summary : were jisung's dream frequently about eating in his dream , but how can those dream have an impact in real life ?
content : weight gain , unrealistic weight gain , dark feederism , obsessive behaviour , SFW
Usually i'm not into darker fic , but here i wanted to try something different
Jisung had been having the same dream for several nights now.
A dream that, although strange, filled him with joy. There was an enormous buffet, stretching as far as the eye could see, with mountains of food laid out before him. To his right, steaming dishes in rich sauces; to his left, silky desserts, stacks of golden pancakes, crispy pastries, and exotic fruits bursting with juice. It was a feast fit for kings. And Jisung found himself in the middle of this paradise, a fork in hand, ready to devour everything.
That first dream was incredibly intense. Everything seemed so real. He saw himself sitting at a white marble table in an enormous hall decorated with crystal chandeliers. The sound of cutlery, the intoxicating scent of spices—it was all so vivid, he could have sworn it wasn’t just a simple dream.
Without hesitation, he dove into the dishes, tasting each one with infinite pleasure. The soft bread melted on his tongue, the perfectly seasoned meat dishes exploded with flavor, and every bite of dessert was pure sweet bliss. He ate and ate, never stopping. It felt like his stomach was a bottomless pit, yet each bite filled him with more and more euphoria.
When morning came, Jisung woke up in his bed, his cheeks round with happiness, his stomach as empty as the dream had been generous.
— "Hyung!" he exclaimed as he entered the kitchen, where his roommate was making his morning coffee.
Minho raised an eyebrow, half-asleep, as he took a sip from his cup.
— "What? What’s got you in such a good mood this early?" he asked, stifling a yawn.
Jisung was almost bursting with excitement, his eyes shining as he recalled the nocturnal feast.
— "I had the most incredible dream! A huge buffet, you’ve never seen anything like it! There was everything, gigantic dishes, hundreds of desserts… and I could eat as much as I wanted! And believe me, I ate until I exploded!"
— "That’s so you. Even in your dreams, you think about food."
— "No, but wait, it was so realistic! I felt like I’d never stop!" Jisung replied, laughing.
— "And when you woke up, you were still hungry, huh?" Minho teased, glancing at the cookies sitting on the table.
Jisung burst into laughter.
— "You got it. But seriously, it was amazing!"
At first, it was just a funny dream, a story to share and laugh about with Minho. But over the following nights, the dream kept repeating. And each time, the buffet was even more lavish, the dishes even more delicious. Every night, Jisung found himself in front of this feast, eating with a frenzy he couldn’t explain.
Each morning, he woke up with a strange heaviness in his body but laughed it off with Minho.
— "Dude, if you keep this up, you're gonna turn into a ball with all the food you’re eating in your dreams!" Minho joked, patting his stomach.
Jisung shrugged, a smile on his face.
— "Maybe, but at least I'm enjoying it!"
However, something strange started happening. Jisung noticed that his body was changing, slowly but surely. He was gaining weight for no apparent reason. His belly became rounder, his clothes tighter. What had once been a source of jokes between him and Minho began to turn into a concern.
— "Don’t you think… I’ve gained weight?" Jisung asked, uncertain, as he looked at himself in the mirror.
— "Well, you've always loved food, right? It’s probably just that. Nothing to worry about."
But deep down, Jisung started to wonder. The dreams kept coming, each one more intense than the last. He woke up with that strange feeling of having actually eaten. And yet, he hadn’t had anything before bed.
In the days that followed, Jisung couldn’t help but think about his dream. It was more than just a nightmare; it felt too real. And what worried him the most was how his body continued to change. Each morning, he woke up feeling a heightened heaviness, and every day, he was horrified to realize he was gaining weight.
At first, he tried not to think too much about it. After all, it wasn't uncommon for him to indulge in some excesses. But this time, something was different. He found himself weighing himself more frequently, hoping the scale would be wrong, but the numbers just kept climbing.
One morning, while trying to put on his favorite jeans, he realized he couldn’t button them anymore. The fabric, once comfortable, was now tight around his thighs and stomach. Frustrated, he pulled at the waistband several times, but to no avail. Finally, he gave up and plopped down on his bed, his hands resting on his now rounder belly.
— "Minho..." he murmured, uncertain. He got up, grabbed another pair of pants, and tried again. Those were too tight as well. His heart quickened, a dull fear overwhelming him.
He rushed to the bathroom where he kept an old scale under the sink. Heart racing, he stepped on it. He looked down: 85 kilograms. About ten more than he weighed a few weeks ago.
— "It can’t be…," he whispered, staring at himself in the mirror. He turned around, examining the curve of his belly, now more pronounced, his hips wider.
At that moment, Minho walked in, looking curious.
— "Jisung, are you okay? You’ve been in there a long time."
Jisung looked up at him, searching for answers.
— "Minho… don’t you think… I’ve changed a lot lately?" he asked, looking bewildered.
Minho tilted his head to the side, pretending to think before breaking into a smile.
— "Oh, I’d say you’ve put on a little weight, yeah. But that’s normal. Winter is coming; you’re just stocking up, right?" he joked, his light tone not hiding the strange glint in his eyes.
Jisung couldn’t help but smile, despite the anxiety knotting his stomach.
— "Maybe… but this is more than a few kilos."
Minho approached, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
— "Honestly, it looks good on you. You’re overthinking it. Come on, let’s eat."
Once again, Jisung tried to laugh along with him. But secretly, the idea gnawed at him. Every night, the buffet dreams continued, and every morning, he woke up with a slightly heavier belly, arms a bit thicker. He was now avoiding weighing himself, knowing the number would keep rising. His clothes were becoming increasingly tight, to the point where he had to start wearing looser outfits to hide the new curves of his body.
One night, after feeling that strange sensation upon waking—this persistent feeling of having eaten all night—he quietly made his way to the kitchen. He had a gut feeling, an instinct he couldn’t ignore. He tiptoed, his steps muffled by the carpet, and when he reached the partially open door, he stopped short.
He froze, seeing Minho standing by the counter, holding a plate of cheesecake. But it wasn’t the plate that disturbed him the most. Minho was leaning slightly forward, a strange smile on his lips, staring at something… or rather, someone.
Jisung followed his gaze and realized with horror that he was looking at his own body, asleep on the living room couch. He must have dozed off while watching TV. But what was even more unsettling was how Minho slowly approached, his eyes sparkling with something unsettling.
Without understanding why, Jisung slipped behind a wall, watching the scene unfold in secret. Minho knelt beside his sleeping form and murmured almost tenderly:
— "Come on, just one bite… a little more."
With a delicate, almost ritualistic motion, Minho brought the fork to his lips, and Jisung, in his sleep, slightly opened his mouth. He swallowed the bite without resistance, as if it were perfectly natural.
Jisung’s heart raced. Was it possible? Was this really happening? Every night, he woke up with that feeling of fullness, and now he was witnessing the scene unfold before his eyes.
Without thinking, he stepped out of his hiding spot and grabbed Minho's wrist, holding it firmly.
— "Minho! What are you doing?!" he shouted, his voice trembling.
Minho, far from being surprised, turned slowly to him, a smile still plastered on his face.
— "I’m helping you. I’m helping you finally be satisfied. You’ve never had enough, have you?" His voice was sweet, almost hypnotic, but his eyes betrayed something far darker.
Jisung recoiled, adrenaline coursing through his body.
— "But why? Why are you doing this?" he asked, his throat tight with fear.
Minho calmly stood up, wiping his hands on a towel nonchalantly.
— "Because, Jisung..." he murmured as he stepped closer, "if I make you big enough, make you dependent on all of this… then you can never leave me."
Those words echoed in Jisung's mind, filled with the same threat he had felt in his dreams. That wild look in Minho's eyes, that calculated smile… it all felt so real.
Suddenly, everything became a blur around him. He felt an immense heaviness wash over him, his legs weakened, and he collapsed to the floor.
Jisung jolted awake, gasping. He was in his bed. Again. Heart pounding, he stared at the ceiling, his hands trembling. It was a dream. Another dream. But this time, he was no longer sure what was real. He instinctively placed a hand on his belly, still round, but less so than in the dream. Yet he knew. He knew something was wrong.
He gently got up, and when he stepped out of his room, he crossed paths with Minho in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.
— "Did you sleep well?" Minho asked with a smile, looking innocent as he set a plate of pancakes on the table.
Jisung remained silent, his gaze drifting for a moment to the stack of food.
— "Yeah..." he murmured before sitting down slowly. But deep inside, a persistent doubt lingered. Was it really a dream, or was Minho hiding something far more disturbing behind his smile?
Jisung, sitting at the breakfast table, stared at the pancakes in front of him. Their sweet smell filled the kitchen, and despite the nausea rising within him, his stomach rumbled. Minho stood across from him, looking as cheerful as ever, a serene smile on his lips. But something in his eyes, something Jisung had never noticed before, made him uneasy. There was a strange glimmer, a hint of unhealthy satisfaction that never left Minho’s gaze when he looked at him.
“Come on, eat,” Minho urged in a soft, almost soothing voice, pushing the plate toward him. “You need to regain your strength.”
Jisung hesitated, fork in hand. He felt the weight of his clothes against his skin, the constant pressure around his belly and thighs. Each bite seemed to add another layer of fat to his already heavy body. Yet, he lifted his fork toward the pancakes, as if driven by an external force. Minho watched the motion with a barely concealed smile, his eyes never leaving Jisung’s hand.
“It’s crazy…” Minho murmured, suddenly pensive, his tone almost dreamy.
Jisung stopped dead in his tracks, the fork suspended.
“What’s crazy?” he asked, a shiver running down his spine.
Minho straightened up, crossing his arms on the table, his eyes fixed on Jisung’s rounded belly, visible through his tight t-shirt.
“How you’ve changed. It’s fascinating.” He leaned slightly forward, as if captivated. “Look at yourself. Every day, you become a little more… full, a little more… complete. It’s beautiful.”
Jisung’s heart skipped a beat. Minho’s tone was far too intense, far too obsessed. He furrowed his brow, trying to determine if this was another one of Minho’s strange jokes. But the look in Minho’s eyes was nothing funny. There was an obsession beginning to surface, an unmasked desire that chilled him.
“Minho… don’t you think I’m becoming too… well, too big?” Jisung asked, hoping to break the tension with a hint of humor, even though his own worry seeped through his voice
But Minho merely smiled wider.
“No, Jisung. You’re becoming perfect.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it resonated in the room like a declaration. “You don’t understand yet, but this is true beauty. Your curves, your roundness… They are exactly as they should be.”
Jisung felt his stomach tighten, not just from the food but also from the way Minho was looking at him. His eyes slowly slid over every part of Jisung’s body, as if he were contemplating a work of art, a statue he was patiently sculpting, day by day.
“It’s… it’s strange, what you’re saying,” Jisung replied, troubled. He dropped his fork, his appetite suddenly cut off.
Minho didn’t take his eyes off him. His gaze grew increasingly fiery as he continued to examine every inch of Jisung’s body.
“You don’t understand yet, but you’ll understand soon.” His voice lowered, almost conspiratorial. “The more you become… like this, the more you belong to me. You don’t realize it, but you are becoming what I’ve always wanted you to be.”
Jisung felt a surge of panic rise in his throat. He gently pushed his plate away, searching for a way to change the subject, to escape that burning gaze.
“But… Minho, why?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Why do you want this?”
Minho remained silent for a long moment, his gaze intense and piercing. Then, he slowly stood up, walked around the table, and approached Jisung. He leaned down, placing a hand on his shoulder. The warmth of his fingers spread like an electric current through Jisung’s body. Minho gently caressed his shoulder, sliding his hand down to his arm and then to his belly.
“You know what I love about you, Jisung?” he whispered softly, his fingers gliding over Jisung’s rounded belly with a strange tenderness. “It’s that you are malleable. Fragile, perhaps, but above all… malleable. I can shape you, mold you. And soon, you will be exactly as I want.”
Jisung’s eyes widened. He abruptly pulled away from Minho’s hand and jumped to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“Stop it, Minho! This isn’t funny. I… I don’t understand what you’re trying to do, but I don’t like it.”
Minho stood still, his gaze still locked on him, but his smile had vanished. His face now wore a strange neutrality, a mask barely concealing the intensity bubbling within him. He blinked, then slowly, his smile returned, softer, almost soothing this time.
“Jisung, calm down,” he said in a voice so sweet it became unsettling. “I just want to make you happy. You’ve never been so well-fed, so satisfied, have you? Think of all those dreams. You’ve never lacked anything in those feasts. Why not accept this abundance? You’ve never been so complete.”
Jisung shook his head, stepping back. His heart raced too fast, a visceral fear overtaking him. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. Was it really Minho who fed him in his dreams every night? Was it he who was making him gain weight, transforming him slowly, like some sort of secret project?
The silence between them became suffocating. Minho took another step closer, still calm, still smiling. He reached out to stroke Jisung’s arm, but Jisung quickly recoiled.
As Jisung stood by the door, ready to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the apartment, Minho let out an amused sigh and leaned back against his chair. He cast an almost possessive glance at Jisung, and his smile widened.
— "You know, Jisung..." he began softly, his tone oddly soothing despite the palpable tension. "Look at yourself."Hesitant, Jisung glanced down at his own body, his rounded stomach under the tight stretch of his t-shirt, his thick thighs that now seemed larger than ever. Minho didn’t look away, observing every detail as if he were admiring a work of art.
— "It’s fascinating, really. How your body has changed," Minho continued, his voice full of admiration. "Look at your stomach… it’s already quite round, isn’t it? And your thighs… they’re starting to fill up the space around you."He stood up slowly, the chair creaking under his own weight, and approached Jisung, his gaze fixed on every curve, every mark. His fingers hovered just inches away from Jisung’s stomach, but he stopped just short, his eyes gleaming with a strange light.
— "Soon, Jisung… you’ll be so big you won’t be able to fit through this door." He let out a soft laugh, almost tender, before continuing. "Look at yourself already… your belly, your double chin that shows every time you lower your head… and those stretch marks on your skin, they tell a story. The story of your transformation."Jisung, petrified, didn’t know what to say. His body, now so heavy and cumbersome, felt even more foreign under Minho’s unrelenting gaze.
Minho stepped closer, his smile more intense. "And you know what? I want you to keep going. To grow even more. To become even more… mine." His voice was low, almost a whisper. "It’s never enough. You think you’re already big, but I want to see you even rounder, even more... perfect."
A cold shiver ran down Jisung’s spine. Minho took a step back, leaving him standing near the door.
— "You won’t escape me," Minho whispered, his gaze piercing. "You’ll always come back. Because, even if you don’t admit it yet, deep down, you know you love it. You love what you’re becoming."
—“I… I have to go,” Jisung stammered, grabbing his phone from the table. “I’ve… I’ve got things to do.”
Jisung didn’t wait another second. He flung the door open and rushed out, his heart pounding, leaving Minho behind with that inscrutable smile.
Minho didn’t move, but his gaze followed Jisung to the door, still intense.
“You won’t be able to escape me, Jisung,” he whispered almost tenderly. “You’ll come back. And when you do, you’ll know you’ve always wanted this.”
Jisung felt a cold shiver run down his back. He opened the door with a quick motion and left the apartment without another word.
Outside, the cool air hit him, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the anxiety gnawing at him. Minho’s words still echoed in his mind, like an obsessive echo: “You won’t be able to escape me. You’ll come back.”
Was he truly under Minho’s influence? Was it him who fed his dreams every night to change him physically? Or was it his imagination playing tricks on him, influenced by his own insecurities and unacknowledged desires?
He looked down at his belly, rounder and heavier than ever. Maybe this was all just a dream. Maybe Minho was only joking, and his tired mind was exaggerating everything.
But then, why did it feel like all of this was terribly real?
And as he walked away, in the silence of the apartment, Minho stood by the window, his eyes still fixed on Jisung’s disappearing silhouette. A slight smile played on his lips, and he murmured to himself:
“He will come back. Always.”
