The BK Special (Ryuji/Ren: Ryuji has a kink and a crush he’s been trying to ignore, so now he has a Palace)
The Dieting Alternative (Akira/Ryuji, Ryuji wg--the first piece, ‘Temptations’, is a bit lighter than the other two and may eventually get a different follow-up where Akira is a more wholesome boyfriend. But in this case, he sinks to temptation and lures Ryuji into packing on pounds he’s never going to lose)
Popped That (Akira/Ryuji, Akira wg--Ryuji gets roped into helping Akira train for BBB challenges. Akira gets fat enough to break his pants. Ryuji gets roped into helping with that, too.)
EMPEROR (Akira/Yusuke, manipulative feeder)
The Big Bang Burger Blaster (Akira instant wg, potential pairing and more wg...potentially)
Royally Rounded (Ren magic wg, royal spoilers)
Preferences under the cut. Just what I could think of for now, may be more later.
Hopefully these categories make sense--"yes" means I've written about it multiple times and would probably love a prompt; "maybe" means I probably don't write about it much on my own but would probably fill a prompt for it; "eh" doesn't mean I wouldn't write it (I have written some of these) but if I do it's rare/as the mood strikes, so I'm very likely to not fill a prompt. If I have filled a prompt for one of them, it's because the prompt tickled my interest that much that I decided I liked it.
"Hard No" is the "don't even bother sending a prompt about this, it will be instantly deleted" category.
Yes
if it's Joker wg, I'm on it. Also like Ann wg in particular.
Haru and/or Joker as feeders
mutual PT wg, with the exclusion of Morgana
shuharu, pegoryu, shuann, shukita, shutaba
poly
metaverse shenanigans/instant wg
Maybe
other PT pairings
adult confidant wg. (I don't really think too much of their potential dynamics with each other to get into kink)
human Morgana wg (but no romantic relationships, and lighthearted shenanigans only!)
revenge plot (this probably depends a lot on the particular revenge plot)
surprise: horny teenagers and morally sketchy akira/mishima feederism
-
Akira could feel his headache growing as he and Mishima waited for their orders at Bikkuri Boy. The food here was good, but he associated this place too strongly with studying to pick it when he wasn't doing that. He hadn't picked this at all--Mishima had, and when Mishima got a hair up his ass there was only so long Akira could blow him off before the Phansite administrator grew testy, and Akira had to consider that even if Mishima had no concrete evidence of him being a Phantom Thief, he'd still somehow figured it out from the very start, and just an accusation would draw way too much heat if the police investigated. On the surface, Mishima was the Phantom Thieves' staunchest supporter. He was also one of their biggest potential threats if he decided to break with them, and his support seemed more guided by the ego boost he got from running the Phansite and being "in the know"--not that he'd ever tried to actually get in on the action--than led by shared ideals. Even if Mishima didn't rat them out because of a wounded pride... well, his involvement in the leaked record made Akira skeptical about how well he'd hold up if the police ever questioned him.
Long story short: Mishima wasn't a corrupt adult. He was an average second year. Not a bad person, just kind of a loser who'd stumbled on something that'd changed his life, so he'd latched onto it in return.
Akira sometimes wished Mishima was corrupt and distorted so he could blow off some steam with the shadow. The nagging about Phansite requests, the bragging about Phansite stats... Mishima dominated the conversation at the diner, partially because Akira usually gave his confidants the rein over the conversation, but partially because Akira was sick of hearing about the Phansite. If Akira could tell Mishima to just shut up and leave him alone for a week or two, maybe it'd be less irritating. But he had to treat Mishima's delicate ego like the live bomb it might be, so he was nodding along and feeling his head pound, more and more insistent, until the food arrived and Mishima enthusiastically dug in, knife sawing to cut up steak before his fork brought up each small morsel to his eager mouth. Finally, it was quiet outside of the diner's background noise and Mishima's small sounds of enjoyment. Akira got in a few bites of his own plate to savor both the food and the break in conversation before he looked at Mishima again.
Which...huh. Mishima didn't eat like this at school. Akira knew that because he was only now realizing that, for all his faults, Mishima was actually pretty cute when his mouth was full, eyes closed in bliss, jaws working to chew each bit of steak to easily digestible shreds.
Not like Akira usually stared at the guy during lunch. But he tended to notice certain things, like how Ryuji always chugged soda like water and then had to belch out all the carbonation. Why things like that drew his attention, he wasn't sure. They were just... fascinating.
And Mishima was more tolerable with a mouth full of food. He could use that.
-
Food became a more common part of meetings with Mishima after that. 'Treating their biggest supporter', Akira'd said by way of explanation for taking their next meeting to a ramen shop. He could spend a couple thousand yen to preserve his sanity. Mishima had lit up, eagerly following Akira. He oohed and aahed over the steaming bowl until some of the heat dissipated, then packed his mouth with noodles.
On their third meeting, Akira realized Mishima seemed to have a bit of a belly that hadn't been there in April. Not like he'd had any hand in that; this was only his third time treating Mishima. It must've been that he was only noticing now because he was paying more attention to his classmate. He'd only brought a snack of pocky, but he'd wondered what Mishima would look like when full, glanced down, and...yeah. Mishima's shirt puffed out a little in the front, just a smidge, but in a way Akira hadn't noticed before and doubted Kamoshida would've tolerated in the volleyball team.
He didn't say anything about it. Obviously, it would have been rude. He just paid closer attention to Mishima during the next lunch period at Shujin. Mishima's lunch looked average enough, normal portions... but, unaware of anyone paying attention to him because so few did at school, Mishima vacuumed it all down in five minutes, giving his bento box a forlorn look once it was empty. He kept it out on his desk longer, as if to keep anyone from noticing how quickly he'd eaten, and every so often he'd glance down on it as if hoping it'd miraculously refill.
Later in the week, his lunch was about the same, but Akira spotted him sneaking snacks during class, risking a reprimand were the teacher to notice.
...Hungry, huh?
Food became part of every meeting with Mishima.
Food became more. Yeah, Mishima shouldn't be using fan donations for buffets of all things, but Akira had worked for his money and could use it however he liked. "I'll pay. Moderation must be a lot of work." It was a reward for both the work and Mishima trying to dress up for the venue, wearing dress shirt and pants that were definitely worn only rarely. They were both a little tight on him, his budding stomach obvious through the shirt, his pants shrink wrapped across his ass. But if Mishima felt the tightness, it didn't show in his three overfilled plates of fatty tuna and rice, pasta swimming in white sauce, and steak and potatoes. There wasn't any talk of the Phansite at all, couldn't be when Mishima was so occupied with his food. The one sound louder than his clinking silverware were the occasional grunts of satisfaction. They were drawing some looks from nearby tables, but Akira didn't mind.
Mishima made a cute little piggy. Even after three plates, he was hungry enough to polish off a big slice of cake with a generous scoop of ice cream, his full stomach now bulging under his shirt. Chocolate crumbs ringed his vanilla-flecked lips when he was done--the vanilla quickly licked off by an eager tongue, and Akira let Mishima discover the chocolate for himself when he went to use the restrooms. Maybe that'd been a mistake; the guy seemed embarrassed when he returned. But Akira had figured he'd be embarrassed to have someone else pointing it out, too.
"Sorry," Mishima blurted out as they left the buffet, interrupting a silence he must have found awkward. "I--I've, uh, been stress eating. I know I shouldn't eat so much..."
"It's a buffet. You should eat as much as you want."
Mishima looked a little relieved, but still murmured, "I'm going to start a diet."
He never did. Oh, maybe for the breakfast the next day, and his lunch looked paltrier than usual. But toward the end of the break, looking antsier than usual, Mishima bolted for the vending machines, huffing slightly as he returned with two bags of snacks.
Akira made sure to get a heavy bag of fried doughnuts for their next meeting. He ate some himself, of course, enjoying the sugary treats, but what he really enjoyed was seeing Mishima wolf down most of greasy bag, not even making a token protest of some supposed diet.
Mishima got a "secret admirer" soon after. Small (but not too small) offerings of chocolate snuck into a locker that was a joke for a thief to open. If his desk stash of snacks seemed to be running low, if he wasn't snacking as he usually would, Akira made the snack run for him, keeping a couple bags for himself to pretend he just 'happened' to grab some for Mishima as well. The snacks he kept would be good for Mementos and Palace excursions. The snacks he gave to Mishima, well... they didn't seem to last a day in the desk, but they lasted much longer in the ass and thighs that were spreading over Mishima's chair, the belly starting to meet Mishima's desk.
The second-year was starting to blow up, and Akira realized with some surprise that at this point he was actively seeking Mishima's company. Why not? Mishima still loved talking about the Phansite, but it was so much easier to tolerate when he stuck to the most important bits of business--requests, some fishiness on the site that Futaba seemed concerned about as well. He didn't go on and on and on as he'd used to, preferring to eat and eat and eat until his uniform had to be sized up before he burst out of it. He whined about how his parents were trying to make him diet at home and his lunches looked paltry again, so Leblanc's leftover curry started making its way into second lunches for him. The vending machine snacks doubled, with a konbini breakfast (a second breakfast) tossed in, often the biggest, greasiest sandwich the store had on offer. After all, how could Mishima be a good pig if he wasn't eating?
In between Palaces, Akira realized he was putting on some weight himself, a slightly flabby stomach stealing the slack from his waistband. With fewer chances to casually give away the snacks he kept from the vending machines, he'd been eating a good portion of them. The chub melted away as soon as the next round of Metaverse excursions started in earnest, though, so there was nothing to worry about.
Mishima, though... Mishima was turning into a blimp, having gone from skinny to flabby to chubby and chunky and now just plain fat. The uniform often looked sloppy on him because he was trying to hide that his pants were unbuttoned, something Akira realized when they had to clean the classroom by themselves and Mishima grunted and stretched to clean the top of the chalkboard, his gut pouring out of his shirt to droop without any constraints. Well. From his clothes. It flattened against the chalkboard in front of it and rested lightly but clumsily on the tray beneath, knocking off an eraser. Akira retrieved it so Mishima wouldn't have to strain himself bending over to pick it up.
"Thanks," Mishima said, looking relieved but embarrassed. It had been a typical look for him when he was skinny, too, but now it seemed perpetually at home on his plump cheeks. He didn't breathe a word about dieting. Either his unbuttoned pants were nothing new, or realizing he was near to needing a new size up hadn't aroused even a lick of shame or regret.
Both possibilities excited Akira. More, more, more. He wanted to make his pig a hog.
He was caught at the locker finally. He'd gotten a little too overeager, trying to pack in a box of chocolates that proved too big even at a diagonal angle, and had somehow missed Mishima's heavy approach. For a moment he felt like he'd been caught red-handed--finally, Mishima was going to put together how much he'd been feeding him, fattening him. If he was ever going to get angry enough to betray the Thieves, it'd be now.
Instead, Mishima breathed a light laugh, slightly winded from his trek to school. "I wondered if it was you. You know you could just give it to me? It'd be a waste if they got crushed."
Oh. Mishima had already known. Akira had given him too little credit: he wasn't an idiot, he was smart enough to run the Phansite.
He was greedy, eager to be fed in both belly and ego. He'd just assumed Akira was a genuine admirer and been too flattered by the attention to ever rein in his appetite.
And...with Mishima looking at him so eagerly...Akira considered that role of admirer. What Mishima was asking, hoping Akira wanted as well: that they start dating. Secretly, sure, because they were both guys and Shujin was bad enough for both already, but. Dating.
Did Akira love Mishima? No. Tolerated. Maybe even liked, now that he could tolerate, but that was still a very strong word. 'Love' was not even on the table.
Did Akira want to keep meeting and feeding Mishima, maybe even get close enough to see all the stretch marks he'd only caught glimpses of and holds handfuls of the fat that had caused them? Yes. Yes. Akira had known for months now why he was so fascinated by Mishima and Ryuji shoveling down food. The runner had stayed skinny with considerably more restraint and exercise than Mishima, but Akira sometimes daydreamed about if their Phantom Thieves career ended, if Ryuji would get lazy and start porking up like Mishima. It'd be hot as hell if he did. Too bad Akira probably wouldn't be in Tokyo long enough to appreciate results. But Mishima... Mishima was already expanding, every day it seemed. Akira wanted to be as close to the action as possible.
'Business' meetings happened very rarely now, largely replaced by 'dates', a switch in that now Akira sometimes had to prompt Mishima about the Phansite because the moderator was so preoccupied about being in a relationship and vacuuming up all the dinners and desserts Akira was treating him to. He actually seemed to get tired of talking sometimes, his poor mouth was doing so much work gnawing and chewing and gobbling while weighed down by fat cheeks and a heavy double chin. He was so excited when after a few dates they went back to his house, empty since his parents were apparently workaholics, and started fooling around, but he was so full and worn out from the moderate walk from the station that after a few minutes he just laid back against the pillows, letting Akira do most of the motions while still hungrily reciprocating kisses.
That was fine by Akira. He liked being in control, nearly straddling his overfed hog as he leaned over him and kissed his lips, cheeks, neck, shoulders being able to feel how soft it all was besides the belly beneath him that was packed firm, tight, full of food that would soon turn into more plush fat. He liked being able to look around when they took brief breaks at the sty Mishima hadn't been expecting Akira to see yet, maybe not a total disaster but littered with evidence, from discarded wrappers to stacked plates and cutlery on a nearby dresser, of so many meals Mishima had snuck to feed that belly. And of course, viewing the belly itself... all its roundness on top and at the sides, the flab starting to roll off it at the bottom... the beautiful silvery web of stretchmarks marking his love handles.
Akira admired the results of their combined efforts, but he knew there was so much more to do. Mishima still needed to grow into and out of his newest uniform, after all.
"Yeah?" Ren called, cracking an eye open from the couch where he was taking a post-work nap.
"You think I'm getting fat?"
Ren looked over to Ryuji and immediately felt the blood rush to his face. Ryuji had wandered out of his bedroom in their shared apartment in just a pair of jeans, letting Ren see for the first time in a number of weeks just how much his roommate's shirts had been camouflaging. He'd had some notion that Ryuji might be putting on weight, just from hints of softness on his face--and how much he ate of the food Ren both bought and cooked for him--but now he got to see how Ryuji's muscular chest was a little softer, thicker with fat over the pecs, and how much his budding potbelly was straining the jean's button, fabric around it tight as smooth skin arced over the waistband.
>"You could be fatter."
Ren carefully did not say that. He swallowed and said, "I think you look good."
"Aw, thanks," Ryuji said. "I got some doughnuts and then remembered these jeans've been getting tight, but if they still fit right I got nothing to worry about."
Ren nodded. He definitely thought the fit was all right.
Maybe not in the same way Ryuji meant, but. Details.
Ryuji wandered into the kitchenette and got a small box that Ren had managed to miss when he'd come in. He cracked it open, fished out a strawberry-glazed doughnut and waved it at Ren. "You want one?"
Hm. Tempting, but... "nah, not now."
"Your loss," Ryuji said playfully before bringing it to his mouth and biting off a piece. His puffy chin worked as he chewed until he swallowed and took another bite.
And another.
And another.
And then another doughnut.
He disappeared back into the kitchenette, but Ren could still hear, minutes later, the crinkling of plastic and cardboard as Ryuji retrieved a third doughnut and the satisfied "oumph" he gave when he bit into the pastry. The post-work nap was all but forgotten as Ren tried to figure out how many doughnuts had been in the box. It certainly wasn't large enough to hold a dozen, but...four or six? And Ryuji had gotten them planning to eat most? Those jeans weren't going to fit at all much longer.
Somehow you've become the lazy, fat pet cat in your family.
Okay some of your family members would probably be upset about you calling yourself that. It does sound mean now that you're sounding it out even just in your head. But there are reasons. You know why it would be appropriate.
Why you can be called a cat: you love taking naps. You love climbing trees. (You usually get yourself down, at least.) You have made a 'nya' noise under duress. You like to collect shiny things (which could be a crow thing but you're pretty sure cats do it too? sometimes??). You love being pet on the head.
Why you could be called a pet: you still feel like you would die without your family. This is probably something to work on. But also? you are starting to feel more secure that you...can actually stay with them. That they'd want to keep you even if you did nothing but follow them around, an idea that even thinking about makes you feel 'lazy', but...loved.
Also they collared you. Which is totally not what they meant to do, they just helped you find a slim chain your pendant could fit on so you could go 'ding ding' when you walk and join the funny noises appreciation crew... but, yeah, when Mira secured the chain at the back of your neck you had warm and fuzzy feelings about her collaring you, because you're a weirdo.
And as for why you can be called fat...well. You want to blame Isa and Odile for that. Isa loves seeing you eat, and Odile would kill anyone for calling her motherly yet is comfortable playing like a Ka Buan aunt or granny sometimes, asking if you've eaten enough and ordering food for you because she "knows your appetite". She first started doing it after you opened up a little about your travels before joining the group, and you know she used to make shocked comments about your appetite, so you think she feels a little guilty about that? You tried telling her it was fine and she really didn't have to worry, and she said she knew but still wanted to fuss a little bit and "let an old lady dote". ...You don't think it's doting every time, anyway. Twice now you've had an evening date with Isa and Odile took you out for lunch and plied you with half the menu, fussing about you looking hungry, and you should have caught on the first time and you definitely should have caught on the second time!! but it was good food and you were hungry so you ate and ate until you were fit to burst and Odile herded you back to Isa with a teasing smile and you realized you had to eat an equally large dinner if you didn't want to disappoint him.
(You know Isa would say you're not disappointing him, he loves spending time with you. You know he means it! You also know he likes seeing you eat. That as the two of you try experimenting with how much touch you're both comfortable with, his hands tend to stray to your belly, especially when it's just expanded.)
So, yeah. You want to blame Isa and Odile for your chin, belly and breasts starting to wobble when you go 'ding ding' as you walk (your backside following up with its own shuffle), but. It's not like they make you eat. They've just...made it easy. And now the only reason you're not even fatter is because you're still traveling; they can't exactly find you a feast in between towns. Every once in a while, your family talks about the far future, when you're no longer traveling together. The talks are rare--you're all still happy to travel together for quite a while!--but the future is there. And. You still don't know what you're going to do, when that time comes. But you think, occasionally, about following one of the others, just like a pet cat.
And you're sure if you follow Isa, and stay with him in his home, you really will become the fattest, laziest pet. You suspect it could happen if you went with Odile too. Sometimes the thought is a bit appalling, considering how you used to pride yourself on speed. Other times... other times, it makes you want to go up to one of them with the softest ding ding of your collar, and confess that you're so very terribly hungry.
ate some really good pumpkin pie and now I can't get a phantom thief friendsgiving out of my head even though they are japanese and would not do that. whatever idc.
everyone bringing a dish they either made with care or picked lovingly... h.aru especially bringing more than one. everyone reminiscing on how they met or other recent events between them, slow chill vibes. left to his own devices ak. ira ends up loading up his plate, softened by the warm and jovial atmosphere that he doesn't feel the need to stifle his appetite... its been a long year of fighting both personal and supernatural demons that its nice to just kinda relax and let go as winter slowly rolls in. nobody really seems to notice whether he's on seconds or thirds, but he's yet to turn down an offering from someone, even though this is probably the second time he's had to adjust his belt from under the booth's table. h.aru's cheesecake is heavy on the tongue but a great palette cleanser after whatever salty dish ry.uji brought. ak.ira can't help but close his eyes and savour it. a.nn pokes fun at him for falling asleep but he doesn't have a chance to protest before she's pulled into a different conversation. though now that it's pointed out to him, he does feel quite sleepy. full and warm and happy surrounded by his closest friends. he can lean back and discreetly rub his belly under the table, just barely paying attention to the conversational topic at hand, but definitely not enough to respond.
There's a moment where either Ryuji moves or Akira moves, but the carton of melted ice cream tips at the wrong angle against Ryuji's open mouth and the steady stream he's been swallowing down turns into a flood that pours over his lips as he jerks away to keep from being overwhelmed and choking before the carton's righted. Even so he coughs once, twice, getting a "shit, sorry," from Akira.
Ryuji shakes his head. Cream drips onto his bare chest. "'m fine, just surprised is all..."
He trails off as he catches sight of himself in the dark tv screen just across the kitchen in their tiny Tokyo apartment. Fuck, he's a mess. There's white cream all around his mouth and cascading down his chin and the swell of his double chin. Three streams of dairy managed to dribble down and meet in the middle of his moobs to become a river that's just starting to wet his naked ball of a belly. "Belly"--yeah, no, it's a great big gut right now, stuffed with a big dinner of beef bowl takeout that was eased down with soda before Akira broke out the ice cream. Ryuji feels a little embarrassed sometimes about how heavy it sits on his thighs, how much those are starting to spread, too, but... it's also sitting on something else right now, his erection sitting up at just what mess he is. How full he is.
How Akira's looking at him so fondly even with (because of) him being such a pig, gray eyes darting between Ryuji and the tv reflection before he leans down and shakes Ryuji's belly lightly. The slight pressure sloshes all the liquid in Ryuji's gut and forces some of the stored up gas out in a long, rumbling belch that turns into a moan because it both hurts and feels so, so good.
"Sorry," Akira says again, but this time he sounds a little less apologetic. A little more mischievous. He likes when Ryuji pushes his limits. "Guessing it's time to stop?"
"How much...did I even eat?" Ryuji asks, and it's meant rhetorically but he pauses when he sees Akira going for his phone, a glimpse of the screen: nutritional info for the beef bowl place.
He's been keeping track.
He's been keeping track?
Ryuji's erection pokes a little more insistently into his belly.
"Estimating, obviously, but...I'd say a little over four thousand calories," Akira says. "Just in dinner alone. Good job."
Nah. He can do better than that. "Help me get another five hundred in there."
Akira gives him this look, eyebrows raised in a mixture of interest, amusement and incredulity. "I'm not going to say no, but... you sure you want that?"
No. His stomach is already so, so full, and five hundred could easily be too much. But being in track put Ryuji in the mindset of always trying to set a new PR, and now that Akira's put numbers to the binge he likes the idea of trying for an even bigger number to set as a benchmark. (Ha. In track he would've wanted a lower number for his PR, but this is his PPR. His piggy personal record.) "Try me," Ryuji says, right before another burp erupts out of him.
Akira smirks, then fetches a measuring cup to more accurately mete out five hundred calories of fattening cream.
"As soon as you see your desire, you must reach out and take it."
When Satanael had spoken those words, Ren hadn't really understood what he meant. In the moment, it'd seemed like an exhortation to victory, to seize the moment and crush the false god.
Afterward, in the stillness of prison, Ren wondered if it had been a deal; one that'd go unfulfilled, given his circumstances.
As soon as he was told he was free to go, he abandoned the few trivial possessions he'd amassed in captivity in favor of getting out. As soon as he saw Sojiro, his caretaker and father figure, he rushed toward him and the car idling to take him home. As soon as he saw his friends, he reached out to hug them, the barest start prompting the others to envelop him in a massive group hug.
And when he saw the feast that had been prepared to welcome him home... Ren piled his plate high and ate, and ate, Sojiro scoffing at the slop they'd served in prison, until his stomach was achingly full and the warmth pushed up into his chest, making breathing a little hard.
He didn't figure it out then, plenty of other things on his mind.
But two weeks and four kilograms later, he began to suspect that Satanael's words had been less of a deal or request than a promise: using sinful shell had required Ren to shed every restraint around his desires. Thankfully, he didn't wish to hurt anyone. He liked to be flashy sometimes, but that'd always been true.
But also, he really, really liked good food. Now, the moment he knew it was to be had, he was going to have it, and as much as he wanted.
You'd almost made it too easy for me. When I bought you that gaming pc after you moved in, I hoped it might make you a little more sedentary. Maybe all those hours gaming and snacking might give you a couple extra pounds. Your focus so wholly enmeshed in exploring those fantasy worlds that a little of my own fantasy might bleed in…
But now look at you. You've really let the stereotype of the fat gamer take over, haven't you? Your belly hanging down against your thighs, your hands resting the controller on your middle as you feverishly smash away at those buttons. You've always got those headphones on, your eyes glued to the screen, the light of your monitor making your belly practically glow as it grows and grows.
I thought you'd cut back when your belly started poking out of your shirt, but that was sooo many pounds ago. With even your biggest t-shirts clinging only halfway down your hanging gut, most of the time you go without a shirt at all, letting that big belly sit heavy in your lap as you slowly fill out your chair more and more with every session. Do you even realize how much you eat? How many sodas you've chugged down? All that caffeine and sugar giving you a rush as you chase quest after quest, barely noticing whether I'm setting down your second or third helping of dinner.
Snacks, wrappers, plates pile up over the course of your gaming sessions. Sometimes I'm testing the waters to see if you might look away long enough to realize just how much you're eating… but there's always a new mission, a new DLC, a new game coming out that keeps you happily munching away.
I worried I might feel jealous of all the attention your hobby demands of you, but I found that I love watching you play, too. I'm not watching the game, of course. I'm watching from you. Seeing your blobby frame widening, straining against, then spilling over the sides of that nice, new gaming chair I bought you with the higher weight limit. Your thick fingers wiping any bit of food against the side of your belly to avoid making your controller greasy. Watching you not notice how much further you're leaning back by the end of the night with how tightly your belly is packed, the bloat forcing you away from the edge of your desk. Appreciating how you don't even flinch when you let those big belches rumble up your your roiling gut.
And then at the end of a long night of gaming, I relish watching you peel yourself out of that chair, the way your flabby body almost sticks to it while you muster the strength to stand. That little stretch you do when you're on your feet, your hefty gut sloshing as you make your temporary escape from your rig. Your heavy steps matched by your heavy breathing until you finally plop back down, as eager for more XP as I am to watch you pack on more lbs.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm letting you get too big… if there's any end in sight for how many waistbands you'll strain, how high of a weight limit I'll need to find for your chair, how big you'll get before you finally seem to realize how far you've let yourself go…
But then again, you've never looked happier, as long as you can keep gaming, I think you'll keep gaining for me~
When winter settles on Vaugarde, Siffrin quickly rediscovers that they love to drink hot chocolate. The creaminess going down their throat, the gentle heat filling their belly... it's sweet, but not too sweet, and when Isabeau happens to try a spiked variety for himself and Siffrin asks for a sip, they discover the one way they do like the taste of alcohol: as just one of the notes in the decadent drink, playing alongside the chocolate, milk, vanilla and sugar. They know their pleasure is too obvious from the way Isabeau grins, and they feel a little guilty when he insists they take the rest of his glass, but...the only free food they could ever say no to is croissants. Bottoms up.
Glug, glug, glug... It's so rich, even for chocolate milk, and Siffrin looks at the restaurant's menu to see that it's not just milk but cream in there as well. His belly feels warm. He wants more, though (he's always been greedy) and tips the glass back again, drinking it until the last single drop rolls onto his tongue. Mmm... good. He's satisfied, he won't ask for more. He won't eye the new glass Isabeau ordered, because that's definitely for Isabeau, not him.
Isabeau drinks about a third of the second glass before pushing it toward Siffrin with a fond smile. Siffrin's stomach, already full from dinner and the first glass, floods with the gentle heat, and that sensation and the little bit of alcohol makes them so, so sleepy that they doze in and out of consciousness at the table as Isabeau pays for the meal. Their stomach radiates warmth, almost like a baby star (except stars are orders of magnitude hotter, a teacher like Odile reminds him, and he retorts that it's a metaphor, and then the whole mental image slides off his brain, claimed by drowsiness...or the Universe...)
Actually, maybe his stomach is more of a gas giant, he thinks, when he keeps feeling the burps coming up his throat along the short walk home. But it's worth it, for that warmth radiating in his belly. And Isabeau lets him lean against him, one arm draped protectively around Siffrin's narrower shoulders.
Isabeau has been very clear that he likes Siffrin to eat as much as they want, so Siffrin is flustered but not that surprised when Isabeau starts stocking hot chocolate ingredients in their little apartment. Bars of chocolate and milk to melt them in, a touch of sugar to sweeten the deal and cream or butter to enrich it...plus a little bit of alcohol to experiment with at times... both of them drink plenty of hot chocolate that winter. The lion's share of the pot goes into refilling Siffrin's glass though. Siffrin likes getting to sit against Isabeau's chest as they drink, surrounded by Isabeau's radiating body heat and filled by the glowing warmth of hot chocolate... and Isabeau apparently likes to have Siffrin snuggle against them, knowing both of them feel safe and secure, and feel Siffrin's belly grow under his hand with warmth, sugar, and fat.
currently experiencing a hankering for athletes with praise kinks being told what "good boys" they are for indulging their appetites.
Ryuji slamming down one last bowl of ramen into his full belly because Ren egged him on. Siffrin realizing they like that Isa already has a bit of a belly along with all his muscle...finding every excuse to fetch Isa yet another snack or have him eat with them to make sure that belly won't go anywhere...and after Isa's cheeks burn from a joking "good boy", Siffrin makes sure to tell him he's a good boy often and especially when he's having a treat <3
In Isabeau's case. Maybe he keeps being athletic and just has a slightly wobblier gut to go with it. In Ryuji's case. See how long he keeps up a balance of exercise and overindulging for praise and belly rubs before he decides screw it, he loves the praise... the belly rubs... and the belly to go with those is way too much of a pain to run with. His butt gets soft and spreads when he starts parking it on the couch, and his belly goes from puffing out a little to absolutely blowing up like a balloon full of fat, but Ren's just fine with that. More to rub <3
