ngl one of my favourite feedism tropes is someone who has been uptight and denied themselves pleasure their entire life finally trying good food and finding out that they really like it and then just going crazy until they're utterly stuffed. and maybe they're a bit embarrassed about it too but also they really want to do it again. someone finally letting themselves enjoy food after a lifetime of self-denial and immediately going overboard with it is really cute and hot i like it a lot
i like the trope of so full their tummy is struggling to digest and it lets out the quietest most strained gurgles and they're nearly sprawled and passed out from their body's effort
God I just absolutely love the “from starving to stuffed” trope??? With characters who have been fasting for one reason or another are so hungry they’re fidgeting in excitement at the sight of food. and then they just just eat and eat and eat until they’re totally stuffed and full to the brim with their lil bellies swollen and cozy. Hhh oh my God
Fatgum gets turned on by all his fluffyness, after he's had it gone for a while from fighting?
100%, yesyesyesyesyes. I imagine he feels off without his fluffy physique. So, when he finally bulks back up he tends to really enjoy it. Please enjoy an extra soft Fatgum for day 18 of inktumber.
CONTAINS: bakery manager x reader, stuffing, light dom feedism, light eructo, belly rubs
Reminder for what this is: there were some old fics/adjacent things that used to be around that I latched onto but was dissatisfied with them because of spelling mistakes, being RPF, or feeling unfinished etc. This is the first of 3 rewrites I’ve hoped to do, but they are not connected in any other way.
Details about the original:
It was a post on Tumblr that I believe has been lost to time, I don’t know if there were any titles on the post. I hold no ill will towards whomever wrote it originally, and I love the concept too much to not try to fix it up a bit.
What I remember about the original: 2 unnamed people working at a bakery, 2nd person perspective. The character is said to typically eat a lot of the bakery’s leftovers, and this time the character is made to eat an entire wedding cake on top of that, because it was made in the wrong flavor. They stop after eating each layer though didn’t indicate which they started with and would try to rub their belly but would be encouraged to keep eating instead. This would occur until they finished the entire cake. The manager then promptly leaves and the character is forced to clean up the mess on a full stomach.
Things I wanted to fix: the spelling, the lack of detail about the cake and bakery operations, the rushed-feeling ending and withholding of relief from the full belly. Hopefully all is accomplished and more (also quick warning that it’s quite long), enjoy.
—————
You’re an early riser, though your body belabors it. You’re the first person to enter the small bakery, Reverie, every morning. Your tired mind skims across the most preliminary of preparations, until you find yourself peering through the oven glass at the rising dough of treats and confections, the task of making the dough itself so instinctual now that your brain neglects to even remember doing so.
When everything is baked to perfection, you heave trays and trays of daily cookies, tarts, croissants and more to their displays, for the many customers to glance at throughout the day, their hungry eyes compelling them to buy more and more. It’s around the time you are filling in the last of the shelves with the new stock that the only other employee, your manager, clocks in for the day, nodding to you with an unwavering sense of trust as they don a matching apron.
You finish the current task by placing the day-old desserts in a separate, discounted display. At your manager’s behest, the desserts not bought from this discount pile at the end of the day are given to you. Your manager sees to it that you are eating well throughout the day, and consistently reminds you to partake in your allotted confectionary while behind the counter or doing other tasks, along with providing you your generous lunch breaks. You oblige, if a bit reluctantly, though you have omitted from telling them that when you lumber home from work every day, you can do little else than rub your massive, sugar-bloated stomach in bed until you fall asleep.
——————
Today is a slow day, with little to indicate that anything is but ordinary. Your manager, really the owner of this bakery, tends to handle special projects on their own, as the more experienced of the two of you at decorating. These assignments don’t pop up super frequently, as Reverie is but a little known secret of your city, but those who come seeking catering, wedding cakes, and other large desserts have never once been disappointed by the quality. Your manager has been in the back kitchen most of the day, handling the most recent order, while you munch away on stale treats at the counter.
You’re beginning to feel how full you are, a twinge appearing in your side followed by a hiccup. You feel your face growing warm as you cover your mouth, but thankfully no customers are around, though you hadn’t thought to check in the moment. As your focus returns, you notice the voice of your manager in conversation coming from the kitchen:
“I see - - I’m so sorry to hear that, yes we can accommodate - - no trouble at all! These things are common - - yes, please don’t worry, I’m happy to do so free of charge - - I insist - - thank you - -“
You then hear a plastic click as they return the phone to the wall, a drawn-out sigh accompanying it. They push through the double doors behind you, apron covered in flour and frosting, and address you with a small smile.
“Looks like we’ve got a situation.”
——————
“How does someone develop an allergy so sudden?” You ask incredulously.
“No clue! But now I have to remake this entire cake in a different flavor.” Your manager sighs even deeper. You rendezvoused in the back room after closing a bit earlier (and hastier, to the chagrin of your stomach) than normal. “Sorry I might have to keep you later than usual, you’ll be getting overtime for this. I just need help setting up and cleaning, I’ve got the mixing and decorating handled. Oh, and help yourself to any leftovers. There’s quite a lot to go around, it’s just you and me here after all.”
You nod, beginning to gather utensils, though you try to ignore your apron digging into your full stomach.
Your manager looks resolute, saying to you and themselves, “It’ll take more time but it’ll be worth it. After all,” they mention over their shoulder with a smile, “it would be bad business if one of the grooms were to die on their wedding day.”
——————
The three-tiered wedding cake looms over you on the center counter of the kitchen. It’s unavoidable from all angles, white frosting piped into delicate flowers, with thin dark chocolate vines spread throughout, and flaked all over in almonds. According to the original recipe— you read off of the counter housing the mixer —each tier is a different flavor, with the bottom being a lemon cake with vanilla filling, the middle being a pistachio cake with Italian meringue, and the top being a rich chocolate cake with raspberry. Your manager was prepping to remake most parts the same for the new cake, but sub out the almonds and pistachios for flower notes and orange flavor.
You feel your belly rumble reading the recipes, but you brush it off and figure it’s begun the long digestion of all the treats it’s been stuffed with. You glance at the measly plastic tupperware your manager retrieved from storage and put to the side of the behemoth-cake, and recall that you had stopped bringing your own take-home plastic containers to work a long time ago, since you just ate it all while you were there anyway. But this, on such a full stomach already, is much too big, you tell yourself, averting your eyes to focus on wiping down counters and preheating the ovens. You can’t look away from the smell though. All around you wafts its sweet notes of almond-vanilla, its hints of dark chocolate, until finally, in a lull between tasks, it compels you to cut a slice.
You go for a piece from the very top, just a small slice as you anticipate it to be very dense, and oh how dense it is. The consistency is almost torte-like, chocolate that sits heavy in your mouth while being contrasted by the bright notes from the raspberry. Delighted instantly, you start wondering about how the others might taste, and go to cut two more small slices. Your manager smiles at you as they catch a glance of the plastic plate in your hand, and you feel your cheeks growing warm again.
The bite of pistachio is less sweet but earthy, with a nutty flavor profile, the texture of the cake so soft it practically melts in your mouth along with the meringue. The lemon cake melds the best with the almond exterior, and you find yourself slicing the ends of the frosting off to eat in tandem with the cake. Before you know it, you’ve breezed through all three slices, and it’s knocked the wind out of you. That’s enough now, you say to yourself as you pat your middle (even your thoughts are wheezing), don’t want to get a tummy ache on the job, though you are already halfway there.
——————
You try to push away the feeling that there’s a little more room in your stomach, reasoning that’s your sweet tooth talking. No time for that. You go back to your baking assistant duties, for a time, until you’re idling again because you’re waiting for the ingredients to mix, or your manager shooes you away, and you just can’t help yourself from taking another little slice.
Before you know it, you’ve finished the equivalent of the entire small tier. Most of it is gone anyhow, with a sizable dent made in the pistachio tier as well. You stifle a deep burp. Oof, your stomach rounds doubly over than normal, molding your now very tight apron into a bulbous swell. As your hands begin to follow the curve up and down for some relief, your manager calls you over again to help put the cake trays in the oven. You turn around and walk- no, waddle over, wondering how obviously your belly is leading the way.
“Okay, that should be ready in 20 minutes,” your manager says, dusting off their hands of flour and sugar. You find it hard to focus on anything but your belly; it was extra sensitive against the trays you held, waiting to place them into the oven. “How was the cake?” You are snapped out of your food-engorged trance by the sound of their voice.
“Oh, it was really good. Varied, it was all good but different,” you say, catching them glancing at you from an angle much lower than your face. They hum, amused by your compliment, and approach the cake.
“While we have time, I think I’ll try a slice. Do you want any more?” Their tone is completely neutral, as though they’re oblivious to a third of the cake being gone already. You open your mouth to respond but they’ve already turned back to the cake and cut the last two slices of the chocolate tier, setting aside one on another plate. “Just in case you want it. There’s so much, and I certainly can’t eat it all.”
You pick up the plate to be polite, picking your fork back up as well. As you watch them eat, they appear just as pleased as you were when trying the cake for the first time. “Not too shabby, I’d say. Sad that it’s a waste. Oh well.”
They finish their slice and open a nearby drawer in the counter, pulling out a large binder of cake designs and flipping to a marked page they point out to you. “I’m going to keep as much as I can from the original design, without nuts. I say we keep the chocolate, and maybe still have some texture on the outside, maybe coconut? Now we need to make the outer frosting as well as the inner icing.” Your manager goes over with you the ingredients for the different spreads and for the main icing. Nodding along, you somewhat-unconsciously bring bites of the cake to your mouth, since you’re holding it in your hand after all. Perhaps that had been a mistake, since when you begin to break away to locate the ingredients, you find that you’ve eaten the whole piece. As you set the plate down again, your manager asks over their shoulder, “Still hungry?”
Not in the slightest, you want to say, but a loud burp interjects first. You slam your hand over your mouth, your face flushed and hot, and surely red as a beet.
“I’m so sorry,” you stammer through your fingers, while your manager gives a little laugh.
“That’s quite alright,” they say, a note of sweetness in their voice. “I take it you have more room now?”
Before you or your stomach can protest, you are handed another slice of lemon cake with a smile. “I’ve got this; you just keep eating.”
——————
You do keep eating, and while your manager takes the cakes out of the oven and mixes together icing, you find the room to finish three more slices before you start significantly slowing down.
“Ooh…” you grunt, resting your hands on your stomach as you tilt your head back.
“Something wrong?” your manager asks, looking over at you from the mixing bowls.
“I’m just..really full..”
Your manager emerges behind you, and firmly tugs on the strings at the back of your apron, pulling them loose. Immediately your belly surges forward, skin rippling from hitting the edge of the counter. It groans as you do, disgruntled from the sudden shock. But as shocking as that was, your manager then slides their hands over your sides, cups their hands under your stomach, and heaves it onto the counter. You’re just tall enough for it to remain there, and your belly is just big enough to be unable to slide off.
“That’s better, hm?” they ask softly. You groan, too full to think of anything but the drastic relief of being relinquished from the tightness of your apron. You keep groaning, as your manager’s hands knead away the sore ache in your sides, bringing up air bubbles. “I bet that feels good. Here’s what’s going to happen. I will decorate and assemble the new cake. You are going to eat the rest of this one before I am done, or you’re going to clean this kitchen top to bottom. Sound good?”
“Mmph…” You had, how many, 10, 11 slices already? Only halfway…
——————
Thankfully the decorating would take some time. You alternate between the remaining two tiers— pistachio, lemon, savory, sweet— while watching your manager pipe the delicate designs onto the replacement cake. Out of necessity, you find a rhythm in your eating. Chew. Swallow. Chew. Swallow. Burrp. Groan… Repeat.
Your sheer willpower gets you through 6 more slices. Time feels as though it’s slowed to a crawl. Your tummy demands at least one hand be constantly rubbing it. It remains resting on the counter, growing firmer with every bite.
You whimper as you hear your manager approaching behind you once more. Without a word, their hands appear by your taut belly again and they squeeze it suddenly inward. You gasp in between expelling forceful belches and low moans. But just as quickly as they arrived, the hands leave your sides. They whisper in your ear, “You’ve got more room now. So eat up, I’m almost done.”
——————
“Uuurrp….buoorrp….”
In between shoving cake into your mouth, you press your belly into the counter, forcing air back up your throat. In these crucial moments, every inch of your stomach capacity must be utilized to the fullest, and at this point, you’re desperate. You can’t even imagine summoning the energy needed to move your heavy belly off this counter, let alone cleaning anything.
Heaving and panting, you approach the final slice. You saved the pistachio for last as a palate cleanser. You glance to your manager, who is adding the final piping to the cake decor. They look like they could be finished at any moment. You grip your plastic fork with new purpose.
Your rhythm returns, as you thickly swallow each bite of cake. You’ve come this far, you can’t give up now! And you really don’t want to clean…thinking of that possibility makes you tired more than anything else, so you focus on chewing, the taste of the pistachio mixed with the icing. It would taste like heaven in any other scenario, but you’re not sure many people have tasted so much heaven in one sitting.
Your fork reaches for another bite before you realize the slice is finished, and the moment it clicks, as though on cue, your full, full stomach whines loud and long. Your hands weakly clutch at your huge belly— triple its normal size, aching, and so, so full.
“Ooohhhh….uUrp….oooohhh…” Your head swims, delirious almost, as your stomach uproariously churns.
Your manager’s hands soon join yours in gently rubbing away the ache, and you melt into their touch.
“Well done,” they say in your ear. “Your capacity is extraordinary. Perhaps you’ll help me tomorrow with inventory?” You’re the fullest you’ve ever been, you can’t respond to their innocuous question with anymore than groans and burps, but some small part of you can’t help but fantasize about filling your belly up even bigger with your next meal.
something so precious about a sweet boy not being able to suck in their belly anymore. they’re just too stuffed after a big meal, sated and happy but a little embarrassed about how much their tummy sticks out, how heavy it rests in their lap.
and if you tease them, poking an accusatory finger into their pudgy stomach, they can try valiantly to suck it in and feign innocence, but the fat little mound of their belly barely budges, they’re just too full to hide how big their appetite is and how chubby they’re getting because of it.
lays on my bed and thinks about my comfort character going from hungry with an uncomfortably empty-feeling tummy, to just-a-tad overfull with a warm, happy belly — dozing off someplace cosy, fully content, filled with love and good food
There are few things hotter than being able to visually tell when someone has stuffed themselves to their capacity. I’m especially fond of when a person consumes a large quantity of food and drink in a relatively short amount of time and you can see it all accumulating on the upper side of a belly in real time. I go crazy for stomachs that have expanded so much that they’re visibly pushing against skin, protruding further than the rest of the abdomen.
Bottomless - Your character orders something listed as "bottomless," expecting to enjoy a few refills. As they eat, though, it becomes apparent that the food really is endless, seemingly regenerating itself so they never manage to make a dent no matter how much they eat.
All You Can Eat - Your character decides to quit while they're ahead, not wanting to feel too stuffed, but when they try to exit the buffet, the door seals up--the sign says "all you can eat," after all; they can't leave until they've really eaten all they can.
Superfood - Your character orders some trendy new treat that's supposed to keep them full longer. They don't have high expectations when they see the tiny serving they get, but the hype suddenly makes sense when the food begins to swell up and multiply inside their stomach.
Appetizer - Your character goes to a restaurant that serves complimentary appetite enhancers, a basket of rolls laced with a spell that amplify hunger once eaten. They don't, however, have any effect on stomach capacity.
Always Room For Dessert - Your character goes to a restaurant which offers a sip of a potion before dessert which loosens up the stomach and increases its capacity. The downside is that it's only temporary, and often wears off before everything is fully digested.
Challenge - Your character orders an enormous meal meant to be a challenge, but there's a catch--not the usual "only pay if you don't finish," but a magical one. The food is enchanted so that once they take the first bite, your character can't stop until it's finished, even as they run out of room.
whoops I like bellies @squishykawa - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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