Darling, gratification, contradiction, and devastation
Trey Clover x reader
Your boyfriend prepares a full-course meal for you.
🔞 Feederism Trey, TW: EMETO/VOMITING, reader is mentioned to have problems with eating, reader forcing themselves to eat more than they can take, unrealistic/instant weight gain, fat fetish, OOC warning, it's all a bad dream.
❗❗ This fic contains explicit, physical weight gain, body talk (specifically the stomach/belly), descriptions of food, eating issues, and overeating. Reader throws up at the end. If this is not your thing, please skip this post.
Please be careful!
The air was filled with the comforting scent of food. Trey had prepared a feast for you after you confessed to him that sometimes you didn't have the energy to eat, going so far as only to have one meal for an entire day every now and then. You saw the way it made your significant other displeased and incredibly worried for you. Considering how deeply intertwined food is in his life, he must’ve been wounded to hear that you were hardly eating. You can tell that tonight, he made it his mission to give you a good, hearty meal.
You’re faced with an array of food that couldn't possibly just be for one person. An irresistible and flavorful looking hamburger steak with mushroom gravy and a side of creamy, buttery mashed potato, a serving of fettuccine in tomato sauce full of juicy tomatoes, chopped garlic, and fresh herbs, and a vibrant salad with mixed greens, fresh strawberries, candied walnuts, and honey balsamic dressing. There’s a pitcher of iced tea on the side, and Trey offers to fill up your glass.
"Trey, this is... a lot," you whimper slightly. It’s all so mouthwatering, and he could tell by your expression that you were looking forward to this. Trey gives a soft chuckle at your reaction, a warm smile on his face. He had spent quite a while trying to figure out a menu that would tempt you to eat more, and it seemed like he had succeeded.
"I know you've been skipping a lot of meals," he replies in an understanding tone. "You really need to start taking better care of yourself. Eating properly is very important, you know."
His voice is warm and sweet, yet it feels like it’s laced with something darker underneath. Could it be the dimness of the room? The only source of light where you’re sitting is above the dining table, as if shining a spotlight on the feast. It might be the way Trey is dressed in a black and red chef uniform adorned with gold ornaments and accessories. It looks regal and gives him an air of authority. Could it be a Heartslabyul uniform that you have never seen before? You had already asked him this when he led you here earlier, and he said he wouldn’t miss out on dressing for the occasion.
"Yeah, but... It didn’'t have to be so formal, haha. This is amazing, but I don't know if I can finish all this. My stomach might've shrunk these days," you fidget with the edge of the white tablecloth, unsure of what to make of your lover’s efforts.
Trey tilted his head slightly, the warm light catching the small clover-shaped mark on his cheek. His soft hazel eyes gleamed behind his glasses. He leaned back just enough to smile fully, the kind that said he was patient and utterly certain you’d eat every bite.
"Try your best to eat as much as you can," he reaches towards you and tilts your face towards him with his gloved hand. He gently caresses your cheek, and you find yourself leaning into his warm touch. "It would make me happy if you could eat until you’re full tonight. If you need help finishing it off, just let me know."
You’re reassured by the words of your boyfriend. The mental image of him sitting down and helping you finish what you can’t gives you a warm feeling. You can feel the love he put into these dishes, and you’re sure it will make them taste infinitely better. With a smile, you intend to start with the salad.
You look at the utensils prepared around your plate. A fork, a spoon, and a knife, nothing too fancy. "No rules about utensils around here? I’m glad it’s not going to be a problem for me tonight," you laugh lightly, and he immediately understands. "This isn’t a completely ‘fine dining’ experience," he chuckles. "I just wanted to treat you for tonight."
You look at him head to toe, wanting to ask again what was with the getup before giving him a slight smirk. "If I wanted a convoluted dining experience, I would’ve gone to Mostro Lounge, I suppose," you tease, wanting to see his reaction. To your satisfaction, you catch the way his eye twitches slightly when he just laughs off your comment. "Good thing I’m the one feeding you tonight, then."
The funny thing is that it’s not even like that at the lounge from the few times you’ve been there. You don’t know if Trey would know that, though. You just wanted to see how he’d react to you mentioning another man’s dishes in front of his home-cooked meals.
Onto the appetizer. You pierce the salad with your fork and lift the pieces you caught into your open mouth.
The lettuce and other leafy greens are crisp, providing a satisfying crunch with each bite. You were curious about the addition of fresh strawberry slices, but you find that it fits someone like Trey to add these, and you take another bite of the mixed greens with the other toppings. They add a burst of tangy and sweet flavor to the whole thing while reminding you of your lover. The candied walnuts give a nutty texture that complements the other ingredients, and the honey balsamic dressing ties everything together, adding a subtle acidic taste.
The salad was an amazing starter, enough to whet your appetite and prepare you for the main course now that you were stimulated. You turn your attention back to Trey. He's still watching you closely, a small smile playing on his lips.
"So," he prompts softly, his voice gentle and warm. "How was the salad? Did you enjoy it?" He leans forward slightly. His eyes never leave your face, waiting for you to answer. "I didn't expect the ingredients to go so well together," you giggle slightly. "You grew these strawberries yourself, right? You talked about it once."
Trey's smile widens at your praise, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. He takes great joy in your appreciation for his hard work. "Yeah, I did grow them myself," he affirms, his tone filled with a sense of satisfaction. He looks pleased you remember that detail about him as well. "It’s usually for the tarts, but this one time, I went out with my family last summer, the restaurant we were in served a salad just like this one. I wanted to make it myself."
He pauses for a moment, as if considering his next choice of words. “I’m glad you’re the first person to try it.”
Your face heats up at his comment, and you don’t know what to reply. To show your appreciation for his efforts, you don’t want to waste any more time getting to the main course. You pick up the knife and start slicing away a piece of the burger steak.
"What’s next, you butchered the cow yourself?"
Trey lets out a hearty laugh, not expecting such a comment. He finds your banter rather endearing. "Now, that’s out of my scope. Do you suppose I would, for you?" He leans back in his seat, watching you take your first bite of the hamburger steak.
You hold back from asking if he’d kill for you.
The burger steak is cooked to perfection and has a pleasant crispiness and a savory aroma. The meat is juicy and tender, and the mushroom gravy adds a rich and earthy flavor, complementing the steak nicely. You take another bite, another, then another. It felt like filling a void in you that you’ve been neglecting for so long. If it weren’t for Trey, your lack of food for days on end would’ve consumed you instead. His cooking satisfies your hunger and your sense of dependence on him.
You take a spoonful of the mashed potato, creamy and buttery, with the perfect hint of garlic and salt. It pairs perfectly with the meat. You twirl your fork around the pasta in the tomato sauce. It’s cooked al dente and has a delicious, tangy taste. The savory flavors mix pleasantly together. Your stomach begins to feel heavier, and your clothes lightly press against your abdomen. The growing fullness was becoming addictive without you realizing it, even though you had a vague feeling you were eating more than usual.
Trey's gaze is fixed on you. His eyes follow every subtle movement you make, every slight change in your expression, and every bite you take. His eyes darken ever so slightly, like he’s savoring not just your pleasure, but the slow, sweet surrender of your resistance. The way you’re devouring everything he made... it thrills him. There's just something so pleasing about watching you eat, especially when he's the one who made the food. The way your lips part and close around the utensils, the way your eyes light up with every new flavor, the way you seem to savor every morsel. He can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction and pride from you eating what he specially prepared for you, and you only, and it’s only the beginning.
"I'm glad it's to your liking," he murmurs, voice low and tender. "I made sure every bite would be worth it for you, all so you could have something good tonight."
He leans in a little closer, his voice softening like a secret.
"When you feel like you barely have the energy to prepare a meal, order anything, or even get out of bed…" His hand gently tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear.
"Just come to me, okay? I’ll always make sure you’re fed."
Fed, taken care of, and loved. You feel warmed up by the statement. Not knowing what to reply to it except for thanks, you take a sip of the iced tea between bites, the sweetness carrying a refreshing note that energizes you for another mouthful. He's aware of the power he has over you right now, with your reliance on his cooking and your vulnerability with your eating habits.
It's a power that he's going to milk.
You’re almost done with the whole plate, just a few more bites. Each one felt like a gift from your loving boyfriend. You don’t mind the way your belly is now distended, gently protruding outward from each nourishing mouthful, whether it’s the mashed potato, the pasta, or the burger steak. Trey lets out a short exhale of quiet satisfaction as you near the end of your meal. He watches the final bites disappear with admiration for you, imagining the way your body would look if you ate plenty of filling meals every day, especially if he was the one feeding you.
"You did so well," he chuckles softly as you scrape the plate with your spoon and lick it clean. "I knew you could do it," Trey murmurs, his voice warm and sweet but edged with something you can’t quite place. He reaches over and gently wipes your lips and chin with a napkin. He brushes his own thumb against your lower lip. Is he checking for crumbs, or just savoring the touch? You gently kiss the pad of his finger, and he smiles.
His glasses glint under the dim light. "That’s one plate down, so many more to go."
…Hm?
You were about to ask him what he meant by more plates to go, but Trey had disappeared to somewhere behind you. When he comes back, he returns with the sound of squeaky wheels. He returns to your side with a serving cart full of a myriad of desserts. You look at him, even more confused, but somehow not against it. You would still have space for dessert, of course, but this much...?
"Uh, Trey...?" You squeak hesitantly.
Trey smiles at your confused yet curious expression, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischievous delight. "Don't look so surprised," he replies, pushing the cart closer to you. "I know you still have room for more. I wouldn't be a good host if I didn't offer you dessert after a good meal, right?" The cart is indeed laden with a vast array of delectable sweets, and the number of options seems almost dizzying. Of course, it wouldn't be Trey if there wasn't any dessert. He takes note of your reaction, clearly enjoying himself.
A chocolate cake topped with a luscious ganache drizzle, a mini red velvet cake with layers of thick cream cheese, a raspberry cheesecake with a delicate graham crust and silky raspberry sauce, freshly baked cream puffs with each pastry shell filled with vanilla cream and dusted with powdered sugar, soft and creamy puddings in individual cups adorned with fresh fruits, and glossy and enticing chocolate-dipped strawberries. There’s so much more than you can count that the rest blur in together with each other, like a mountain of whipped cream and fruits.
"This couldn’t possibly be all for me," you stutter nervously. The stretch of your abdomen suddenly feels a lot more noticeable to you now, and you feel conscious about the way your clothes feel tight around your waistline, how heavy your body feels… Thought instead of discomfort, it almost made you feel secure and warm and deeply loved, somehow.
Trey leans forward, his warm hazel eyes lock onto yours. A soft smile plays at his lips, but there’s a quiet intensity behind it, something almost reverent.
"Of course," he says gently. "You think I’d go through all this trouble and not expect you to eat every last bite? I know how much you’ve been denying yourself… skipping meals, forgetting to eat…"
His voice drops lower, tender, but firm. "So tonight isn’t just about feeding you. It’s about reclaiming what was lost." He pushes the cart slightly closer with one hand while lifting a cream puff with the other.
"Start with this," he coos. "Just one more bite at a time. That’s all I ask." His smile deepens, sweet and possessive. How could you possibly say no?
You part your lips obediently and take a bite out of the cream puff. You pick it from his hand with yours and put the rest in your mouth. Something white and fluffy strays onto the edge of your lips, and he can’t help but smirk faintly. Without a word, he gently wipes the cream away with his thumb. You instinctively lick his finger clean, and it lingers against your lips just a little bit longer than necessary before he puts his hand away.
You watch him put away the plate that you had been eating from along with the utensils, and he replaces it with a clean plate as well as a new spoon and fork. He glances at the new plate settled in front of you. It was almost expectant, like a blank page waiting to be filled. "You're doing so well," Trey says softly, placing the slice of chocolate cake before you. The rich aroma of dark chocolate wafts up, decadent and impossible to resist.
"I baked this thinking about you, wondering how your lips would look stained with chocolate," he coaxes, his voice velvet and warm. Trey leans in slightly, his eyes half-lidded.
"Eat it all for me, every last crumb."
You take a bite and savor the flavor of the chocolate, immediately finding out there's cherry preserves spread between the two layers of the cake, much to your liking. The combination of rich, dark chocolate and the surprise burst of tart cherries has your taste buds singing. The soft chocolate cake gently slides down your throat, giving you a satisfied feeling each time. Trey is quietly delighted as he watches you chew, your expression melting into bliss. He observes the way your lips close around the tines of your fork and the way your eyes flicker shut in pleasure.
You finish the slice, and he can immediately tell that it wasn’t enough for you. Your rational thoughts tell you that you should try the other desserts in the cart, but it seems like you and Trey want you to finish the cake in its entirety. It wasn’t just about your appetite or your health, but also his love and care for you.
"That’s it, you like it, don’t you?" Trey murmurs as he loads another slice on your plate. It’s the same thing since dinner began: You eat, he watches. By the time you’re done with this one, you ask for something else this time. Trey's lips curl into a slow, delighted smile. He hums softly, scanning the sweets like a curator showing off his prized collection. Then, with deliberate care, he selects the red velvet cake topped with white cream cheese frosting and candied violets, one of his signature touches.
His fingers brush yours as he hands you the fork. "You’re doing so well," he says softly.
Trey watches closely as you take a bite of the red velvet cake, observing the way your eyes light up slightly at the moist, fluffy texture, the new flavor, the way the cream filling melts in your mouth, the way the candied violets add a hint of sweet crunch. He waits, almost holding his breath, for your reaction. His eyes are fixated on your lips, watching you chew.
You love it. You love the way he’s prepared all these meals for you, the way he wants you to be full with his love, the way he wants you to live another day. The candied violet reminds you of him, reminds you of your home with him; it was a little flare that had his name written all over it. He wanted you to be thinking of him as much as possible. It filled the emptiness inside of you. Your stomach expands with each mouthful until you feel pressure in your abdomen and your undergarments begin to stretch. Unfortunately, you were starting to feel very full.
"Oh, Trey, I don’t know how much more I can eat…" You utter, your cheeks starting to feel spent from all the chewing.
Trey's gaze was intense, watching as your stomach began to stretch against your clothes, your eyes growing slightly wider with each bite. He can see the fullness beginning to take hold, filling out your frame until you begin to look more plump. For a brief moment, a flash of disappointment flickers across Trey's features, barely visible beneath the surface. He's been so immersed in feeding you, in watching your face light up with pleasure, in seeing the way your body starts to fill out... He snapped out of his trance when he heard you’ve had enough.
"Are you starting to feel stuffed?" he asks, reaching over to gently touch your bloated midriff. You immediately whimper at the intrusive touch, but feeling Trey’s hand against your belly feels oddly comforting. Your panic dies down, and your blush deepens as he presses gently against your skin, gauging the resistance beneath his fingertips.
"I’m not sure if I can take another bite…" You whimper. His hand lingers on your belly for a moment, fingers gently massaging the swollen skin as you whimper. He can almost feel the stretch against your clothing, the pressure of all those calories beginning to show.
But despite your protests, despite your words pleading for him to let you stop…
He just can't find it in himself to listen.
Trey reaches in and unbuttons and zips down your bottoms, causing your belly to flop out and round into view in all its fullness, the skin stretched taut with your overindulgence. You let out a squeak of surprise, but you immediately feel relief at the tension in your waist disappearing. He can't help but let out a slow breath at the sight, hinted with admiration.
"You look much better this way, don’t you know?" He coos, his fingers gently tracing over the soft mounds of your bloated belly. "You were looking a bit thin lately. I knew I’d be able to help… I’m glad I did." His palm cups you possessively, feeling the weight of you grow heavier beneath his touch. "You can eat more now with this out of the way," Trey smiles comfortingly. You find yourself agreeing to his whims when he uses that warm, caring voice of his.
"Alright… G-Give me some more," you huff. Trey's eyes glimmer with something dark and satisfied as you agree. Your obedience is rewarded with a smile as he pushes another slice of cake over to you. This time it’s a tangy lemon meringue tart, the cream filling enriched with butter and a deep lemon flavor. Another bite. It just feels so natural now, to be filled up with food and filling out for him. You let out a small moan after you overstuffed your mouth with a little too much pie, struggling to get it all down your throat.
Trey watches your cheeks bulge, stuffed with rich cream and lemon curd, along with the pastry crumbling against your lips. He can practically see the fullness taking hold, rounding out your cheeks and bloating your belly. He lets out a quiet, indulgent hum as his lips curl into a sadistic smirk, seeing you struggle to take it all in.
"Uunh, Trey…?" You groan with a hand over your mouth, starting to feel sick and all. The heartburn is settling in from how much sugar you’ve ingested. "S-Seriously, I'm not sure if I can finish everything you prepared tonight... Can't we save the rest for tomorrow?"
His expression softens, as if he genuinely considers your request. "Tomorrow?" He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear.
"But what if you don't come back?" His hand presses just slightly firmer against your stomach, a silent reminder of how full you are… how changed, and how much he’s already claimed you tonight.
"I made all this because I needed to know you'd be here." His voice drops lower, sweeter, but edged with something dangerous. "If we save it for later, who's to say you won’t disappear again? Skip meals or forget to eat? Forget that I’m here for you?"
Your breath stills. The temperature in the room has suddenly dropped. You feel like you’re about to panic when you look at your boyfriend straight in the eyes. They’re narrowed at you, leering and dominating.
"So no... we won't save it," he says with a tender smile this time. "You're going to finish it all tonight."
A mouthful of raspberry cheesecake is heading straight past your lips.
"Because I'm not letting you leave until I'm sure you’re too full to run away."
You hesitantly take Trey’s offering. It’s sweet and rich, thick and smooth as it slips across your tongue. The richness of it has you almost wincing when you swallow as Trey watches. After licking your teeth clean, you open your mouth to make another retort, another attempt at pleading that you’ve had enough, but Trey is already prepared with another handful of the cheesecake for you. You shut your lips tightly, and he pauses against the corner of your mouth. With the portion this close to your nose, you can’t help but catch a whiff of the sweet scent of the dessert, and in the end, you can’t help but take another bite. It’s too tempting.
Is this what he meant by 'helping you finish everything' earlier, just shoveling dessert in your mouth when you can't pick up your utensils anymore?
A slow, satisfied smile spreads across Trey's face as you surrender once more to his insistence, opening your mouth for another bite of cheesecake. His eyes are fixed on you, drinking in your every reaction as you take the sweet, thick cream between your teeth. You can feel him grow more unhinged by the second, which feels a lot different from his usual demeanor during daytime.
"That's it," he purrs, his voice low and full of praise. You wipe your lips with your thumb to catch the crumbs caused by your messy eating. His gaze is sharp and observant as he notes the slight wince in your face, the subtle way your hand presses just a little bit harder against your overfull belly. Instead of rejection or disgust, you find yourself slowly accepting these changes that made you feel valuable and cared for by your lover. The only thing that worried you was the pace of it all, as your body felt even heavier than earlier.
Each time you want to say you’ve had enough for tonight, another different dessert tempts you beyond your assumed capacity. After the cheesecake, it was the pudding. After the pudding, it was the muffins. Then it was the mocha cake, then the strawberry tart, then another creampuff— It’s all blurring in together. Trey watches as your body slowly expands beneath his gaze, your soft skin straining against your undergarments, your clothes beginning to dig in against your swollen belly. His fingers linger against you, feeling the way your muscles clench and shiver as your stomach tries to accept all the food he's forcing into you.
"Mmghf-!" You suddenly double over with a hand over your mouth, and you’re trying to hold back something from coming out. You think you’ve finally reached your limit. His expression sharpens as your face twists in discomfort. He senses the change with the keen eye of someone who knows your body better than even you do.
The nausea you feel is intense, a roiling wave building in your stomach, a sickening feeling of pressure and bloat. Everything feels too tight, too full, too much. The food you've eaten is weighing you down, your belly swelling to its limits and beyond, and you can hardly find comfort in the expanding space available to you.
It's hard to even keep yourself upright, your hand braced over your lips as you try to stifle the urge to throw up. The sight of the desserts blending together as your vision blurs causes you to gag loudly. It feels like everything is turning into a red cacophony of noise and sugar.
You feel Trey’s hand clasp over your mouth. He bends over and rubs his forehead against yours. His breathing is heavy and almost delirious. Tears well up in your eyes. "Keep it all in" is all you can hear, and you can’t tell if it was your own thoughts or Trey saying it. His palm is firm over your mouth, sealing your lips shut as your body fights to expel the impossible fullness. His forehead presses further against yours, warm, almost feverish, like he's sharing in your distress... or feeding off it.
"Hold it, hold it all for me," he whispers, his voice trembling with a desperate edge to it. His breath comes fast, uneven. His thumb strokes your cheek as your own hand remains locked on your stomach, kneading gently into the bloated flesh like testing ripe fruit.
You can hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears, and it feels like your eyes are going to pop out of their sockets. You gag loudly once more and his breath hitches at the sound, raw and desperate as his grip tightens. Trey’s lips brush your temple, a ghost of a kiss. "Just a little longer," he pleads, though it sounds more like a command wrapped in velvet. "Swallow it, breathe through your nose, you can do this… You have to."
His whisper is gentle now, almost tender. "Because if you don’t…" He tilts his head slightly, glasses glinting in the dim light.
"Then we’ll just have to start all over again tomorrow night."
Your eyes burst open as you slide off the bed. You ignore your slippers in a rush, clumsily getting the bedroom door open and making it to the bathroom as fast as you humanly can. Trey, the real one, is woken up by your movements, especially the fact that you had to unravel his arms around your waist in the middle of the night. He stirs slowly, groggily at first, then with growing awakeness as he felt you slip from his arms. The warmth of your body leaves his embrace, the quiet rustle of sheets and bare feet against wood breaks the stillness.
He murmurs your name into the dark, voice low and thick with sleep. One hand reaches out instinctively to pull you back but his fingers brush an empty space. You don’t hear him from where you are, you’re too busy emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.
When he hears the noise, he sits up immediately, glasses hastily fumbled onto his nose as he looks for you.
Your body convulses forward, hands gripping the edges of the porcelain as wave after wave forces itself up your throat. The sound is raw, wet, ragged, almost animalistic, as your stomach rebels against what it was made to hold. Each heave tears from deep within, eyes squeezed shut and tears streaking down your flushed cheeks.
It’s messy. You can imagine expelling what you had in that dream: chocolate and cream, cherry preserves and raspberry swirls—all twisted together in a syrupy tide that burns on the way back out. The truth is that you haven’t had any sweets before you slept. Your hair clings to your face with sweat as you tremble over the bowl, gazing at your undigested dinner from hours ago.
This is definitely your fault, it was takeout from the town at the foot of the hill that you left unrefrigerated for hours before consuming it.
You hear soft footsteps on the tiles and a quiet gasp at the bathroom door. "Oh no…" Trey gasps and calls out your name before crouching down next to you. You can feel his warm hand rubbing your back in slow circles. No gloves, no uniform— Just your boyfriend in his pajamas because you wanted to sleep in the same bed tonight. You couldn’t have known that you’d get food poisoning.
And then that god-awful dream.
You immediately panic and rub your hands all over your stomach, just in case the changes in your body from that nightmare were true. You press your abdomen looking for something that isn’t there, and you’re relieved to find that you’re still your usual self in reality. Trey’s fingers move to brush away the strands of hair that have fallen over your cheek, his touch gentle but firm.
"Shoot, you have a fever," Trey huffs as he gently presses his knuckles over your forehead to check your temperature. Great, just another problem to the pile.
"I’m sorry..." You mumble miserably. He stands up to grab a towel from the rack to wipe your nose and chin. "What for?" He asks. "Things happen, this isn’t your fault." The contrast between Trey's real-life personality and the dream version you experienced is stark. While the Trey in your nightmare was imposing and threatening, the real Trey is a picture of concern and affection. He goes back to rubbing your back soothingly. "Can you get up? Wash up, I’ll help you clean up. Give me a bit to get some water and medicine, too."
You get up from the floor as he flushes the toilet behind you. You feel a hundred pounds lighter from throwing up the bad stuff in your stomach, though that’s probably something you shouldn’t joke about at all. You wash your face and splash your cheeks with cold water from the faucet before you grab a different towel to pat your skin dry. The soft fabric absorbs the water as you gently dab your face, your hands still a little shaky from the ordeal. You avoid looking directly at the mirror, afraid of what you might see, or worse, remember. But when you finally do glance up, Trey is already there behind you, his reflection warm in the dim light.
He reaches past you to hang up the used towel, then lingers close enough that his breath brushes your ear. "Better?" He murmurs. His voice is soft, steady, and real. Nothing like the fever-dream version that forced sweetness down your throat until you broke.
He doesn’t demand. Doesn’t push.
"I might be a bit scarred from ordering from that restaurant again, even if it's my mistake for not eating it quickly enough," you laugh lightly. Trey chuckles alongside you as the tension in his shoulders eases. "I suppose the taste would bring some bad memories," he answers.
"Luckily for you, we don’t have classes tomorrow. I’ll stay with you until you get better and cook for you, at least you and I both know it’d be safe."
Cook for you. It's such a simple. Innocent phrase, but after the nightmare, it lands like a matchstick in flour. You tense up slightly, and Trey’s brows knit together, warm hazel eyes searching yours. "Hey," he calls, his voice low and careful. "What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."
He doesn’t know. He can’t know what you dreamed, the way his love twisted into something suffocating, sweet as poisoned honey. You force a small and shaky smile.
"Just a bad dream," you sigh. "I don’t want to think about food for a while."
You lean back against Trey’s chest and look at your shared reflection in the mirror. You’re sickly pale compared to your lover’s healthier complexion. What you saw last night wasn’t real, and in truth, your appearance doesn’t matter to you too much. It would just be nicer if you had a healthier relationship with food in general.
"On second thought, something light for breakfast tomorrow, please." Trey smiles warmly and wraps his arms around you.
If you've reached this far, I'm sorry. Crack turned serious. Actually I'm not sorry at all. Goodbye! Remember to eat three meals a day everyone ♡ ──Zhihao🥡
i had the opportunity to commission a piece of kink art from the extremely talented canarcist on devianart, and i'm super excited to share the final result with all of you!!
here is their rendition of ashley/flexsteel!!
the scene that they've depicted comes from my flexsteel series on ao3, which you can read here if you'd like!!
working with canarcist was a very pleasant and satisfying experience, so i highly recommend commissioning them if you ever get a chance!!
imagine a king keeping himself surrounded by potbellied women and staring at, catering to, and rubbing their bellies as he pleases. every night he picks one to use as a belly pillow while he sleeps and listens to their digestion and tenderly kisses that soft tummy pillow. the women are well fed and enjoy being loved on and admired by their king. whoever burps the most after a meal gets special attention too as he rubs and pats their viscerally fat bellies and makes sure their tummies don't ache from all the rich, heavy, expensive, delicious food the king provides them with. if more than one of them gets a burbling tummy that he needs to be relieved with burps after a meal, he calls in his servants to place the women on their laps and rub their potbellies too. the king laughs when the women belch in his servants' faces.
incredible comm i bought from the lovely cchilab over on piczel !!
burpkura my sweetie,, i liek the millenium ring's eye tearing up. I'd say this is a much better (and sexier) fate than ending up in the shadow realm! at least you'll be remembered, as pudge on kura's tummy and a few hours worth of nasty belches :>
okay I know this is not what anyone wants to see while they’re on their horny account but we seriously need to have a conversation about how to recognize underage blogs because I’m getting real concerned about the number of people I’ve been seeing the past couple days seemingly unknowingly interacting with blogs that are full of coded messages about how the user running them is a minor advertising CSAM
if they have “18” in quotation marks, they’re a minor. If they talk about a favorite number, a 2-digit number that ends in 1 with a 🔁 emoji (like 61🔁 meaning 16), or a number of plushies they have on their bed, they’re a minor and that number is their real age. If they’re posting in tags with censored versions of “map”, “pred”, “underage”, “jailbait”, etc., they’re a minor. please be careful about who you’re interacting with.
Rook rolled up his measuring tape, and looked down at you with fond reverence. "How lucky I am," he purred, more to himself than to you, as he scooped you up in one hand. "You are, without a doubt, a marvel of the natural world, and I have the overwhelming pleasure of observing you myself."
Plump and round as you were, you did not flop over Rook's palm; you even rolled gently, your wings squeaking against the leather of his glove. He had utterly immobilized you with a tiny drop from a glass vials.
After he had caught you, Rook had gone through the trouble of casting a translation spell, introducing himself to you, and wheedling you for tales about pixie life and society. Nonetheless, in this moment, after he had done his wicked art to puff you up as far as your fae skin could stretch, you were clearly nothing but a body in Rook's eyes.
Fingers caressing your bulging side, Rook picked his camera back up with his free hand, and snapped another picture of you. "I'll capture another once I estimate the deflation process is halfway complete," he said, and smiled. "I expect I'll estimate accurately. Another run of the tape measure around you wouldn't hurt a soul, non?"
You sighed as deeply as you could, pressurized insides constricting your lungs. "You're gonna kidnap another pixie before you even let me go? Who even are you?"
Rook blinked at you, eyebrows raised. "Hm?"
"You just said you were gonna capture another," you said.
"Oh, I meant another photograph!" Rook chimed, squeezing you in both hands and rubbing you back and forth in manifest delight. "You are my one and only object of study for the day."
As Rook placed you back upon the towel-lined tray he had confined you to, it felt like your organs slowly sunk back into place after his assault. Your body was almost spherical, save for your wings, which could only twitch, powerless to lift you into the air.
"What did you fill me with, anyway?" you hesitantly asked. "And–And how am I gonna get back to normal?"
If Rook's alchemical workings had generated air or any other light gas inside you, you would still be able to fly. If it were liquid or solid, you would feel heavier than the largest pixie alive, all for the dense mass packed within you.
Instead, after Rook's massive fingertip had traced his potion drop's path down your throat into your belly, a sluggish weight had slowly come over you, thicker than air.
Rook chuckled deeply. "I believe you've seen the product of the chemical reaction yourself," he said. "Remember when you were just beginning to inflate, and you belched out a little puff of shimmering, violet-colored mist? The substance that lends you this spectacularly rotund shape is that same magical aether. An exhilirating thought, isn't it? I would try it myself, only the flexibility of the human body has certain intransigent upper limits..." Face falling, he pinched your belly, making you gasp. He pulled up on the tight-stretched skin, hard, nearly picking you up by the front of your middle.
You couldn't help it; a whimper broke out of you.
"Ah, désolé," said Rook, and he smiled again. "I'm merely eager to experience the marvels of such a creature as yourself." Then, without warning or permission, Rook let you go, before playfully poking you with two fingers.
Your body squished around his fingertips; you felt dizzy; your stomach whined. The deepest belch you had ever heard from your own mouth popped out of you.
Rook's whole body gave a jolt in delight; he grinned, letting your tummy spring back up, before he pinched you again, squeezing your sides inward.
You could not help but belch again. A ribbonlike plume of the purple aether trailed from your mouth, bearing the taste of the potion Rook had dripped into you, cold and slightly bitter.
"'Scuse me," you said, though you did not mean it.
"No need," cooed Rook. "Such fascinating little sounds..."
"Do humans not burp?" you said, wings twitching in annoyance beneath you. You knew the answer to this question, had overheard a human burp before, the exact same way your fairy kinfolk did after a hearty feast.
"We do," Rook answered. "Only, we are much larger. The acoustics of our bodies are different. You are so small, and yet..." His voice had slipped into a dreamy drawl within the short space of his last sentence. Still smiling blissfully down at you, he pressed on your belly again.
He was obliging you to burp. With all the gas in your stomach, you granted his tacit request with a short, creamy thing, a puff of sparkling purple rising before your eyes, then slipping down over your body and dispersing like fog.
"Indeed, the sound has such resonance!" Rook raised you close to his face, so that you could see the texture of the mascara on his lashes and feel the airflow as a silent laugh left his nostrils. "The secrets of the fae truly have no end."
You hiccuped as he swung you down, and before you knew it, he was pressing you against his heart, squeezing you hard in both hands.
Springy mass constricted between his fingers and chest; another burp began rushing out of you, weightier than was normal or comfortable, spewing potion-flavored air up into your mouth. With your face pressed against the lapel of his labcoat, you couldn't let it out; your cheeks puffed up until you turned your head away, skin giving an audible creak, and expelled the thick mist in one long, groaning belch.
Rook squealed. "I heard that sound echo through my bones!" he said, lifting you up to his face again. He was still grinning. One hand smoothed up his chest, but something stopped him, and he looked down.
You followed his gaze.
On his lapel, there was a smear of purple. Some of the aether had not dissipated. You kept your mouth shut, refusing to apologize. Rook had squeezed the stuff out of you with his own two hands.
"Ah," he sighed, "I regret so dearly that I'll have to wash this off, ma fée."
"Why?"
"I'd love to tell all my dear classmates that a pixie burped in this exact spot."
You looked up at Rook, frowning, then away again. "You know perfectly well that if I or the average pixie burped on your clothes, it wouldn't look like that. So, you'd also have to explain to your classmates that you filled me up like this." Were all humans this cruel? Would the others Rook mentioned merely congratulate him, or would they think he was as strange as you did?
Rook hummed dreamily. "Perhaps it would be worth revealing this escapade to them," he mused. "Or perhaps not. I will have to wash this coat before tomorrow morning."
Gently, with none of his ferocity from just a moment ago, Rook set you back down upon the tray.
"Our adventure in experimentation might stay confined to my photographs and notes," he sighed.
You could move a tiny bit more now; you could flail a degree forward and start to flutter your wings.
Rook had whipped his camera out and snapped a picture before you met any measure of success, and somehow, the click of the machine made you give up, and flop back down supine.
"Does that mean this is half over?" you whined. "You said you'd take your next picture when—"
"Oh, no," said Rook, setting his camera down and gently rolling you side to side. "I merely acted on a whim." He beamed at you, sincerity shining through his thin lips and narrowed eyes. "You'll forgive me, won't you?"
overfeeding your pet fairy until her belly is wobbly and jiggly and fun to squish so you have a stress ball that burps when you squeeze it. her burps seem almost too loud and rumbly to be coming from such a tiny thing. and she’s so embarrassed, blushing and squeaking ‘excuse me’ every time
kaledo-art
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