyes would drift over his body, landing on his now fuller middle. He smiled to himself and looked down at his bare stomach. His smile fell a bit, noting that his decadence was really starting to show, and a pang of insecurity washed over him. He’d seen the recent papshots of himself, round belly protruding as he left a restaurant completely stuffed along with the heading ‘Dad-Bod Bravo Almost Unrecognizable!’ along with the numerous comments that he’d come to expect, critiquing his physique to cruelly mocking him. His dick went limp at the thought of it all.

He turned off the grainy video of a 65+ orgy that was on his screen and searched for those papshots again. If he wasn’t going to get off, he was going to punish himself. He clicked on the link to a gossip site and sighed, scrolling and rereading the comments until one made him almost choke on his own spit.

‘DIETER BABY YOU EATIN WELL. LOVE THIS FOR YOU.’

His eyes went wide, reading and rereading the comment, looking for any sign that this was a joke. He clicked on the comment, opening up the thread of responses, all of them being along the same line.

‘i want to feed him while we cockwarm’

‘CANT EVEN AT HOW FUCKIN GOOD HE LOOKS LIKE THIS’

‘Is it wrong to admit that seeing bravo with a big belly has awoken something in me?’

‘HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK HE HAD TO PACK AWAY TO GET HERE? COS HE DIDNT LOOK LIKE THIS A FEW MONTHS AGO. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK BB DIETER.’

He stared at his screen, shocked. The final comment made his dick at once stand at attention:

‘who’s the lucky bitch getting to stuff our husband’s tummy? think they know how fucking blessed they are?’

*****

Dieter sat at the dining room table and watched as you plated the spaghetti for him with a wry grin, giving you a wink when you looked at him. Frank, his assistant, had warned that Dieter was a kinky bastard who liked to set up scenarios in his head then execute them with most being none the wiser until it was too late. When you asked him to elaborate, he just gave a sympathetic shrug and said, “You’ll know it when you see it.”

You were pretty sure you were seeing it now. Fuck.

“Sit with me, Cookie?”, he cooed with his head tilted.

You shook your head. “I need to clean up, Mr. Bravo.”

He pouted. “Please? I’ll be good…”

You sighed and moved to sit down in the chair across from him.

“Closer.” His tone was low. “Please.”

You sighed and pulled out the chair next to him; as soon as you sat down, he reached for the leg of the chair and pulled it right next to him, your legs touching.

The heat that had been building up under your skin all evening felt like it was going to burst as the hand that pulled your chair was now on your thigh, fingers softly touching and gently lifting your skirt higher. His nose nuzzled your ear as he mouthed kisses to your neck.

“So soft, Cookie… maybe you have a treat for me if I’m a good boy… if I fit every fucking bit of this in my gut, you’ll let me eat you raw…”

Every nerve ending in your body screamed at once, and the goosebumps that erupted made your skin feel electric under his lips. Despite this, you still tried to move away from him, not wanting to cross that line. You stood up and stood with your chair between you and him.

He didn’t stop you. And when you looked back at him, he didn’t look disappointed - he looked… encouraged?!?

“Cookie… nothing is sexier than consent.”, he growled with a lupine grin, picking up his fork. “But I don’t think you really wanna stop… just want a different position, huh baby?”

He twirled the fork in his pasta and stabbed the meatball, then shoved the whole forkful into his mouth. With wide eyes, you watched him; your mouth went dry as you tried to swallow, and your panties got wet as you crushed your thighs together.

As a chef, one of the great joys was seeing people enjoy your work, but this was on a wholly different level. Dieter was commanding you with just his intense gaze to watch him devour the meal you prepared him, and you couldn’t look away. You were now fully engaged in his scenario, yet you weren’t tethered or being held in place – it was just the magnetic pull of him eating your food that kept you in place. Bite after bite, he held eye contact and the only sounds he made were the occasional hum of appreciation and his quiet chewing.

He finished his plate and held it up towards you, a wry smile and a dark gaze on his face.

“More, please, Cookie.”

You nodded and stepped towards him, moving the chair between you out of the way. You took the plate from him, and his hand ghosted around your wrist, testing the waters with you again, but you didn’t pull away this time. Your eyes locked onto his and he gave you a ridiculously innocent and sweet smile before his hand slid up your skirt and he kneaded your ass cheek.

“Mr. Br-Bravo!”, you breathed out.

He was being so gentle, so soft; it was breaking your resolve.

“Oh Cookie… fuck…”, he groaned as he placed wet, hot open mouth kisses on your neck and jaw. “Dieter, baby… call me, Dieter.”

He moved the hand that was under your skirt to your wrist again and he pulled you down, placing your hand to his stomach.

“Feel that, Cookie?” His voice was soft, almost like he was praising you. “Making me fat...”

All you could do was nod, feeling the heat blooming in your cunt. You knew any sounds you tried to make would only come out as a whimper or a whine. You palmed his chubby middle and sucked in a breath, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, baby... I know what you want, I see you watching me...”, he grinned, his voice keeping that low register. Your eyes shot open, and you tried to pull your hand away, but he held it firm. “No shame in it, Cookie... everyone should do what they’re good at...”

He suddenly pulled you down further by the wrist into a surprisingly gentle kiss. He pulled back and looked at you.

“I wanna eat you raw... get on the table.”

You stared down at him, knowing the moment you got on the table, legs open for him, there would be no going back.

You shook your head, and his raised eyebrow in response threatened the tantrum he was willing to throw, that he’d become so famous for when he didn’t get his way. You weren't going to let him win this... at least not yet.

The voice that came out of your mouth even surprised you. “You need to finish your dinner. No dessert until then.”

A giant grin that ripped across his face. “Kinky Cookie... bad girl... I like it.”

*****

By the time every bite of spaghetti and meatballs were safely tucked away in Dieter’s overstuffed belly, he’d removed his shirt and pants, only sitting in his boxer shorts and his green housecoat. Every hiccough made his tummy condense and he would wince. He held it gently and let out a whine that turned into a burp.

“Good work, Mr. Bravo.”, you cooed, kneeling beside him as you gently cupped and palmed his belly, feeling the light layer of fat stretched thin over the immense amount of food jammed in it. “Did so well for me.”

He leaned back, eyes glazed and mouth open, panting. He gazed down at you and a small smile tugged at the left side of his mouth.

“Get on... get on the fucking table.”, he grunted as he sat up.

You thought about defying him, making him work harder for you, but before you could voice it, he, with great effort, pulled himself up and stood to his full height above you. His hand cupped your jaw and pulled, telling you to stand up, and as you did, he turned you so your back faced the table.

“I cleaned my plate, Cookie.”, his tone was gentle yet dark and he never broke eye contact with you. “I deserve a treat, right?... my dessert... right?”

You realized this situation was not in any way shape or form in your hands. Dieter, despite him wanting you to egg him on, encourage him to eat, was seizing back control, taking what he wanted, what he felt he deserved. You nodded dumbly at him, eyes wide as your breathing shuttered.

He nodded back, like he would have if he were scolding a child.

“So, you’re gonna get on the table, right, Cookie?”

He backed you against it, his belly being the last bit of force to shove you backwards. Once you were on the table, he gave you a dark, lupine grin as he grabbed your hips and shoved you further up and leaned down between your legs. He shoved your shirt up and pressed wet, sloppy kisses on your exposed middle, humming in delight. His hands moved to your thighs and pushed your skirt up to the waist, then he pulled your underwear down and moving to get them off you before he pulled them to his nose, took a deep breath, and tossed them across the dining room.

His eyes zeroed in on your core as he dipped his index and middle finger int your folds, smiling.

“So, fucking wet, Cookie... you get off on it, don’t you... this why you’re a chef, baby?... making people fat and round on your food gets you worked up?”

You whined and writhed on the table in response, and he let out a low chuckle, circling his middle finger around your throbbing clit.

“Come on, Cookie... tell me how much you like it... tell me what goes through that fucking beautiful head of yours when you see me get bigger... fill out... pant and moan as I try to swallow down every bite you put in front of me...”

He replaced his middle finger with his thumb and pumped two fingers into your cunt, beginning an agonizingly slow pace. You whined, hearing the sloppy wet noises he was pulling out of your sopping core.

“You like that, huh?... stuffing me stupid, then leaving me each night with a raging boner... leaving me to fuck my hand or anything else I can fit my dick in... but it’s getting harder, Cookie... this gut is getting in the way of everything...”

He watched you as your legs shook. He could feel your walls flutter, and he smiled, knowing he had you right where he wanted.

“Making it so hard... but you want that, don’t you?... want me to need you... want you to feed me... want you to fuck me...”

He began to pump harder, and you cried out arching your back. He was working up a sweat, between working you over and his belly trying to digest the ridiculous amount of food he had in it. Dieter pulled his fingers from your core and sat down in the chair, gripped your thighs and dove in. He sucked your clit hard, and you screeched out, hands going into his messy curls. He shoved his tongue into your weeping, twitching hole and his nose pressed your clit perfectly, sending you screaming into your orgasm, and he happily lapped at your spend.

He worked you over as you started to come down, but he didn’t stop. His mouth moved back to your swollen and sensitive nub, and he pushed the two fingers back into you repeatedly. He wasn’t letting you go now that he had you, and he hummed in response to every whine, cry, and moan that left your mouth.

“Mr... Mr.  Bravo...Dieter!... Please... I-I can’t!...”, you cried out, your body writhing and shaking.

He shook his head vigorously between your legs, grunting ‘uh-uh’ back to you and continuing his assault on your quivering cunt.

The noise his work pulled out of you as you came again was deep and animalistic, and he gave your clit one last, hard suck before he pulled back and stood up. In one swift movement, he pulled his boxer shorts down and pumped his cock, then pushed it into you, letting out a long, low moan as he did. He gripped your hips, and you wrapped your legs around him as best you could.

Goddamnit, he was big. Your eyes rolled into the back of yoiur head as he seated himself in you deep.

“Move ... please move, Dieter... fuck... so big... have to move... need you to... ”, you whined, tilting your hips to encourage him.  

He started to set his pace, each pump pushing a squeak or moan out of you.

“Jesus titty fucking Christ... yeah, Cookie... soft as shit pussy sucking me right in... fuck you for holding out on me... fuck you, Cookie, for carrying around this tight little pussy and not telling me...”

The sound of your wet cunt being impaled repeatedly by Dieter’s thick cock was obscene, but the filth coming from his mouth was even more so.

“Lucky little bitch… getting to stuff me… feed me… make me fat…”, he grunted through gritted teeth as he pounded into you. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good… you like being fucked by a fat guy, Cookie?... you did this, baby… you did this to me… the fucking envy of every god damned kinky fuck out there… yeah, you are a fucking lucky bitch…”

“Fuck you, Dieter… fuck you and your big fucking cock… and your fucking ap-appetite!... you eat so good, too… fuck… oh fuck…yes… just like that… yes… uhhhgod… yes, Dieter… keep going…”

Your tight walls fluttered and clenched on his cock, and he groaned and grunted.

“Yeah , so close, baby… oh fuck… come on my dick, Cookie… be a good little bitch and fucking come on my dick… wanna feel you cream on me… then I’m gonna – Fuck!... then I’m gonna fill this pussy… it’s fucking mine… come on… lemme have it… lemme have it, Cookie baby…”

The white-hot bolt of energy traveled down your spine and exploded in your core, sending you screaming and arching your back off the table. Dieter held you firm as he pounded you through your orgasm.

“That’s fucking right!... yeah, baby… yeah… fuck… fuck fuck fuck fuck… Cookie… gonna come in you-your pussy… you’re mine… you’re fucking mine… yeah… yeah… yeah!”

With a final grunt, his hips pushed hard into you as he came hard. His hand moved from your hip and came down beside your face as he panted, his forehead resting on your chin.

Both of you were quiet, minus the sounds of your heavy breathing filling the air.

“Fuck you and your fucking pussy… god damnit, Cookie…”, he breathed, and you smiled.

“Fuck you and your monster cock, Bravo.”, you huffed back with a laugh.

Silence filled the room again until Dieter slipped his softening cock from you, and you let out a small whine. He smiled and chuckled.

“Don’t leave… come upstairs.”, he said quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your collar bone.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with his big, pleadling brown ones looking up at you.

“Are you a post-coital snuggler, Mr. Bravo?”, you asked teasingly, smiling.

“Yeah… yeah, I am…” He looked down and grinned bashfully, nodding.

He brought his gaze back up at you, a soft and warm look on his face. He leaned in close, lips almost touching as his bely pressed you into the table.

“Yeah… plus I wanna see your tits and be comfortable in bed.”

--------<3---------

thank you @toxicanonymity for the moodboard!

TAG LIST:

@theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @blackfemalenerd  @southernbe @starkeydaviss

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

"Bucky is willing to do whatever it takes to woo his long-time crush Natasha, even going so far as to gain a bunch of weight. But for some reason, Steve seems to be way more affected than Nat…"

New chubby Bucky fic! So far, there's one chapter posted!

[theplotthiccens]

I did it! I actually wrote some Adam/Lute belly-kink smut. Well, it was supposed to be just smut, but then it turned into 10k words of character study with weight-gain as a framing device.

Anyways... I'm actually posting one of my fics. I haven't posted writing of any sort in over a decade. I'm both terrified and exhilarated.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Glamour

In which Gale comes clean to Agnes "Agi" Wildheart about a glamour he uses. SFW.

“Knock, knock!”

Gale smiled to himself as he shut the book he was reading. Sitting in his tent, he had been anticipating the arrival of his lady. My lady. My sweet, talented, beautiful, amazing, kind…did I mention sweet? “Come in, darling!”

Agnes Wildheart peeked her head through the folds of the tent opening and grinned. “Hi, love. I have a surprise for you!” Closing the tent flaps, she walked to him and kissed him softly before taking something out of one of her many pockets. “Ta-da! Someone had some Waterdhavian chocolate, so I bartered some stuff I had lying around for it. I thought we might share.” Holding out the chocolate bar, her expression was bright as usual.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Gale. I love chocolate. I love her. I would love her covered the richest chocolate imaginable and lick it off her body, but… He put on his best fake smile and waved a hand. “How kind and thoughtful, my dear! However, I think you should have it yourself. You deserve it. A worthy treat for a beautiful lady!”

She raised an eyebrow. “But I want to share with you, love.”

No, you don’t. I don’t bloody need it. What I am going to need is another pair of trousers soon. They’re already so tight, and she’ll think I’m just—

Her smile turned into a frown. “Hey, are you okay? I can go if you want to be alone—"

“No, no! It’s not that. I want you…here with me! Yes, with me here! Us! Together!” Try to sound less desperate, man! He rubbed a hand through his hair. “I…” You need to tell her. Sooner or later, she’ll find out especially if we…you know… Gale motioned to the other chair in the tent. “Please.”

Agnes sat warily in the chair, still holding the chocolate. “Did I…did I do something wrong?”

Shit. He offered a reassuring smile. “No. You’ve done nothing wrong. Me, however…” Chuckling nervously, he felt his heart beating through his chest. “Well, a question for you, Agi---what do you know of glamours?”

She wrinkled her nose, her frow burrowed. “Glamours to change appearance? I casted one for a friend a while back for a theater production they were in.” Her eyebrow raised once more. “Why?”

Because I’m a weak and vain man. A hand traveled to his earring. “You see this isn’t just a very fashionable piece of jewelry, my dear.” He smiled ruefully as he touched it. I’m sorry. I’ve lied to you enough, and now here’s another fucking lie.

The glamour shimmered away.

Gale’s gaze was fixed upon Agnes.

“Sorry, was it supposed to do something?”

Gale blinked. “What?! Don’t you see?!”

Agnes squinted. “Well…you certainly filled your tunic, love…and your pants…and your hair is a bit grayer…” Her smile returned, her free hand touching one of his. “Still very handsome, if I do say so myself.”

Did she…No, she can’t have. But I think she did!!! Gale laughed nervously, bringing her hand to his lips. “My lady, you’re full of boundless kindness shown towards such an undeserving fool…” He had not noticed her put the chocolate on the side table, nor did he notice her move until she was standing in front of him, her face meeting his.

He did notice her kissing him. A slow, passionate kiss that Gale happily remembered they shared the previous night at sunset. His hands found their way to her wide, soft hips, while hers cupped his face.

“Gale love, look at me. Look at me.” She whispered, thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“If the lady commands.” He chuckled, his eyes now meeting hers. We both have brown eyes. Can’t believe I didn’t notice that before.

“My love, I’m not angry about the glamour. I’m not angry at you. I’m just angry you felt like you had to do this in the first place.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips before continuing. “I’ve been teased about being bigger ever since I was a little girl. I didn’t think anyone would love me after a ‘friend’ humiliated me when I asked him out. But when I told Mum, she looked at me and said, ‘Agi, if they can’t love you inside and out, then they’re not worth it.’ And that’s stuck with me ever since. I love you, Gale---inside and out. I meant what I said about you still being very handsome.” Her cheeks turned bright pink, something Gale discovered quickly that he enjoyed. Such a pretty blush on a pretty woman. “And I bet you’re great to snuggle with—OH!”

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. He kissed her soundly and held her against him. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. “I love you.” He huffed, his forehead touching hers. “You’re a marvel, you know that?”

Wrinkling her nose, she giggled. “The Wizard of Waterdeep telling a sorceress of Baldur’s Gate that she’s a marvel? I’ll need to note the day and time for future reference.”

Gale barked a laugh. “No need. I’ll simply tell you every moment of every day, darling.” I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much.

“If you do, then I’ll die of embarrassment.” Laughing softly, she kissed him. “But truly, you are handsome, and for a man nearing his forty-first birthday,” oh dear, her cheeks are red now. “You’re very sexy.” Ah, tomato red!

Gale’s eyes twinkled as he tickled her sides softly. “And for a lady just past her twenty-fifth birthday, you’re simply perfect.”

Giggling, Agnes lightly smacked his arm. “You’re also quite naughty, love. Come on, let’s have some chocolate and a cuddle.” She picked up the bar and sat on the bedroll, tapping the spot next to her.

“There’s nothing I’d like more, my dear.”

Gale stood.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

Agnes’s eyes widened.

Fuck my life.

“Oh dear, where those your pants? Don’t worry, I’ll make note that we need to pick some up next time we find a trader or inn or some shit.” She took out a small notebook, one Gale knew she used for inventory, and wrote it down. She smiled reassuringly at him. “All good.” She pat the spot next to her again. “Gale love?”

“One moment.” He undid his trousers and got them off, tossing them on the far side of the tent. Goodness, she looks like she wants to devour me. A smirk tugged at his lips. Nothing wrong with some flirting. I know she loves it. “Does the lady want the shirt removed as well?” He winked. Especially since she likes all of this!!!

Agnes nodded wordlessly, watching Gale in wonder.

Well, here goes nothing. He pulled the shirt over his head and then sat next to her on the bedroll. “What does the lady think?” Gale whispered, leaning into her ear.

With a gulp, Agnes nodded again. “Y-yes, very good.” She looked at him intensely, seemingly drinking him in. Raising a hand, she appeared as if she would reach out and touch him but stopped. “I had no idea you’re so hairy.” She said, a small smile on her lips. “That didn’t show up when we…erm, you know…had magic sex.”

He chuckled. “Magic sex is certainly an accurate way to describe the lovemaking we did in the stars, and yes, I am quite hairy.” Fuck, does she hate it? All signs point to no but let her answer. “Do you…?”

She quickly shook her head. “No! I mean, I like it. A lot. Makes you even hotter actually.” OH?!?!?! Her face was turning bright red. “I mean, you’re still really hot without it! And with it! And just…oh sod it.” Agnes opened the chocolate bar and shoved a piece in her mouth, causing Gale to laugh.

He shifted on the bedroll to be against her and pulled her into a hug. “I must say, darling, you’re very adorable when you’re flustered! I should do that more often!” Not all the time. Don’t want her to think I’m actually teasing her. I can’t hurt her…even a little. It would break my heart. Pressing a kiss to her red hair, he rocked her gently. “How’s the chocolate, my love?”

Swallowing, she sighed happily. Always a good sign. “So fucking good. Sometimes you just need some chocolate, you know?”

Gale gave an affirmative hum as Agnes broke a piece and held it up for him. As he bit into the chocolate, he recognized the taste immediately. Oh fuck yes. Master chocolatier Andresson’s handiwork. My favorite. And Agi likes it too. I’ll make sure we always have some at home…hold on, Gale. She may not want to continue this after our little adventure or may want to stay in Baldur’s Gate. Her whole life is there---family, friends, her puppy…

“A-are you sure you’re not tired? I could go, love.” Her worried voice brought him out of his increasingly depressing thoughts.

He closed his eyes. “Thinking too much.” Again. Always. Constantly.

Agnes turned a little in his arms so that she was not facing away from him. A hand began stroking the thick dark hair on his chest. “Stay here with me, love. Stay in the moment, Gale. Just think about us, right here, right now…everything’s okay. We’ve having a cuddle and some chocolate.” She murmured softly. “Want some more chocolate, love?” She offered him a piece, which he took and ate. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “I have an idea! Lay down and close your eyes!”

“O-oh? What—” Before he knew it, Agnes was laying down on the bedroll and looking at him expectantly. I suppose I better get right to it then. Can’t keep the lady waiting! He did as he was told and closed his eyes. “What do you have planned, my sweet sorceress?”

He could hear her smirking. “You’ll see, love.”

The air is filled with magic.

Her magic.

Wild.

Untamed.

Like her beautiful curls. Gods, how I love running my fingers through her hair.

“You can open your eyes now.” Agnes said in a soft whisper.

Gale could not stop the massive grin that appeared on his face when he opened his eyes. The ceiling of the tent was enchanted to look like a snowy winter night.

“It’s not nearly as impressive as when you changed the entire night sky, but I still think this is a good first attempt.” She said with a self-satisfied smile.

“First attempt?! Are you telling me, darling, that you’ve never done this before…just now?!” Gale sputtered.

Agnes wrinkled her nose and giggled. Gods, she’s so cute when she does that. “Well, erm…yes? I thought it would be nice to try to do. Make it even more romantic, but I didn’t want to copy what you did.” She turned onto her side and snuggled against Gale’s large hairy but apparently appealing belly. “I remembered when Mum and I went to see some relations up north, and there was a festival of some sort going on. It was snowing. People were everywhere having a great time. Lots of hot cocoa and tasty snacks. Children were ice skating…and I thought…maybe we could go sometime.” She’s touching my chest again. Goodness, she really does think I’m attractive. “I mean, that’s if you want to continue this when this is all over.” She added quickly, her eyes darting downwards.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Gale laughed heartily. “You needn’t worry about that, my dear! I’m afraid you’re stuck with this fool.”

Did I think I would find love with a beautiful dwarven sorceress while we both have tadpoles in our heads and I have a bomb in my chest?

Absolutely not.

Was I surprised that I found love with the loveliest dwarven sorceress with all the above happening?

Oh yes. Definitely.

Am I ecstatic that she loves me and wants this to continue?

YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Giggling, she planted multiple kisses on his chest. “Well, that means you’re stuck with my fat ass.” She stopped, a smirk appearing on her lips. “You hear that Mystra? He loves my fat ass, and I love his! He’s mine now, so fuck off!”

***

After an amazing, romantic night, Gale applied the glamour. We talked about it. She said I can do whatever I feel comfortable with. I said I would be fine with keeping the glamour on around others, but when we’re alone, it’s off. As he opened the flaps of his tent, Astarion stopped his conversation with Halsin.

The vampire grinned, his fangs shining in the sun.

“So Gale, when are you proposing to dear Agi?”

“I-I beg your pardon!”

Halsin’s eyes went from Astarion to Gale and back again.

“My good man, if a woman told my deity to fuck off and that I belonged to her now, I would be buying a ring at dawn!”

When things are settled, I will.

Before Gale could response, Agnes (her face is as red as a tomato) smacked Astarion on the arm. “You naughty man! Gale can propose to me whenever he wants!” OH?!?!!?!?! Then I will write to Mother’s favorite jeweler immediately. “Now, months from now, years—”

“Not years, darling.” Gale snarked, pouring a cup of honestly not bad coffee.

Most of their comrades laughed as Agnes walked by Gale to pour herself some coffee. He always noticed the little full of love for me looks she gave him including one right now. He felt a wriggling in his head. His gaze locked onto hers.

I’d marry you tomorrow if I could, love. I honestly thought no one would be interested in me as a person, as Agi, because they know my last name. They know my mother is Countess Luci Wildheart, head of the Wildheart Ironworks. But you were…are! Oh goodness, you are interested in me and not only that—

Interested?! Darling, I love you.

Right yes! Sorry was getting to that. Anyways, you love me for me, and I love you for that.

I could say the same for you. Not interested in my power, my supreme command of magic, my boundless intellect—

Gale.

Of course! You love me the man---flawed, hairy, and—

Incredibly sexy!

So you say, dearest.

The connection between the tadpoles was severed just as Wyll began speaking to Agnes. He smiled to himself as he imagined him romancing her at that winter festival and picked up not one but two butter rolls.

If she doesn’t mind it…likes it even…then so do I.

[withoutalice]

oops! all food!

Rating: M

Warnings: disordered eating, binge eating, mental health struggles

Word count: 3,600

~~~

Fortress Maximus could only stare directly as the bright, phosphorescent light from the Lost Light’s halls poured into his habisuite, cascading over him exposingly. Dust stood still in the air, illuminated sacredly in the dark kitchen.

“Maxie? What’s happened to you?”

(Full story under the cut)

A/N:

Hehe~ oops! All food p*^n!

TW: Binge eating and talk of disordered eating guilt

Good luck!

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

Fortress Maximus crashed into his berth. This had to be one of his longest days on the Lost Light. Early this morning, he went to get a checkup at Ratchet’s to ensure he was recovering from his coma properly. After that, he had his appointment with Rung, which took up the rest of the morning and a bit of the afternoon. For some reason on the way back to his habisuite he was dragged off to Swerve’s to get the “friends check-up” so he wouldn’t lose it, or something. Well he wanted to use their inner energon to paint the ship the whole time. He abruptly had said goodbye to the table before he did something he regretted and trudged to his room, exhausted.

Now he lay face down, venting heavily but evenly. He was so tired and-

He heard his tanks groan.

Fort Max punched the wall next to him and sat up. He needed fuel. He hadn’t had anything all day except for a mint in between Rung’s and Swerve’s. He leaned against the backboard of his berth and pulled his private datapad from under his pillow. His bleary eyes squinted at the several applications he could choose from. It was only 6pm, it definitely was dinner time. He decided to start with a standard personal pizza. He put in his order and closed his eyes, waiting for the knock on his habisuite door.

He still startled when he heard the rap at the door fifteen minutes later. Still in a sleepy state, he dragged over to the door with a handful of shanix for a tip. Then he stepped back to his bed, settling in with his dinner and turning on a program to watch. His servos were large enough for the whole pizza to fit easily, so he began to bite away at the steaming hot pizza. With each bite the cheese stretched in gooey strings from his denta that was then quickly swiped up with his glossa. Steam rose from each separated piece of pizza and swirled past his optics. Fortress sighed satisfied and relaxed more with each large bite. Before long, the personal pizza was gone and Fort Max left to wash the grease off his hands in the kitchen sink.

He went to go sit down and continue his program. He gnawed on the ends of his servos for a few minutes before he finally conceded to his tanks protesting. He clicked off the program and put on some music instead. Max reached over to grab his datapad off the nightstand for the second time. It was okay right? He should have a little extra because he had eaten nothing all day. It was totally justifiable. He realized as he looked down at his apps that he didn’t know what he wanted to eat specifically. Well, he had a few ideas, but he couldn’t possibly order more than a couple items? He offlined his optics.

After a moment and another yowl from his tanks, he decided it was fine. I mean, have I ever done something like this? It can’t hurt every one in a while… He opened up a different app this time. Can’t have the same place again…what if they think I regularly eat more than one bot should? Shame burned in his cheeks at the thought. Max placed his order and waited again, eyes fixed on his habisuite door. Fifteen minutes passed, and his order hadn’t arrived. To stave off the hunger he got a glass of low grade energon, then a second one, then half of third before his tanks sloshed uncomfortably with the weight of the smooth liquid. His tanks still clenched painfully like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

His optics bored into the door, and when that long awaited knock sounded he couldn’t hide his desperation as he stepped to the door and opened it jerkily. Fort Max shoved the heavy tip of shanix into the delivery bot’s servo through the slightly open door. He was trying to hide from guilt that he didn’t know the origin of. Carefully he put down a towel on his bed and set out the food. Set in front of him were two large bowls of macaroni and cheese, a plate of mozzarella sticks, a basket of fries, fried chicken, a caesar salad, and a 2-liter bottle of carbonated sweet energon. This could feed six bots, or a larger family unit of bots easily…he reflected to himself. He didn’t want to dwell on that. He wanted to ease the clenching of his tank.

Fort Max practically inhaled the fries first, not really savoring the taste or texture; he ate them without any of the provided sauces. The salt dried out his glossa shockingly fast so he washed it down with long gulps of the sweetened fizzy energon. Tanks feeling a little more satiated, he mulled over what to eat next. He decided on the macaroni and cheese. He popped open the lid of the plastic to-go container and sighed open-mouthed at the smell. He dug in with the plastic spoon. The macaroni and cheese squelched with each stirring motion. The cheese sauce was so thick it was hard to remove the spoon when he was ready to eat. Maximus then carefully put a spoonful into his mouth. The sauce coated the inside of his mouth intimately and his denta stuck together while he chewed. He vented shallowly through his nose. He nearly missed the next bite. His spoon was going faster than his mouth, and some of the food dribbled onto his chest plating. Fort Max quickly swiped it up with a napkin but cleaned his lips with his glossa. He wolfed down the last few bites of the dish and set it aside.

He then started on the mozzarella sticks. He broke the first one apart with his hands and watched the steam rise. After he ate that first one, he realized he forgot the marinara sauce so he cracked that open too. Max tried to savor them. He was still disappointed they gave him so few…

Fortress was starting to feel weighed down by the grease so he took a break by eating his caesar salad. He had no urgency, as his tanks finally were above the empty level but not completely full yet. He took the first couple bites, cringing at the unpleasant dryness of the salad even with the dressing. But he knew it was healthy so he continued through, eyeing the bucket of fried chicken strips. The music in his habisuite droned on in the background. He picked the last few lettuce pieces out of the salad that his fork couldn’t get and swallowed them quickly, tossing the container into the can next to him. Fortress took a few more sips of fizzy energon before starting on the salt-heavy fried pieces. 

It was unfortunate that the chicken was room temperature at that point, but the taste was still amazing. He went through two or three little to-go containers of BBQ sauce, ranch, and ketchup each. He was feeling a little overwhelmed by the delicious taste, but half of the bucket remained and he was out of sauce. His eyes wandered up to the second container of macaroni and cheese that was left. He had to reach far to grab the last container, feeling his nearly topped off tank put pressure on his insides, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable yet. He was able to finish off both containers by using the rest of the chicken strips to scoop up the macaroni. The explosion of flavors and the comfort of the cheese and protein in his tank felt like it was warming his spark. His HUD popped up a suggestion to recharge, but Fortress Maximus didn’t feel like going to recharge just yet. He turned on the TV again to catch up on the news for the day finally.

```

Fortress Maximus fell asleep with the TV still on.

```

He woke up with condensation from his frame pooling underneath him. He panted and swiped a servo on his forehelm. It came away wet. Even worse, his tank was rumbling again, even after his larger dinner. Checking the time, he saw it was a couple hours past the night mid-cycle. The Point-One-Percenter got up, went to the kitchen again, and poured something to drink. His frame felt like it hadn’t eaten in vorns, his processor acted like it was starved of nutrients. I should get that checked out by First Aid or Ratchet tomorrow… He thought to himself. He was so mad and ashamed and confused about what had transpired in the last 24 hours. He forgot two simple meals and now his frame was breaking down like a malnourished illegal miner mech. 

He couldn’t help his survival coding. He grabbed an emergency ration stick from his day kit for emergencies and sat on his habisuite floor with his datapad. Maximus barely registered the total of his purchase. Hopefully no one would question the charge. After punching in his delivery information with shaking servos, he curled up in the fetal position on the floor of his kitchen. His processor was woozy and his optics swam in exhaustion. His whole frame shook and he felt like his internals were digesting each other to get any scraps that had semblance with nutrients. Tears leaked out of his optics at the pain. 

Honestly, Fortress Maximus was scared.

The delivery mech, as per his directions, knocked and left the food at the door. Fortress laughed in relief. He pulled himself off the floor and pulled the food inside.

He didn’t even make it to the table in his suite. He ripped open the first of the many paper bags with his order in it. It was a large extra pepperoni pizza. He reached into the bag again, finding the extra ranch sides he requested with the order. He ripped open several packs with his denta and squirted them all over the pizza. He frantically used his servos to spread it onto multiple slices before grabbing two slices and shoving them into his mouth. He wasn’t even tasting the food as he chewed and swallowed as fast as he could. He grabbed another fistful of pizza and opened his jaw as wide as possible to stuff as much of the food he could into his mouth. He sniffled and swiped up more ranch to put on the pizza. He felt as if he couldn’t eat fast enough. He ate two, three, four pieces at a time until the whole family sized pizza was gone. 

He moaned and lay face down on the floor. His body shivered as it struggled to digest the large meal he ate. He ate too fast but that wasn’t enough to stop him from grabbing the next bag full of party size chip bags, bread and mayonnaise. He took out the toast pieces and slathered them in mayo, crushing chips in between and making a ‘sandwich’. The soft, soggy bread contrasted with the crunch of the chips and the mayo stuck to his glossa heavily. Some of the mayo oozed out of the bread and covered his servos. Without a second thought he shoved each finger into his mouth and licked his palms clean. What he couldn't clean off with his glossa he simply wiped onto his own thighs, leaving a sticky, greasy mess in its wake. All the while, his processor screamed at him to stop, to take control of himself. But his body refused to listen, determined to gorge itself in desperation. Maximus knew he was self-destructing.

Next was the pastries. Oh mmph…pastries… The tray of cinnamon rolls with the glistening, viscous sugar slathered on them was almost erotic in a way. He felt perverted just looking at them. He curiously stuck a singular servo into the center of one, and it made a slick shck! noise when he pulled it out to lick it clean. He tenderly raised the one with the fingered hole in it up to his face.

He took a bite. Immediately he received that dopamine shot from the sugar, sobbing with relief. He was already envisioning the next cinnamon roll he would consume. As he finished off the final pastry, the feeling of guilt began to set in. But it was too late. He had already fallen off the wagon.

Maximus reached for another unknown pastry box. He flopped back to lean against the kitchen wall, spreading his legs wide to make room for his overfilled tank with the box of donuts in his lap. He opened the box, smelling the copious amounts of sugar, smelling the signature fried butterfly dough. Max heard a muffled Ping! from his lower panels. He felt his belly strain against his armor and rub against internal nodal wiring unnaturally but pleasurably. Just at the smell and his cooling fans clicked on, blasting at their highest speed. Even though he was uncomfortably stuffed, Fort Max began to polish off the donuts.

He had an eating ritual for all 12 donuts. He would nibble the edge a little, then stick his glossa through the center hole, eating it without the help of his hands from there. He slurped up the sticky maple, chocolate, strawberry, and frosting cream off of his servos and chin lazily. He was slowing down. He was getting tired, but his frame was still raging for fuel. Fort Max looked at the empty boxes around him. He still had more in his order. He had to continue.

He whimpered and strained to reach the next box. He went through a loaf of garlic bread, chocolate bars, sugary cereal, cheesecake, popcorn, hot wings, triple chocolate cookies, cheese burgers with fries, ice cream and-

His frame stopped.

Max's processor returned to him and finally all his emotions bubbled to the surface. At first, tears silently leaked out of his optics as he looked around his habisuite's kitchen. He hardly remembered eating all of that but, checking the time, he realized it was possible that this was his doing. He had to have been eating for three hours straight. At least the early rising bots were already walking around the ship. The pain from Fortresses' stomach registered next, he couldn't get up and was bloated beyond belief. He tenderly held his stomach with shaky servos, slouching back farther against the wall nearly lying on the floor, and rubbing slightly to ease the stiff pain.

At first it was a sniffle, then a short cut-off sob, a weak cry, before he was completely wailing at his predicament and anguish. He let go of his bloated belly to cover his face with his servos, laying on his side in the middle of all the food scraps and wrappers and other trash on the floor. His frame shook and armor jiggled as he cried. It was a complete nightmare. He felt angry. Sad. Pointless. Disgusted, guilty, shameful and everything in between. He had never experienced such self hatred towards himself. He'd never felt so…ugly. Max hiccuped. Beating one fisted servo against the floor, and biting the other, he screamed in torment.

          Why does this always happen to me!?

          What is even the point?!

          Fortress Maximus felt his tanks clench in being over-full this time. He continued crying like a lost child as he sat up again, looking around the habisuite hopelessly.

          No one can know…

But why was he so anxious about being caught? It was just fuel, wasn’t it? After his day off his bloating would be mostly gone and messes could always be cleaned. It’s not like he broke any rules of the ship…

Everyone makes mistakes everyone makes-

The door handle turned with a click!

Fortress Maximus could only stare directly as the bright, phosphorescent light from the Lost Light’s halls poured into his habisuite, cascading over him exposingly. Dust stood still in the air, illuminated sacredly in the dark kitchen.

“Maxie? What’s happened to you?”

He recognized that silhouette anywhere. First Aid was standing in his doorway, and when Max’s optics adjusted to the searing light, he could see the terror upon the medic’s face. The tension was thick and charged with grief, confusion, disgust, concern, indifference… 

Embarrassingly, the Point-One-Percenter tried in vain to stand up without the use of his servos and arms, to prove he was still capable. He failed.

“I-it’s not what you think!” He wailed.

The medic just shook his helm.

“I just don’t know what to do, Max.” First said grimly.

“Please! I can fix this!” The panicking bot uselessly swiped away wrappers, only uncovering more crumbs and trash piled on the floor.

“You need help, Fortress. This is…horrific!” First Aid gestured wildly at the state of the habisuite. The medic stepped in and grabbed receipts off the dining table. As he read the numbers of the cost of each order, his optics widened.

Maximus, overwhelmed with sadness and shame, drops his head to the floor. First Aid just stands there, his EM field tightly restricted, his arms folded in disappointment as he watches the sad spectacle unfold.

"First Aid...I...I...I just don't know what went wrong," He sobs. "This isn't me...you know that!"

First Aid's voice dropped to an alarming whisper. Maximus had never seen such anger in First Aid's optics before.

"You ate everything... again? I've heard this so many times."

Max's voice grew desperate. 

“Please, don't tell anyone!”

“Fortress Maximus, you are beyond help,” First Aid said, his tone stony. “Get it together, frag it all! You can't just eat everything in sight every time you feel emotions.”

The large mech whimpered.

"I... I know... I thought I was doing better..."

“For frag’s sake Fortress!? It’s been nearly a year of therapy; it’s been two years since you were rescued from Garrus 9.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think…” 

Fortress Maximus felt betrayed.

First Aid took a step inside and surveyed the mess. His optics scanned over everything, and then his scanners caught a glimpse of the discarded boxes scattered around the room. Max, still on the floor, tried to cover himself up with his servos. He was ashamed, but he knew his efforts were useless.

"I can explain," he tried. "Please believe me-"

The medic's hand clenched the receipts tightly, shaking as the point-one-percenter's heart rate began to accelerate. The medic looked up from the receipts, and their optics met. Maximus' optics widened, knowing the time had come. His optics lowered to his chest panel in a silent, defeated sigh as he realized there was simply nothing he could do to hide the evidence. The damage had been done.

"I know, I know! It's just... I can't stop. Everything I taste is amazing at the time, but after..."

Maximus trailed off as First Aid began reading the total cost of his multiple orders. He was speechless. It was an inconceivable amount of shanix. Maximus just watched in anguish as the medic picked up each receipt and added up the total. He wanted to cry again.

"Just a rough patch, First! I'm in perfect control!" Fortress Maximus waved away the medic's concerns even as he took rapid shallow breaths, gasping and panting in front of him. The medic could see deep stains in the Point-One-Percenter's armor that suggested this binge-eating episode was not the first.

Fortress Maximus froze at First Aid's words, a cold realization settling on him like a blanket. He was utterly helpless to control himself, and he knew it. How many times would he repeat this same cycle before he lost everything? Maximus knew in his spark that he had hit a rock bottom, but how would he ever climb out? The Point-One-Percenter felt First Aid's judging gaze pierce the deepest part of his spark, and he had no response.

"But I'm doing better! I am. The binges aren't as bad as they were, at least not physically. I just... I need to keep myself entertained, distracted. If not, I get bored. Then I get depressed. Then I eat until I've become this... this embarrassment." The sad bot looked up at First Aid, his optics pleading for understanding.

"But it's all I have, Aid.”

First Aid shook his head one last time in disgust, opened a comm to Rung, spun on his heel and slammed the door behind him, locking Max in his habisuite with his mess. He was alone to wallow in his shame and the evidence of his binge-eating. Maximus was at a loss for words as he heard First Aid walk away. He felt so helpless, a feeling he wished he’d never have to know again. He stared around his habisuite for a moment, breathing deeply to try and calm himself down. 

He knew what he had to do next, but he couldn't summon the strength to leave the mess he had made. Eventually, he closed his optics and laid motionless on the floor.

~~~~~~~~

A/N

First off, I’m sorry I wrote this. Uhhh points for creativity? Eheh >.<

Thanks for reading though! Just remember, that even though I write about heavy topics doesn’t mean I'm struggling. ;)

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Multitudes - Chapter Nineteen

... And Running, as Fast as We Can, as Far as We Can.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Recovery... Again. Will you run away with me?

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 4380

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) recovery, weight gain, injury mentions, stomas, anxiety, begging for death, recovery reluctance, smut.

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. You know the drill. Takes place between Magic and Madness chapters six and seven. Masterlist can be found here.

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! The snazzy Black Widow divider comes from @/firefly-graphics and I love it <3 The Multitudes Universe one is our own!

<- Previous Chapter (19/72)

White.

Why is it always white?

White, then bright, then white, then bright.

Then black.

The tubes in my arms itched, but I couldn’t reach to pull them out.

Sentience came slowly.

Bright.

White.

Pain in my wrists.

Unable to move, think, feel, breathe.

Tubes in my arms, tubes in my nose, tickling the back of my throat.

I coughed, and hands found mine, gentle and reassuring.

No. Back to sleep. Take me back to sleep.

But our body would not comply. Our eyes cracked open, squinting and recoiling against a violent, vibrant light.

“Natasha.”

No. God, no. Anything but this, anything but this.

“Why couldn’t you just let me die?” I whispered, voice cracking, aching with screams I didn’t remember.

Fingers brushed my wrists, pausing just long enough to offer a warning growl to an unseen intervener before my cuffs were removed, gently steering me into his chest. “Never. You didn’t let me die on that rooftop, Nat – I’m not going to let you die now.”

I sighed, leaning against his broad, strong torso. “Please. It hurts. Everything… Everything hurts.”

“I know, but-”

“You don’t. You can’t ever understand this. You will never understand this, Clint. I love you, but I can’t keep going. I can’t keep falling.” It should have been me it should have been me. “It should have been me.”

There was a pause, heavy and painful. “That got shot?”

I nodded slowly, far too tired. “It was my fault. You wanted to get back to work, and I stopped you. If I hadn’t… The least I could have done was take the bullet for you.”

“You heard what Stephen said, Nat. You’d have died.”

“For all the shame that would be, huh?”

He sighed, kissing my hair. “… Do you want to know what I’ve been saying to y’all while you’ve been asleep?”

“I want you to get this tube out of my nose and let me die.”

“Nope. Now – you said you told me about the farm, and about the chickens. Well, I wondered… Maybe there could be a couple of dogs, or even a cat. And a few… Less furry footsteps running around.”

I smiled weakly, shaking my head. “I can’t have kids, Clint.”

“Our closest friends are scientists. I’m sure if it was something you really wanted to pursue, they’d know better than anyone else. Or there’s the adopted, rough-start-in-life kind.”

“That sounds nice,” I sighed, settling closer into his skin, wanting more than anything for this to be how I left the world.

But it wasn’t.

Clint told me stories of our future every day, as I slowly got more and more coherent.

It was a private facility just outside the state, he explained. Just four weeks, if I proved I could gain weight and I wasn’t a danger to myself.

Are we a danger to ourselves?

I sighed, glancing at the ever-present guard. Not while we’re here.

The day they let me out of my room, I was fed dry fish and mushy peas, the substance choking me as it went down.

But every morning we woke up clearer. More horrified. More disappointed in what we had done.

And every afternoon we saw Luna, who helped us to understand.

“Y’all have this idea of your recovery, and it’s intrinsically linked to Clint. When y’all thought you might lose him – and even after, when y’all felt responsible – you had no motivation to recover. Why would you? Either he died, and then what’s the point of living, or he lives with a permenant reminder of what happened – and what if he blames y’all? Isn’t it just easier to walk away before that happens – before he grows to hate you? But of course, y’all love him. You couldn’t just walk away. So you did the next, and arguably more painful, thing.”

We had simply blinked in response, stunned into silence as the nail was hit so squarely on the head. When we relayed this idea to Clint, he opened his mouth to object, to tell us he would never have blamed us, but we cut him off.

“I know, logically, you would never resent us for what happened. We both made a choice; I didn’t force you into it. It wasn’t my fault.” I winced as I spoke, still not used to saying it out loud, but Luna had assured me that it was important for me to hear. “But… We couldn’t face it. The idea that you could hate us, even if you never said anything, and never showed it.”

I swallowed dryly. It was the day before we were due to be discharged, and we were finally trusted to be alone with him.  Now or never.

“And we’re scared. You… You have this thing now, that we don’t understand, and what if… What if…”

His jaw twitched, and he looked away. “What if you aren’t attracted to me anymore?”

I scrubbed a hand over my face, and winced. “Luna said it was normal to have this fear, y’know? And this… It’s a badge of honour, for what you survived. It kept you in my life. And I know all that. I do. And I don’t want to have this fear, because it feels so goddamn selfish, and rediculous. And if you could love us, even when we look like this, then how do we have the right to think like that?”

My breathing hitched, and he wrapped me in his arms, tight against his chest.

“I’m scared of it, too,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “I… I still haven’t looked. It gets changed a couple of times a day, and they… The nurses offered to show me how to do it, but I just couldn’t. Bruce does it for me, now they’ve stopped coming.” He laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. “It’s been nearly six weeks since I woke up and I still haven’t seen my wounds. You think your fear is ridiculous? Well… I win.”

I held him close as we sobbed, united in our uncertainty and our fear. “I… I never even noticed,” I admitted quietly, ashamed of myself once more. “I was too wrapped up in punishing myself to see you were struggling.”

“I still don’t regret the bag – or even hate it. Hell, I’m ecstatic it gave me more time with you. But… I guess I’m a little egotistical. I don’t… I’m not ready to break that mental image of what I look like. I’m not… I’m not ready to not be the man y’all fell for.”

I couldn’t help but cry harder, my own concerns melting in sympathetic kisses pressed to his cheek. “Clint… We will always love you. And you’ll always be our Little Hawk, okay? Bag or no bag. You’ll always be you, and that’s all we need.”

It was Clint’s fear that drove me to take his hand, that first night back at the compound. To lead him through to the bathroom, facing the mirror. He winced, but he didn’t try to stop my hands as I slowly removed his clothes – all of them.

He’s not half a man. He should see himself completely, as we did.

He watched me through watery eyes as I helped him out of his jeans and boxers, but held my wrists gently as I grasped the hem of his t-shirt between trembling fingers. “Nat… I’m afraid.”

I placed a gentle kiss to his shoulder through the fabric, and offered him a weak smile. “Close your eyes. We won’t look until you’re ready.”

He obliged immediately, and I kept my gaze on his face as I pulled his shirt over his head, skin raising in anxious goosebumps. My own lids closed as I went to stand beside him, fingers wrapped tightly with his, our mingled heartbeats racing in sweating palms.

I couldn’t say how long we stood there, the heat radiating from our anxious bodies warming the room, heart breaking as he sobbed quietly. But eventually he subsided into soft sniffles, then silence.

“…Can you count us down?”

I swallowed dryly, using my free hand to hurriedly wipe the tears from my cheeks. Do it for him. Be strong for him. “Three… Two… One… Open.”

My eyes opened a heartbeat before his, the cerulean retracting as his pupils reacted to the light. I couldn’t look away from his reflected face, enraptured, watching every emotion display across his features in quick succession.

He gulped, gaze finding mine. “…Well?”

My arm wrapped around his waist, face impassive as I flicked my eyes over his wounds – the numerous surgical scars where fragments of bullet had been dug from his abdominal cavity, the still-fading bruises from bleeding, and the undeniably obvious bag hanging from his left side, tan material just brushing the top of his thigh.

I squeezed him gently, resting my head on his shoulder. “What do you think?”

He smiled weakly, recognising this routine. “I think… It’s a terrible thing, what happened to me. I didn’t deserve it. And I think…” He inhaled deeply, steadily, at the same place I had only a few months before. “I think I must be really strong to survive all this. Stronger than I realise.”

I grinned warmly, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I agree… But there’s something you forgot.”

He frowned half-heartedly, fully aware of what was coming as he turned to face me, hands resting lightly on my hips. “What’s that?” My hand found his jaw, lips brushing his, sweet and loving. “As I believe we’ve said many times before… You’re beautiful, Clint. You will always be beautiful to us.” I smiled, thumb skirting his cheek, catching a tear shed unconsciously before kissing the damp spot.

“Now… Let’s get you to bed, Little Hawk.”

Unlike my tentative sleep following our similar encounter, when Clint dragged me to bed, it was to clamber on top of him, my mouth finding his in the semi-darkness. He’d gone to turn on the light, but I’d shook my head instinctively, followed by rapid apologies and explanations – it wasn’t him I didn’t want to look at.

He isn’t the only one who hasn’t seen himself since the accident.

Fingertips brushed healing wounds and barely-covered ribs, each shy in our turn, but my blood sung at his touch.

“God, Nat… I’ve waited so long. Please, please fuck me.”

I shook my head, lips brushing his once more. “I’d rather make love to you,” I whispered, and he groaned as his hands found my hair, my own lowering to my shirt. He quickly patted me away, his rough palms skirting the skin tenderly, removing my clothes as he lay me down.

“I… I’ll… I’ll try not to let it touch you,” he murmured shamefully into the darkness, and I winced, pulling his body flush against mine.

“Clint, I don’t think I’ve ever been so attracted to anyone in my life. Don’t you dare keep your distance.”

He sighed with satisfaction as he entered me, his pace slow and deep, rocking against me as his lips pressed to my face over and over, murmuring his devotion and attraction.

Our sex was prolonged and thoughtful, interspersed with tears and muttered confessions, and when we reached our climax together, it was amidst declarations of love and hope.

Clint was snoring in the bed when I rose, the sheet only just preserving his modesty. I trailed his exposed body with my eyes, and sighed.

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

I stole to the bathroom in just my underwear, my own lids snapping shut before I dared to face myself, deep, tentative breaths echoing in the space.

My eyes opened to a form I was unfamiliar with. I was still slender, of that there was no doubt, but gone were the gaunt angles and lanugo, red hair back to a healthy sheen and skin clear.

I smiled, my eyes tracking the old scars. “Friday?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff?”

“Can you tell me my current weight? Override code – 2 1 14 14 5 18.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Romanoff. That override code is no longer in use.” My face fell, and I groaned. “Come on, Friday. I’m really trying here. I want to feel okay about myself. I-”

“Override code – 2 12 1 3 11 8 1 23 11.”

Oh.

That's his?

That's...

Beautiful. Painful.

Exquisite.

I turned to find Clint stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watched me steadily.

“Please clarify instruction, Mr. Barton.”

He glanced at me, and my cheeks heated lightly. “I... I was checking my weight. But it’s not what you think.”

There was a brief hesitation, then he nodded, bravely trusting.

“Please tell us Ms. Romanoff’s current weight.”

“Ms. Romanoff currently weighs 103lbs.”

He met my eyes evenly, and my god, I love him my god, I love him I couldn’t help but think again how beautiful he was, still entirely naked, and sculpted like a God. And so innocent, and trusting, and loving. “How do you feel?”

I shook my distracted head to clear it, turning back to the mirror, staring at the hipbones that no longer protruded so sharply. “I… I think I feel… Okay. I was violently against it, but… I think going away for a little while was the best thing for me. I’ve learned that I don’t have to punish myself for things that weren’t… That weren’t my fault.” His arms found my waist from behind, chin on my shoulder affectionately. “Do you believe that?”

I sighed, tipping my head back beside his. “I’m trying to.”

Lips brushing my throat, he held me closer, firm and unyielding. “It wasn’t your fault, Natasha.” I swallowed dryly, nodding. “None of it was your fault. You aren’t to blame for the things that happened to you.”

Tears pricked my eyes, and I wiped them hurriedly, laughing shakily. “Goddammit, Barton. It’s too late in the day for this.”

He smirked, kissing my cheek once more. “Come on, beautiful. Back to bed.”

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

His smirk turned soft at the edges, tender and affectionate. “I’d rather be awake with you at two am than asleep alone, Nat.”

Fall turned to winter, and with it, came my birthday.

“You know I hate surprises, don’t even think about it,” I’d warned for weeks beforehand, watching the band around my wrist slowly progress from orange to yellow.

Level Three.

Again.

110lb.

Yeah.

I feel… Good.

… Yeah. Me too.

But waking up with his hand caressing my thigh and his arousal in my hip was a pretty good birthday present.

“Mmm… Morning,” I murmured, pushing back gently. A soft growl escaped him, tongue leaving a trail across the side of my throat.

“I was going to wake you up with my tongue in… other places, but I wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate it.”

I purred as I rolled in his arms, brushing my lips across his lightly. “I hope you intend to fulfil that intention, Barton.”

He smirked, fingers caressing my sides as he carefully climbed atop me – still worried, after all this time, about breaking me -  kissing his way down my body. “Your wish is my command, birthday girl.”

When his mouth found me, I shuddered and gasped, head tipping back in ecstasy. “God, Clint… I could spend my life right here.”

He hummed his agreement, vibrating my core, and I shivered in delight, his talented tongue dipping briefly to enter me.

“I thought the convention was that I have the birthday meal?” I stammered, knees falling further apart with a wanton moan.

He drew back just long enough to meet my gaze, smirking. “The convention is to eat out. Nobody ever specified the direction.”

I laughed at that, tapping his head playfully. “Clint Barton, you crude little- fuck.”

Any thoughts or clever insults were pushed out of my mind by his fingertips sliding inside me, other arm looped around my thigh to pull me closer.

I loved it when he did this. I especially loved watching him do this – like I was an oasis and he was dying of thirst, there was an almost desperate note to his ministrations, pleading for me to reward him with my climax. He’d told me many times that he couldn’t get enough of me, but it was at times like this, watching his fingers dig into my hip as he held me close, that I could truly believe it.

“You know what I want, little one,” he whispered, barely audible above the lustful sounds of his digits inside my wetness. “It’s your birthday – you’re allowed to be messy.”

I bit my lip, uncertain. We both knew why I’d been holding back lately – it was the same reason that I found myself compulsively cleaning our rooms for several hours a day. I lived in constant terror of him getting some kind of infection in his stoma, despite the assurances that the red ring was actually pretty hardy, the only real risk coming from improper skin care.

Clint had started changing his bag himself the day after we looked at him, and I couldn’t help but wince at how angry the flesh looked – but Bruce assured us it looked completely normal, and that he was at peak health once more.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I admitted quietly, flinching. He pulled back once more, his profoundly Clint eyes on mine.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll take a shower after. Well… Another shower,” he added, grinning as his fingers twitched inside me. “I’ll even take you with me.”

I groaned and nodded once, surrendering myself to his desires and ever-impressive talents as his enthusiastic mouth found me once more, licking and nibbling and- “Fuck, Clint…”

He hummed encouragingly, a soft groan of pleasure escaping him as my fingers grasped desperately at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, urging him on. He only worked harder in response, fucking me deeply, the nails embedded in the soft skin of my thigh betraying his desire and excitement.

Do it. God, you know I love it. Please.

“I want you to come for me, Nat… Please,” he begged, his voice husky and needy. A shudder of pleasure travelled through my body, hips jerking desperately as I raked at his hair, trying without success to somehow make him be even closer to me. I moaned aloud as my walls contracted, his fingers darting away so he could drop his face and swallow me whole.

“Fuck- Clint, yes, that’s so fucking hot,” I whimpered, his digits sliding in just long enough to prolong my orgasm and give him another hit, a low groan of pleasure escaping him.

When I lay spent and panting, jerking as he swiped his tongue across me gently, he looked up at me, grinning broadly. “I missed this,” he admitted, reaching for his cast-off shirt to wipe his – embarrassingly wet – face.

I only cocked an eyebrow, flushing a little with the fading adrenaline making me realise what he’d done. “I… Sorry. I know there was… I mean, you didn’t have to swallow-“

He silenced me with his lips on mine, and I hummed in pleasure at the taste of my own release. “My dear, sweet Nat… Shut up.”

I watched from a respectful distance as Clint reapplied a fresh bag after our shower. He still didn’t like me getting too close to his uncovered stoma – he’d admitted, only once, his voice quiet and shameful, that he was worried about the smell. That he didn’t want to repulse me.

I’d simply kissed his cheek and tried to reassure him, but I knew he was still profoundly uncomfortable about it, and so I stayed away, but I couldn’t help myself from glancing at the angry, red ring.

“… Does it hurt?” I asked quietly from my spot on the sofa, watching him through the bathroom door he'd only just begun to feel comfortable enough to leave open.

Clint paused, fingers stilling as he pressed the adhesive ring to his skin, the crimson protrusion half-hidden by the new bag. “I can’t feel anything,” he answered eventually, his voice low. “Physically, at least.”

I winced, resisting the urge to bundle him in my arms. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged one shoulder, finishing the application and pulling a fresh shirt over his head. “I’ve told y’all before, Nat. I still… Struggle, sometimes, but I’m absolutely ecstatic to have this bag. It means I’ll get to have many more mornings like this with you. Speaking of which,” he added, moving into the lounge and beginning to rifle through some drawers thoughtfully. I cocked my head curiously, and he grinned as he turned back, hands hidden behind his back. “Close your eyes.”

Eyes rolling, I groaned playfully as I obliged, wriggling excitedly in my seat. Gifts weren’t given in the Red Room – hell, I didn’t know if my birthday was actually my birthday – and it still felt foreign to me, but Clint had consistently excelled, even before we were dating.

His hands found mine, a small box nestled into my palms. “Okay… Take a look.”

Rather than the object in my hands, my gaze focused on his sweet, uncharacteristically nervous face. Clint had never been nervous to give me a present before, and my heart fluttered lightly with concern, turning my attention to the box and slowly lifting the lid.

I let out a short, wonderous laugh, lifting the delicate silver chain to finger the tiny arrow lightly. “Clint…”

“I actually got it before we had our tattoos. Years ago. When I first realised I loved you,” he confessed, his voice soft and reverent. “I intended to tell y’all how I felt, and then this would be my gift to you – my reassurance that I’d always be there, even when you couldn’t see me.”

I wept lightly, the necklace clasped to my chest. “I wish you’d told us. We could have had so much longer.”

He smiled weakly, pressing his forehead to mine. “I wish I had, too. But what matters is we’re here now. Together.”

“Together.”

Together.

I pivoted in my spot, raising the damp hair from my neck. “Could you put it on for me?”

His fingers brushed mine as he took the chain, placing a gentle kiss to the ink on my spine as he fumbled with the catch. I turned back to face him when he was done, glancing down with pride and joy.

“We love it, Clint. We love you.”

He grinned, then indicated toward the box still in my lap. “There’s actually two parts to this.”

My head cocked curiously, and I picked up the seemingly empty container, feeling something shift beneath the foam. Pulling it out did nothing to ease my understanding – at the bottom of the box was just a brass key, unexpected and unobtrusive.

“Clint… We use tech locks,” I offered in my perplexity, gesturing over my shoulder at the door behind us. He laughed once, shaking his head.

“It’s not for here, Nat.”

“Then what…?”

He simply smiled, soft and mysterious. “How about we take a drive?”

‘A drive’ turned out to a two hour trip, this time to the north, crossing state lines first into Massachusetts, then Vermont, the scenery becoming more and more beautiful the further we got.

You know what this is, right?

I have an idea.

And? What do you think?

I… Have no idea. You?

No clue.

Clint drove mostly in silence, his hands trembling infinitesimally on the wheel, interspersed only with desperate attempts at conversation when he realised he hadn’t spoke for a while. My fingers found my cheek unconsciously, the narrow scar cutting across the bone, recalling the last time we took a recreational road trip, and I flinched.

The tyres of the cherry Challenger skidded as he turned down a dirt road, the uneven track jostling me in my seat. “If you wanted to take us into the woods to kill us, you didn’t need to drive so far,” I laughed, trying to calm the frantic fluttering of our heart.

He smiled wanly, pulling up outside the building at the end of the trail.

My eyes raised slowly, hesitantly, widening as they took in the grand, but in dire need of refurbishment, farmhouse. “Clint-”

“I bought it while you were in hospital,” he explained quietly. “I… I’m not going back to active duty, Nat. I was so close to losing you, and I can’t risk that again. I have to be around for as long as you need me. I’ll be there if there’s an emergency, but… As of next week, I’ll no longer be an Avenger.”

“I want you to come with me. It’s not an ultimatium – I’ll love you wherever, and whoever, y’all are. But you’re burning out, Natasha, and I think it’s time for you to rest. You need to stop giving more of yourself than you have. You’re doing so, so well – but recovery is a long road, and I think this would be a good place to do it.” He sighed, and I could hear the sound of skin on stubble as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “But I’d be lying if I said I only wanted this for you. Largely, I’m just selfish. I want you around me, all the time. I want to know you’re safe, and I can’t do that if we’re not together – but I can’t stay there. Even if – and it’s a pretty big ‘if’, given how strict they are – I get cleared for duty again, I don’t want to do it. I’m getting old, Natasha. I want to stop risking my life for the greater good on a daily basis, and actually enjoy some of it, before the next bullet ends it.”

His fingers found ours, interlacing tightly. “I understand if you don’t want this – or if you don’t want anything to do with me after this. I just… Can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry.”

Our gaze stayed settled on the farmhouse, tears pricking in our eyes. “Ask the question, Clint.”

He inhaled sharply at our level tone, swallowing audibly. “Natasha Romanoff… Will you run away with me?”

Tears leaked unbidden from my eyes as we turned to face him.

It was never really a question, was it?

No… It wasn’t.

“Yes, Clint. A thousand, million times - yes.”

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Hey!!! I don't know if you would rather think about this scenario with Andy Barber/Ransom Drysdale/TJ Hammond or with Steve/Bucky/Natasha or something, but I've been thinking A LOT about these two posts on your blog: https://www.tumblr.com/mylevisdontfitanymore/716510995743490048/i-dont-know-if-this-is-weird-a-really-strange?source=share and https://www.tumblr.com/mylevisdontfitanymore/710911602870894592?source=share and I can't stop thinking about one of the trio going out and secretly getting one of them stuffed and drunk by putting more food on their plate when they aren't looking or distracting them while they refill their glasses with stronger and stronger alcohol and egging them into drinking or eating competitions and seeing just how far they can go with it until they are sloppy drunk and stuffed full and waddling and stumbling and their fellows get to enjoy the fruits of their labour

1st linked post

2nd linked post

Ooooh my god, if we're talking Andy/Ransom/TJ, then you ABSOLUTELY need to read the asks that Dumbling (@achubbydumpling) has done!

Andy Barber/Ransome Drysdale/TJ Hammond (chubby Andy)

Andy Barber/Ransome Drysdale/TJ Hammond (Andy beer bloat)

Food-drunk dad bod Andy and his accent

The premise of this idea, though… with multiple people getting one person stuffed and/or drunk without their knowledge… it would definitely happen with Andy and Ransom corrupting sweet TJ 🥴 It has to. Like, TJ-baby is just so overwhelmed to have the attention of two very, very attractive, very big men that he doesn’t notice how his plate and glass are never empty whenever they’re around 🫣🥵

Unbeta'd Andy/Ransom/TJ belly kink under the cut... warning for alcohol consumption, intox kink, dub-con elements (because TJ ends up drunk), stuffing, etc.

TJ’s used to going to big, lavish parties - his parents drag him to them all the time - but when he’s at those parties, he’s not allowed to talk to men in any sort of… suspicious… manner. He has to be on his best behavior. Smiling and laughing appropriately while he blows smoke up whoever’s political ass for his Dad’s sake.

Here, at this party with people just slightly over his age - rather than people decades his senior, grey and wrinkly in creased suits, talking about the “current” state of things that they’ve been disconnected from for years - it doesn’t matter if there are men looking at him obviously. Hotly. It doesn’t matter if there are men grabbing his arms or leaning in close to whisper in his ear, making him giggle and blush, hiding his flushed cheeks with his hands. It doesn’t matter if there are men shoulder to shoulder with him, pressing into him, blocking him in like bookends or bodyguards in the best way.

Here, nothing matters other than letting these two slightly older, definitely bigger men flirt with him. The two men (one of them strikingly shaven with pale skin and high cheekbones, the other bearded with darker hair) sometimes seem like they’re fighting over him. Fighting to woo him. It’s funny and disarming, too. Yet, sometimes, they seem to work together perfectly. TJ can’t figure it out. It’s making his head spin. The attention. Their specific attention.

He doesn’t feel like he needs to worry, though, even if he can’t figure out what they’re doing (or who they are). He feels… if he’s honest, he feels high. He doesn’t feel high, like, an empty and hollow high. An escape he needs an escape from. The norm for him. Instead, he feels hazy and warm and good with these two men. High.

Does he even remember their names? The men?

Does that matter?

TJ just wants to keep their attention on him. It feels good, after all. Does he need their names to do that? They seem to be interested in him regardless of if he’s talking or not. He’s not talking much, they’re talking - they’re whispering in his ears, skimming their large, warm hands over his sides and down his back, one of them (or maybe both?) keeps grabbing his ass, and they keep handing him party favors.

Really, it feels so good to be surrounded and flirted with that… TJ just takes everything the men hand him, docile as a kitten.

Everything Andy and Ransom hand him.

TJ swears it all tastes better than normal. (Is he high? Is that why it tastes so good? Is that why his mouth is watering so much?) Plates of finger food from the spread in the shiny, expansive kitchen. Appetizers that are passed around by waitstaff on trays. Handfuls of set-out chocolate and nuts from small, fancy dishes on end tables. Little bites of things that wouldn’t fill TJ up so much if there weren’t unending waves of them from both of the men. Then, all these half-full flukes of alcohol don’t taste like alcohol. They’re bubbly and sweet and would get anyone drunk easily, even if they were paying attention. TJ isn’t paying any attention. Every time he finishes his drink or his portion of easy, yummy snack food it’s promptly taken and replaced before he even realizes it.

It’s magical.

TJ has always had puppy fat. He’s got a baby face and a soft layer over his belly - he’s never been able to get abs, no matter how much his drug habits repress his appetite - but no one would be able to tell right now. Any of that extra softness that he carries all the time has been completely stretched out, overridden by the bulge of his stuffed belly. Carbonated alcohol. Finger foods. Appetizers. Alcohol. Pieces of chocolate. Alcohol. Rich dessert. More dessert. Another appetizer. Even more carbonated alcohol. A handful of nuts fed to him by Andy’s big, gentle yet demanding hands. A whole fluke of champagne poured down his throat by Ransom. They make TJ dizzy and weak at the knees even though they’ve pressed TJ against a wall. The party buzzes around them. TJ sways in place - they’re not going to let him go anywhere, though, so he doesn’t worry about his inability to stand on his own.

It’s easy to see why TJ isn’t soft now... but he feels soft, all over. High. Spacey. Soft.

Oof.

It’s hard to breathe.

He’s got a fucking pot belly after all the snacks and drinks. Indulgence is being used to pacify him. He’s easy and sweet by nature, but now… God. The men don’t even need spoons to eat him up. He’s melting. They’re going to lick him up no problem.

TJ looks so round. His stomach is bloated, completely taut. Like a drum. His poor belly button is stretched, made wider, and more shallow than normal. His skin aches, thudding in time with his heart. He’s blushing red - his face from being so overtly, aggressively chased by two of the most attractive men he’s ever seen in real life, but his belly, too. Under his clothes, where their hands keep sneaking, his skin is turning red from the stretch, from the rush of blood, his body trying to both get aroused through the slurry of alcohol slowing him down and through the mountain of food inside him, working so hard to try and figure out what to do with the excess.

Yet… TJ doesn’t notice.

His nice shirt is creaking at the seams, the buttons this close to bursting open, it’s never had to deal with excess like this, but he can’t hear it over the smooth rumble of Ransom’s voice and the rough gravel of Andy’s. One of them grabs his hip and TJ whimpers, melting like butter in their hands, his mouth naturally falling open so they can shove whatever they want into it. TJ just wants to be full. He's desperate.

Another mouthful and TJ moans out loud, drunker than shit on everything. Alcohol, of course, but attention and food, too. He doesn’t know what way is up or down, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care when the men’s hands are all over him again, purring at him, sweetly praising him for having more and for liking it. TJ doesn’t even question if he actually likes it or not. He does. He likes it so much. He’s aching, throbbing, and stretched to his limit, his belly bulging out in front of him as though he’s swallowed a fucking watermelon whole, and he’s so heavy. He feels slow and hot and good. He feels like he wants them to keep touching him. He feels hungry. Hungry for them to do more than teasingly touch, caress, and feed him. Hungry for food.

“More?” TJ just barely manages to moan between gulps of alcohol, the flow dictated by Ransom, tipping not a fluke this time, but a whole fucking bottle back into his mouth.

Where did he even find such a big bottle of liquor?

Andy’s hands are against his belly, roughly shaping and caressing the ball-like shape of him. Andy chuckles, “more?”

TJ shivers but nods anyway, feeling some of the alcohol he’s chugging drip down his chin and dribble onto his chest, staining his shirt.

Andy growls, grabbing and shaking his belly until TJ starts to slide down the wall, being groped in such a way leaves tight, aching pleasure coursing through him. It leaves him unable to hold himself up, dragged down by the weight of what they’ve done to him. They don’t bother to hold him up this time. This time, TJ slouches all the way to the floor. They stop feeding him alcohol. And with his head thrown back against the wall, squinting up at them, TJ pouts at them. His belly is in his lap, straining, and he misses them already. He’s heavy, but he wants them all over him, heavier. He’s full, but he has the sudden urge to give in and give in and give in until he bursts. Bursts out of his shirt, the buttons and seams popping open, and bursts, coming by their hands or untouched, he doesn’t care.

“Mooore,” TJ verifies, moaning, uncaring who at the party hears him, gluttonous and dumb.

The men exchange a glance, Ransom licking his lips as Andy bites his own. Then, at once, synchronized, they lean down to grab him and pull him up by the wrists. They don’t care enough to brace TJ or his belly before they move him, so, his gut sloshes and wobbles with the sudden movement, exemplifying his fucking waddle.

TJ stumbles out of the party, held up only by these two big men. One of them whispers in his ear, and the other bites marks into his neck as TJ's head lulls back, totally out of it. Conversely, TJ's belly protrudes in front of him.

Round.

Full.

TJ doesn’t ask where they’re taking him. He doesn’t care. Anywhere. He just wants more.

My favorite type of sandwich 🥴🥴

[chubbychisaki]

Birthday gift fanfiction for @somesprucetrees!

[malebellyworld]

1.) To Be Young and In Love

Chubby!Ramiverse!Peter Parker x Male!Reader

⚠️TW ⚠️: The following mentions E.D., Depression, and S.A.

(Anything italicized is referring to the past.)

————•————•————•————•————

Spiderman Swings Into Action

You sighed as you walked away from reading the latest on the newsstand on your way to work. Ever since you moved from Connecticut to New York City things changed drastically. You and your family moved in last summer, but for the wrong reasons. Your dad was caught drinking on the job, and after they fired him his friend called him about an open spot in the ship yards and your mom worked at the dry cleaners. But now that you turned sixteen, your parents sort of pressure you into getting a job.

You were on your way to work at the Atlantic Diner. Everyday you would go right after school, dressed in your uniform and ready for another grueling shift dealing with noisy screeching children, rude elderly people, and the occasional Karen raging about the wrong order.

However, one thing that stood out from the rest of the customers was that Peter Parker - the guy who was not even considered to be on the food chain - was sitting there at the bar lazily stirring a melted chocolate milkshake, a sullen look on his face as he was lost in his thoughts, disconnected from it all.

Ever since his uncle Ben died three days ago, Peter has not been the same. Just yesterday, Flash Thomson was trying to apologize to Peter, but then he immediately responded by slamming the taller boy into the lockers. It was shocking to see someone so gentle and calm as Peter flip in a split second.

After you put your apron and name tag on, you began taking orders from other tables and going back and forth with drinks and plates. As you did this, though, you could not help but glance over at Peter as he remained still in the same position you saw him.

You could not help but feel bad for him.

A few minutes had passed, yet Peter still stayed in the same spot as before, gazing into nothing. You sighed as you walked up behind the counter, putting on a small but warm smile on your face.

“Hey, Peter.”

The boy jerked back into reality, glancing up at you with crystal blue eyes as he smiled softly at you. “Oh, hey, Y/n.” He said awkwardly.

“How’s everything going?.” You asked as you handed the chef the ticket order.

“Uh, I-I don’t know, it’s alright I guess.” Peter said, still staring at his melted milkshake.

You sighed heavily as you refilled a few drinks. “And how’s your aunt doing?.”

“She’s okay, still hasn’t gotten much sleep lately.” Peter said glumly.

“And what about Mary Jane, how’s she doing?.” You asked.

“W-We… haven’t spoke much in a while.” Peter said, a trace of sadness was in his tone.

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that.” You said, cringing.

“It’s okay…” Peter mumbled.

You could see his eyes growing even more red with each passing second, his face pinching and contorting in deep-seeded agony. Peter was usually great at hiding his emotions, even after being beat by Flash, not a single tear would leave his eyes.

But now, it is a full view and for the first time ever, the nerd boy everyone seems to treat like nothing, is now taking off his shield and letting the whole world know that he too can hurt just as much as anyone else.

You immediately laid your hand over his, your thumb rubbing the side of his fist. “I know how it all feels like,” You said, earning a tearful look from Peter. “I know what it feels like when seemingly everyone is leaving you and nothing is working as the way it should be.”

Peter only nodded, placing his hand over yours. “Thanks, Y/n, but I think I should go home now.”

You hesitated as the brunette got up from his seat, pulling a ten dollar bill from his wallet and tossing it on the counter. You immediately grabbed Peter by his arm, causing him to jerk his head back to you in shock as he gazes at you with wide blue eyes, causing you to let go.

“Uh, maybe we could hang some time, go see what’s in the movies probably?.” You asked, biting down on the inside of your cheek.

Peter stood there for a moment, thinking of whether or not this was a prank, until he finally nodded his head. “Yeah, sure sounds good.”

“O-okay, I’ll call you. Bye.” You said shyly. Peter smiled a little before walking out the door.

To say the least, things between you two were slow; Peter mostly going on about how he was applying for a job at The Daily Bugle as a photographer, or how he and Aunt May were handling the entirety of the death of Uncle Ben. But what killed your spirit the most, was how he was insistent on dating Mary Jane.

Despite her being a genuinely good person, she still had left Peter in this space of uncertainty as she was still with Harry Osborn, while at the same time she would build Peter up into thinking he could have his chance with her. And it hurt you to see that even though they were good for each other, they still had their flaws that were left unattended like untreated infections.

You, on the other hand, would devote as much time to the lovable nerd as much as you could, mostly meeting him at the diner for some fires and a milkshake.

Sometimes he would eat more than that, sometimes it was a whole two plates worth of food, and yet Peter would still look the same as before, blaming it on how he was always running after the school bus every morning.

It was not until the homecoming dance came around when Peter had finally worked up the courage to ask out Mary Jane. Sadly, she declined, opting for going with Harry to go see a showing of Wicked the same night. This meant that you had your chance to ask Peter, regardless of whatever anyone thought.

“Hey, Peter. I gotta ask you something,” You asked as you both worked on your Physics experiment.

“What is it?.” He asked softly.

“… I-I was wondering if you were free this Saturday?.” You asked.

“Uh, I think so, why?.” Peter asked as he looked at you quizzically.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me to the movies this Saturday?.” You asked, rubbing the back of your neck.

He stayed quiet for a moment. Peter did not know what exactly to think about all this; getting asked out, let alone by a guy. He usually spent his Saturdays inside either working on his homework or a new assignment for The Daily Bugle, or secretly doing night patrol in his spidersuit.

“Uh, I-I don’t know…” Peter said awkwardly. “Besides I have some stuff to do for work and if I miss that then my boss’ll kill me.”

“We can go in the early afternoon and I’ll have you back home by four.” You said.

Peter hesitated for a bit, biting his bottom lip. “Okay.”

You smiled. “Great, I’ll see you then.”

You knew Peter Parker was an awkward nervous wreck half of the time. As you both sat through the previews, you could see from the corner of your eye Peter biting his nails as he stared intensely at the screen, and since Peter hardly had any nails left to chew off, you passed the large tub of popcorn over to him causing him to jump from his trance.

You smiled, shaking the tub. “It’s always nice to share.”

Peter smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.” He said, taking a handful of popcorn and shoving it in his mouth.

This went on for the first half of the movie. You would be mainly glued to the screen watching all the action go down as Peter continuously ate popcorn without even stopping for a drink. You knew everyone had their ways of coping with anxiety, nail biting being one of the main mechanics, but never did you see constant eating as one of them. Yes you’ve heard of stress eating, but never seen it in person.

After the movie had ended, You were expecting Peter to immediately go back home, but to your surprise, he insisted that you both go out to eat.

After ordering your favorite item from the menu, Peter was still picking out a few things as you sat there, awkwardly taking a few sips from your cup as Peter went on, ignoring the surprised expressions from the elderly waitress.

You didn’t know what exactly to think of it. Peter was always hardly eating and he’d mostly be seen eating bits of his food like a bird. Maybe he was just really hungry today? Maybe he’s trying to bulk up? Maybe he skipped breakfast this morning?

("What if it’s something else?.")You thought. After all, tomorrow marks three weeks since his uncle had died. ("What if it’s just that, what if he’s stressed out?.")

You were brought back to reality when Peter was calling your name from beyond your mind, causing You to slightly flinch as Peter reached to touch your hand. “I’m sorry, I must’ve blanked out.”

“It’s okay, I was just asking if your come here often.” Peter said in his typical soft tone.

“Uh, not really, I usually go to school and work and then home.” You said with a small giggle.

Peter nodded. “Is there anywhere else you go to?.”

“Not really, I don’t have much of a social life.” You gazed back down at your drink, swirling the ice around.

“I know how it feels,” Peter said solemnly.

Before You could say anything else, the waitress came back with your food first. You waited a bit for Peter's to come, and when it did your eyes grew wide. The other boy had ordered four large plates of food, along with two desserts.

You didn't say much, weary if you'd hurt Peter's feelings. Instead, You just ate quietly, glancing over at Peter every now and then to see him scarfing down his food like he hasn't eaten in weeks.

"So, what are your plans for homecoming next week?." You asked.

Peter barely paused from his eating. "Not really," He said with a mouthful of Salisbury steak. "Probably just staying in at home."

You nodded, watching as he finished the first plate within four minutes, moving on to the next without taking a break, not even to drink his coke.

("He probably skipped out on breakfast today,") You thought as You saw Peter begin on his second plate - a BLT with a side of fries.

"What about you?." Peter asked.

You sighed, "Uh, I guess I might pick up an extra shift, maybe pick up drawing again."

Peter nodded before finishing off the rest of his sandwich and eating whatever was left with the fries.

("What if he could be binging?.") You thought. ("Maybe some kind of disorder?.")

But You didn't know what exactly he was dealing with. After all, he never was one to show any emotion, let alone any disorders he may be facing. It was almost like he wasn't even human at times. Like he was a creature from a different place, and he was trying to survive every day.

By the time he finished his third plate, Peter has let out a long sigh as he rested his hand above his stomach. You could not help but gaze at him, your heart fluttered a little as he gently rubbed his stomach, letting out a short burp before opening his eyes and going to finish off the fourth plate - shepherd’s pie with beef.

The two of you sat in silence and you’re gaze never left Peter as he ate and ate until there was nothing left on his plate. Peter glanced over at your plate and noticed that You hardly made a dent.

“Are you okay?.” He asked.

“Uh, yeah, I’m just not that hungry.” You said with a little smile.

Peter swallowed. “Um, do you want a to-go box?.”

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay, thanks anyway.”

Peter began to blush as he stared at your unfinished plate, his mouth agape as his eyes looked distant and glassy. He was almost in some odd trance-like state, completely enamored by the food You had ordered, his mouth growing watery.

“Uh, do you want some of it?.” You asked shyly.

Peter snapped his eyes up at You, giving a short nod with a small innocent smile, those blue eyes gleaming with joy, and your heart was driven madly into adoration.

Once You gave Peter your plate he immediately began to consume every single thing left until there was nothing else left but whatever little garnishment the cook had put there.

He leaned back against the booth, his shirt resting tightly around his fully bloated stomach. You tried so desperately not to look, not to touch, but it was a very difficult task You somehow managed to pull off.

• • •

A few weeks had passed since that day. You and Peter were still talking but you haven’t seen him that often, and if You did, he’d be secretly snacking on something during class, or eating everything he had on his tray at lunch.

You started to notice that he was beginning to don an oversized sweatshirt in the beginning of spring. You always knew Peter was self-conscious but it was never this bad. Everyday he would be on the bus wearing the same navy blue hoodie, never once would he take it off, only rolling the sleeves up to his elbows to reveal more defined and thicker arms than their regular spindly figure. You wanted to ask something, but once again You thought it just wasn’t in your place to do so.

One night, You were walking back home from work. You had taken the bus and it was already starting to drizzle, so You picked up the pace a little bit. As You were walking, however, a loud smash had caused You to look behind to see what was happening.

Three tall men were stalking their way towards You, their voices were slurred as the scent of booze wafted off themselves. The began to crowd You and slowly began backing You into the corner of a dark alleyway. You looked for any chance of an exit, but one of them had placed their arms beside You, practically trapping You from the world.

The man was big and bald, a large scar on his left eye, a demonic smile that made You shiver in the now pouring rain. He leaned in closer, his mouth grazing your neck.

You looked around with wide eyes, hoping for anyone who could help, but during this time of night, your chances were slim and nothing was going to stop these guys from doing whatever they wanted to You.

As the taller man forcefully pulled You into him, You felt every ounce of dread flood your body. Dysphoria was took over full time once the man reached down your pants, his large rough hand fondling You as he gripped your waist, his mouth tasted that of cigarettes and cheap alcohol.

“Hey save some for us too, Mitchie.” Said one of the assailants.

The man - Mitchie - simply grunted in your mouth as he continued to forcefully smash your lips against his.

You let out a shrill and muffled scream before the man slammed You against the wall and knocked the wind out of You.

However, before the man could do anything else, a loud “Hey!” caused everyone to jolt from what they were doing, glancing all around to find who was disrupting them.

You never thought you’d be seeing THE Spider-Man right in front of You, but low and behold, there he was standing there behind everyone, almost analyzing the situation going on.

“Now what’s gonna happen here is that either you guys leave him alone, or I’m gonna have to do everything my way.” He said.

“And what the fuck are you gonna do about it if we say no?.” Said the other assailant.

Without warning, Spider-Man launched a web at one of the guy’s face, causing him to stumble back into a pile of wet cardboard boxes. The other guy charged after Spider-Man, narrowly avoiding the punch that was sent flying in his direction.

“Okay, I see how it’ll be.” Spider-Man said.

He threw the first punch with success, causing the goon to nearly fall back as blood began to flow down his nose. However, before the man could even throw his next punch, a web wrapped his fist up before the rest of his body was wrapped up in webbing.

You gazed into the annoyed eyes of Mitchie as turned to face off against the superhero. He popped his knuckles and neck before charging at Spider-Man, who simply dodged out of the way. This aggravated Mitchie, and so the bald man started wildly throwing his fists at the hero, missing his face completely before his arms were bound to his sides with webbing.

Spider-Man glanced over to You, gently walking up to see if You were okay. “Do you need any help?.”

You shivered as you gazed into those large blank white eyes. You nodded, “Please, I just want to go home.”

Spider-Man carefully lifted You off the ground, your body leaning against his. “Just hold on tight, okay?.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms and legs around him before this sudden jolt made your whole body become weightless for a split second. He was swinging from building to building as You buried your face into the curve of his neck, squeezing your eyes shut as your grasp on him tighten even more. As the rain began to go into a full-on downpour, the air around you was cold and wild.

You nestled in closer to the vigilante, desperate for any form of heat as you both swing through block to block. He had no particular scent to him, just the rubbery smell of his costume and the wet industrial surroundings, but his presence alone brought this form of comfort to You after what happened before.

By the time he reached your house, Spider-Man gently landed his feet on the ground, his arms still holding You close to his body as he walked up to the stoop. He bent his head down, gently running his gloved hand over your hair.

“We’re here,” he announced in a low but soft voice.

You lifted your head up from his shoulder and glanced around in amazement. You knew that Spider-Man must’ve been all around town, but it surprised You how accurate he knew where You lived without the need for asking the address. It shook it off before unwrapping your legs from his waist, the stinging numbness causing You to momentarily loose balance and slump forward onto the hero’s chest. You let out a small “uhf” as You collided with the muscular and rough surface, your face blushing madly as You tried to lift yourself up.

“I’m sorry about that,” You mumbled, pushing yourself off of the masked man. “My legs kinda lost feeling for a moment.”

“It’s okay, it happens to everyone,” Spider-Man stated with a hint of warmth in his tone.

You smiled a little before glancing down. “Uh, thank you for saving me back there,”

“You’re welcome, just promise me that you’ll be careful next time, and if you ever need help, just call out for me.” Spider-Man stated.

You nodded before walking up the stoop, taking one last glance at your savior, who nodded to You, before launching a web before swinging off into the dreary night sky.

• • •

Two weeks had passed since your encounter with the guys in the alley, and with Spider-Man. You decided not to tell anyone else because not everyone would’ve believed you in the first place, since a lot of people will make up stories about being saved by Spider-Man for their fifteen minutes of fame. But your encounter made feel somewhat safe when it came to working night shifts, as though someone out there really cared about your well-being.

Aside from the whole Spider-Man thing, You noticed that Peter hadn’t shown up to school for a week. You didn’t see him around the halls, in lunch, nor in physics class.

Ben Parker’s funeral was last week and You decided to go for Peter. You were standing far behind everyone as they surrounded the gravesite as a frigid gust of wind blew the dead leaves passed the casket, causing You to shiver before sinking into your coat. You couldn’t see Peter from where you stood, glancing around gravestones and mourners to see how Peter was doing. You gave up, ultimately deciding to just wait and pay your respects to the man who lost his life in such a senseless and horrific way.

By the time the service was over, everybody began to disperse as You stood there, watching the casket come into full view. You licked your lips nervously as You carefully walked up holding a white flower in your hand. You gently laid it down over the plethora of white flowers on the casket, a immense wave of emotions rushed through your body.

Peter and Mary Jane were standing just a few feet away from you. She was comforting him as Harry Osborn watched at the sidelines, his gaze on the ground as he shoved his hands in his pockets. You noticed something different about Peter, his overall attitude was closed off from the world, almost like his real self was shut off momentarily.

Another thing You noticed was his overall appearance. He wasn’t as lanky as he was before, his shoulders were no longer frail and were more broad in his ill-fitting suit. His face seemed to have more definition to it, his jawline was still there and it made him look a little older, but his face seemed to be chubbier than the last time You saw him.

After an awkward exchange between them, Mary Jane walked over to Harry, taking her arm in his as they walked to the front entrance of the cemetery. You hesitantly walked over to where Peter stood, not taking his glance away from the casket.

“P-Peter?.” You said in a soft tone.

Peter snapped his head in your direction, offering a short smile, “Oh, hey, how’ve you been?.”

“I uh, I’ve been okay, I missed you,” You said.

Peter smiled before glanced over at himself. “I haven’t been feeling too good lately, you know with work and everything going on,”

“Yeah,” You said. “Listen, if you ever feel like talking, don’t be a stranger, I’m always free.”

Peter nodded before glancing back down. “I uh, I gotta go, the service is happening at one of the diners Ben used to visit, maybe you should come by?.”

“I wish I could but I have to go to work in an hour, so I’m in a bit of a time crunch,”

Peter nodded before walking off to the front gates of the cemetery leaving You all alone with the groundskeepers who began to lower the casket.

• • •

It was another night coming back home from work, thankfully, though, it wasn’t pouring down like before.

It was a cold night, but a night that was nonetheless, filled with terror. A night that You, and all of New York would never forget.

What was once a peaceful walk home listening to music, had soon changed to a night of survival and fear. The last thing You remembered was being tackled into the air by something (someone) coming at you like a freight train. At first You thought it was Spider-Man coming to visit you again, but the gravelly cackling made You snap your head at none other than the Green Goblin gazing back at you behind reflective orange eyes, that permanent grin just an inch away from You.

“I hope you can finally catch his attention,” the masked villain said devilishly as he soared throughout the night sky to the roof of an abandoned smallpox hospital on Roosevelt Island.

The Green Goblin grabbed you by the hair, “Now scream for your spider,”

You did nothing but glare at the mask, earning another hard yank at the hair and a warning screamed from the villain. You did nothing but hiss in pain, grabbing at the hand of the villain to try and fend yourself off as much as you could, but this only aggravated the menace even more as he dragged You over the side of the building.

You screamed in pain and fear until your throat was sore and your voice gave out as you were dangled over eight stories above ground. Just as you were close to giving into dying, you and the Green Goblin were pushed down on the roof, the Green Goblin’s grip on your hair came loose and you rolled away from the green figure. You glanced up to see Spider-Man standing over you, but the Green Goblin got back on his glider and swoop around the two of you tossing a pumpkin grenade.

Spider-Man pushed You out of the way just before the bomb detonated in front of his face sending him screaming as he flew right through a brick wall, hitting his back on a beam and falling to the ground with a loud groan. You were about to stand up before the Green Goblin came flying back around, grabbing you and throwing you into another wall, the sounds of popping and snapping echoed through the air.

The Green Goblin flies back around and stops where Spider-Man struggles to get up. “Misery, misery, misery, that’s what you’ve chosen,” he begins to step toward the stumbling hero. “I offer you friendship, and you spat in my face.”

The Green Goblin begins hitting Spider-Man, with one punch sending him back a few feet. Once he gets up, Spider-Man dodges a punch by swinging from a web, but is knocked back down and thrown onto the ground.

Webs begin to form a barrier between the two, but the Green Goblin is able to tear through it with ease and slams Spider-Man into a pillar, knocking him around a little more before finally kicking him into a wall. Just as Spider-Man launches a web strand, his hand is crushed under a metallic green boot.

“You’ve spun your last web, Spider-Man. Have you not been so selfish your little girlfriend’s death would’ve been quick and painless, and that boy over there wouldn’t have to suffer so much, but now that you pissed me off… I’m gonna finish them both, nice and slow.”

Enraged, Spider-Man gets up as the Green Goblin readies his pitch-fork and tries to take a stab at the superhero, but is knocked back and crushed by a wall that Spider-Man uses his webs to pull. Just as the Green Goblin gets back up, he is once again slammed into a wall by Spider-Man, and is repeatedly punched until the Green Goblin surrenders.

The villain takes off his mask revealing himself as Norman Osborn. You were shocked, but what shocked you the most was the fact that he called Spider-Man “Peter”. You squinted further and could see a few features that belonged to Peter, but something else about him threw you off entirely. His large body seemed to be jam packed into that bodysuit, highlighting his rotund belly and semi big pecks. You couldn’t help but blush at the sight of the newly added weight on his ass as well.

As the Green Goblin was speaking, his hoverboard was sent flying behind Peter, luckily his spidey senses knew it was coming, and he was able to jump out of the way just in time before the Norman Osborn was impaled and utter out his last words.

“Don’t tell Harry,” he said weakly, his torso falling down on the hoverboard.

You slowly stood up on uneasy feet, stumbling back against a wall. Peter walked over to you, eyes wide in shock as he touched the mask, realizing now that his cover is blown.

You held your ribcage as you looked at him straight in the eyes.

“Don’t worry,” You said in a hoarse voice. “I won’t say anything.”

Peter walks over to You, his fingertips peeking out of the ripped gloves as they brushed against your cut and bloodied face. He pulls You into his heavyset body, the warmth and weight of his belly pressed up against you was enough to make You stifle a moan, but given the current situation and location now wouldn’t probably be the time to mention anything to him.

“Please… just take me home,” You muttered in his ear.

Peter only nodded, holding You closer to his body before swinging on a newly projected web strand.

• • •

Queens, along with all of New York, wasn’t the same after the reign of the Green Goblin. Some compared it to the likes of the September 11th attacks, some compared it to something out of a Batman comic book villain, and some just wanted to forget about the whole thing ever happening.

Curfews were set by the police department upon students ranging from high school to below. You were stuck inside longer than usual, since your boss cut off some of your hours, and You had more time on your hands, and spending more time at home has already become a tedious task.

It was nearly thirty minutes before curfew when You came walking back from the bus stop. You had come back from another day worth of talk about the Green Goblin, but nothing about Spider-Man saving all those people in the Roosevelt gondola, or even saving Mary-Jane. And then the thought of Peter crept back into your mind, something you’ve been trying hard to fight off.

He hadn’t been to school in nearly a week, and maybe it’s for the best. After what Peter had went through these past few weeks is something nobody should go through, but there he was saving New York City with all the strength he could put into it, and thankfully it was all worth it.

You were shocked to see Peter standing outside of your apartment building. The only way You could make him out, however, was by the facial features on the plump face. Another thing that caught You off guard was how much weight he had gained, overgrowing the last time You saw him.

“Hey, Peter,” You said with a smile. “What are you doing here?.”

Peter smiled back, his chubby cheeks causing his eyes to squint a little. “I just came here to talk to you, about everything that’s been going on, with us, with me, with this.”

He gestured his tightly packed belly under his shirt. You tried to hide the blush creeping in.

“Listen, Peter, I know that things haven’t been easy lately, but you know I’m not the type of person who goes around gossiping just for the attention of it.”

“I know, but it’s not about that, it’s about keeping my loved ones safe from ever getting hurt by my enemies-”

“Spider-Man’s enemies,” You interjected. “Peter I don’t think you’re understanding what’s been happening with me and I don’t think I can hide it anymore. Ever since that night we went out, I developed some feelings for you, feelings I know that we will get shunned by, but I gotta tell you that meeting you was probably the best thing to happen to me all year.”

Peter stayed quiet for a moment, his confused eyes looking for a response.

“But I’m not the same person you fell in love with before,” Peter said.

“I don’t care if you’re secretly Spider-Man, and I don’t care if you weigh three hundred pounds, I’m still gonna be in love with the guy that’s different from all the rest,” You said, staring Peter straight in the eye as to drive you point across. “I love you, Peter.”

Peter’s breath hitched as soon as You said that. His belly heaved up and down as he was breathing rapidly. You stepped closer, your hand snaking around his soft waist, his belly pressed up against your stomach as You pulled him in for a kiss, pressing his belly even further towards your body.

Peter’s chubby hand brushes through your (h/c) hair as he leans into the kiss. His hands wrap around your shoulders as your other hand gently brushes against his belly, coming to rest on those lush love handles. Both of your tongues battled for dominance, with yours sliding into his mouth with ease. Peter’s hands gently glide down your back, coming to rest just inches above your ass.

You two separate, gasping for air as Peter smiles.

“I didn’t think you’d still love me being this way, I tried to control it, but the hunger and the dart got the better of me and-”

“Wait a minute, what dart?.” You asked.

Peter sighed heavily. “Well, before I… killed… Norman - the Green Goblin? - I was hit by a dart filled with a strange green fluid. I figured it was from the Green Goblin, because of how familiar it looked like those grenades. At first I didn’t know what it was exactly, but later on I guessed it affected my metabolism in a huge way.”

He glances down at his belly, his hand rested at the top. You gently laid your hand on his belly, the warmth coming off him like a radiator, and gently rubbed a small circle on it.

“I never thought of you as a chubby chaser,” Peter teased, grabbing your other hand to rest on his belly. “Then again, I’ve had my fair share of secrets too.” He said in a cocky tone.

Your face was now cherry red. “Shut up,” You chuckled. “And I never knew it took gaining weight to drive you wild.”

“Maybe we should take this upstairs?.” Peter said in a flirty voice.

“Maybe Thursday, my parents come home late and the curfew is almost here, don’t want to get in trouble with the cops, especially when everyone needs their Spider-Man to save the day.” You said, kissing his forehead.

“It’s a date then,” Peter said, kissing You back.

[dauntlessdiva]

When Steve and Eddie first started dating, Eddie thought nothing of his kind, caring, attentive boyfriend insisting on making them a homemade dinner once a week for date night.

Steve knew what he was doing. He knew Eddie was just shy of too thin, skirting the line between a healthy kind of skinny and being underweight.

With Steve's stubborn attempts to get Eddie to eat three square meals a day, Eddie ends up gaining weight and everyone is super supportive of it.

He'd be damned if he didn't keep his boyfriend happy and healthy and well fed.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

What if a Stucky au in which Steve never became cap and they never end up in the present.

Steve’s earliest dream was to be fat, like they were young and Steve just innocently says ‘I wanna be fat, wanna have all the food’ and something clicks in Bucky’s brain from that day and his entire existence becomes focussed on providing for Steve? Bucky’s ambitions are based on the idea that he will provide Steve access to food and the means to gain weight?

So that includes healthcare and stuff too, also enough so that Steve doesn’t have to work, etc? Bucky feeding Steve over the years and it’s just how they are, Bucky doing all the work and Steve as this chunky lil thing that never had to lift a finger if Bucky has anything to say about it? And so when it reaches when the movie is set Bucky owns some bakery or butcher or deli or restaurant or something and Steve’s this lil thicc boy who’s always sat at a table in the corner eating?? More than thicc, huge, massive, belly hanging between his knees and hunched over as he spends all day eating?? And Bucky keeps bringing him more and it’s a bit of a local thing the fat guy at Barnes’ Bakery and people sometimes pay for food for him because it’s supposed to give you good luck or something??

I, I, um... 😳😳

This is a really, really hot idea! It's a great idea 🥴 I just so happen to have written some stuff like this before 😈😈

pre-serum Steve, wider than he is tall

fat pre-serum Steve getting taken care of

pre-war stucky swapping weights

ALSO, for the PERFECT visual, there's art from @namjoonscutetummy

https://www.tumblr.com/namjoonscutetummy/666877744867639297/extremely-fat-pre-serum-steve-being-waited-on-and

Have a good time reading 👀❤️

[iwriteweightgainbullshit]

Okay okay, I know I said this before but I fr want to start writing again, but just at a slow tempo. Not hurry anything yk? So anyways. I mostly write weight gain stories but if anyone would like anything else hit me up.

Please send me requests :)

What you can request:

-Marvel (pretty much every character, but I mostly write bucky and Steve)

-stranger things (only male)

-star wars (obi-wan, anakin (or darth vader) and padme)

-brookyln nine nine (all characters)

-the office (all characters)

-panic! At the disco

-twenty one pilots

-knives out (benoit blanc, Marta and Benoit's boyfriend who's name I cant think of for a sec)

-Bo Burnham

If you want anything that's not on the list just ask :)

I am okay with writing about pretty much every kink but some things I'd like to discuss first.

That's all for now :)