Stuffed & Snuggly

All the belly things 🤍

[stuffednsnuggly]

A little introduction to this account!!!

I’ll do pretty much any show/movie as long as I can find information on it to do so!!!

I’ll do some emeto stuff but not like gross…

No vore or weight gain. I WONT DO SHAMING.

Mostly belly rubs, comfort, bellyache, stuffed/too full tummies. May also do some none sickfic comfort at some points aswell

Feel free to send asks of ideas/requests!!! I’m always open to them as will do ones I’m comfortable with!!!

[stuffednsnuggly]

A Quiet Comfort for a Full Tummy

The aroma of spicy ramen and slightly burnt popcorn still clung to the air as Shouta Aizawa and Hizashi Yamada stumbled back into their house. Date night had been a success—a marathon of a cheesy horror movie and takeout—but the aftermath was starting to set in.

"Ugh," Shouta grunted, pressing a hand to his belly as he locked the front door. "I think that extra-large coke was a mistake, Zashi."

Hizashi, ever the bright one, chuckled. "Worth it for the full cinema experience, Sho! C'mon, let's get you comfy."

Shouta shuffled into the bedroom and immediately shed his jacket, collapsing into the bed. The weight of the evening's feast was making itself known. His usually flat stomach felt distended, tight, and uncomfortably full—a distinct, heavy bloating that was pressing unpleasantly against his ribs. He curled slightly onto his side, a low groan escaping his lips as he rubbed his aching tummy.

"I'm gonna hit the shower, okay? Be right back," Hizashi said, already heading for the bathroom.

"Mmm-hmm," Shouta managed, eyes already drifting shut. He pulled his hands away from his stomach, then instinctively brought them back, pressing them gently against the prominent, solid dome of his overfull belly. The pressure was a dull, persistent ache.

A few minutes later, the scent of lavender and clean soap wafted into the room as Hizashi emerged, dressed in a soft, oversized t-shirt. He paused at the foot of the bed, his bright eyes softening as he took in the sight of his boyfriend. Shouta was a dark, rumpled heap of black clothes and hair, his expression tight, one hand clutching the swollen curve of his stomach.

Hizashi moved quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Hey, love. Still feeling rough?"

Shouta cracked one eye open and nodded, a slight wince on his face. "It's… really big, Hizashi. Like a rock."

Without a word, Hizashi reached out, his hand hovering for a second before gently settling on top of Shouta's. His touch was warm and feather-light. He pressed softly, feeling the firmness of the distended stomach beneath the thin fabric of Shouta's shirt.

"Woah, you're right, rock-solid," Hizashi murmured, his voice dropping into a low, soothing register. He slipped his hand underneath Shouta's, his fingers slowly beginning a gentle, circular motion. This was familiar territory. He knew exactly what kind of comfort his partner needed.

"Too much pressure?"

"No," Shouta sighed, letting his head loll back onto the pillow. He felt a wave of relief wash over him as Hizashi's warm hand continued the slow, hypnotic massage. "It's perfect. Keep going."

Hizashi smiled, a soft, private expression. He moved his other hand to rest near the base of Shouta's ribs, adding a slight, sweeping motion there. "That spicy ramen just decided it wanted to stay and party, huh?"

Shouta let out a quiet, weak chuckle. A small, trapped bubble of air suddenly rose in his throat, and he let out a barely audible, soft burp. It was quickly stifled but earned a gentle squeeze of his belly from Hizashi.

"There you go, Sho. Let it out, sleepyhead."

Hizashi shifted, moving further onto the bed and pulling Shouta carefully closer, wrapping his arms around him. The change in position helped, slightly easing the pressure. He nestled his face into Shouta's neck, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, and the other remaining draped over the full, tight belly. He continued the belly rubs, his hand kneading and soothing the ache.

Shouta leaned into the warmth, the soft, rhythmic pressure of Hizashi's hand acting as a potent sleep aid. He sighed deeply, another little soft burp escaping, a quiet, gassy little sound that dissolved into the quiet room.

"Good job," Hizashi whispered against his hair. "Just relax. I've got you."

Under the gentle care and warmth of Hizashi's body, Shouta finally felt the tightness begin to subside. The cuddles were the best medicine. With his boyfriend's hand still moving slowly and patiently over his full stomach, he drifted off, a deep, contented sigh the last sound he made before falling into a ramen-induced, bloat-free sleep.

[stuffednsnuggly]

The Weight of a Challenge (Part 2)

That low, shaky sound was all the confirmation Kirishima needed. It wasn't pain, exactly, but the strained, exhausted noise of someone fighting a losing battle with their own body. Kirishima knew better than to acknowledge the cause directly, not when Bakugo was already this vulnerable. The blonde’s hand, resting heavily over his, was surprisingly hot, anchoring him to the spot.

Kirishima deepened the pressure slightly, keeping the movements gentle, slow, and cyclical. The heat transferred from his palm was meant to soothe the overworked muscles. He could feel Bakugo’s rigid back muscles finally begin to slump, melting into the mattress. Bakugo had been holding himself stiffly upright for over an hour, trying to pretend that the contents of his stomach weren’t staging a small rebellion. The relief of no longer having to fight that battle was physically visible.

“Stupid,” Bakugo muttered, the word a rasp against the quiet air, directed less at Kirishima and more at his own competitive spirit.

Kirishima leaned his chin against Bakugo’s chest, feeling the vibration of the word. “Yeah, well. You’re always looking for a fight,” he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble. He tilted his head just enough to catch Bakugo’s half-lidded, tired eyes. “Even with food, man. You can relax now.”

He paused, ensuring his tone carried no judgment, only acceptance. He shifted his fingers, tracing the circles wider, massaging the flanks of the overstuffed abdomen, and then moving slowly back up. The small, internal knots that had felt like rocks slowly, tentatively, began to loosen beneath his touch.

“Try taking a deep one,” Kirishima suggested softly. “Slow one in, slow one out. Gotta give that furnace some air.”

Bakugo scoffed weakly, a sound that held neither conviction nor anger, but he obeyed. He inhaled, the action forcing his chest to expand and his taut stomach to push firmly against Kirishima’s hand. The exhale was long and stuttering, a gust of air that carried away a layer of tension. He repeated it, slightly slower this time.

The raw, silent acceptance of the care was immense. Kirishima knew this was a moment of true, uncharacteristic surrender for Bakugo—the acknowledgement that he needed help, even if he didn't have the energy to form the words. Kirishima was proud of him for dragging him up here, even if it was done with a grunt and a hand grab.

Bakugo finally shifted his arm again, but instead of pushing Kirishima away, his hand lifted and his fingers sank into the spiky red hair near Kirishima's temple. He kept his eyes closed.

“Just keep quiet, Shitty Hair,” he muttered, the insult landing like a soft, heavy pet name.

Kirishima smiled, a full, soft, genuine smile that Bakugo couldn't see. He didn't need to speak. He just kept rubbing, feeling the residual tension drain away, replaced by the steady, drowsy weight of exhaustion. Bakugo’s breathing evened out into the slow, heavy rhythm of sleep, and Kirishima continued his work, silently promising to protect his boyfriend from every challenge, even the ones involving overly ambitious eating.

~The Next Morning~

The light that filtered through the gap in the blinds was thin and yellow, the first tentative announcement of morning. Eijiro woke slowly, aware of two things immediately: his neck was stiff, and his hand was asleep.

He was still draped across Bakugo’s chest, the firm, familiar weight of the other boy a comforting pressure. His stiff hand was still resting on Bakugo’s abdomen, but the rock-hard tension from the night before was gone. It was soft now, yielding, and thankfully empty-feeling. A successful, if extremely uncomfortable, mission accomplished.

A deep, rumbling groan signaled that the owner of the chest was also stirring. Bakugo’s eyes snapped open—not with a gentle flutter, but with the sudden, sharp focus of a predator. He immediately registered Kirishima’s position and the offending hand.

“Get your dead weight off me, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo grumbled, his voice rough with sleep, though there was no malice in the command. He rarely felt the need to yell first thing in the morning when Kirishima was around.

Kirishima retracted his hand and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his own eyes and stretching his back until it cracked satisfyingly. “Morning to you too, Bakugo. You were using me as a weighted blanket all night, you know. That’s probably why my arm’s numb.”

Bakugo just scowled and sat up, tossing his head back so his perpetually spiky hair fell forward. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was still wearing the clothes from the day before, albeit slightly rumpled. The tight knot of competitive anxiety and discomfort that had driven him to literally drag Kirishima away was completely dissipated, but that didn't mean he was going to apologize.

“Go bother someone else. Training starts in an hour,” Bakugo said, already heading toward his closet.

Kirishima grinned, hopping off the bed and following him to grab his hoodie. “I can stay and bother you. Besides,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a low murmur. He gently nudged Bakugo in the side, his finger landing on the newly relaxed, solid muscle just above his waist. “Your internal pressure gauge looks a lot better now.”

Bakugo froze, mid-reach for a shirt. He shot Kirishima a glare—a genuine, dangerous one this time—but it was undermined by a slight flush creeping onto the tips of his ears. It was his version of a silent thank you and a deadly serious don't mention it ever again.

“Don’t push it, Red. Go get dressed, or you’ll be late,” Bakugo warned, finally pulling out a fresh shirt.

“Got it, loud and clear! See you downstairs in twenty,” Kirishima chirped, snatching up his own discarded socks from the previous night. He paused at the door, turning back just as Bakugo started to pull the shirt over his head. “Hey, Bakugo?”

The blonde glanced over his shoulder.

“Maybe just the protein bar for breakfast today, yeah?” Kirishima suggested, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Bakugo’s response was a sharp, unamused bark of laughter. “Shut up! Don’t tell me what to eat!” But as Kirishima slipped out the door, he heard a quieter mutter, which may or may not have been, “...Fine. Maybe a small one.”

Kirishima headed back to his own room, already feeling recharged and ready for the day, happy that his man was back to his usual, explosive self—albeit one who now owed him a massive, non-competitive breakfast.

[stuffednsnuggly]

Post-Halloween Recovery (Part 2)

"So, what's the plan for today, then?" Tadashi asked, his hands still gently warming Kei's stomach. "I was thinking we could put on a movie, maybe that new documentary about dinosaur fossils you were talking about?"

Kei sighed contentedly, enjoying the warmth and the focused attention. "That sounds good. As long as it involves minimal movement. Maybe just… stay on the couch all day." He shifted slightly in the chair, wincing as the too-tight waistband of his pajamas dug into him again.

Tadashi noticed the movement immediately. "Hang on a second." He stood up, then leaned down and carefully slipped his fingers under the elastic band of Kei's pajama pants, gently pulling it away from his skin to release the pressure. "That can't be comfortable. Let's get you into something looser before we head to the couch. Do you have any of those old, super-baggy sweats in your closet?"

Kei nodded, a grateful look in his eyes. "Yeah, the gray ones. Way down in the back."

"Perfect." Tadashi helped Kei slowly stand up, moving carefully to avoid jostling his aching midsection. He led him to the bedroom, then rummaged through the closet until he found the soft, worn-out sweatpants.

Once Kei was changed into the baggy sweatpants, he let out a huge sigh of relief. The change from the restrictive pajama bottoms was immense. "God, that's better," he murmured, gently pressing his hands against his now-unrestricted belly. It was still firm and bloated, a little tender to the touch, but the constant pressure was gone.

Tadashi smiled and draped an arm around Kei's shoulders, leading him back to the living room. He fixed them both some herbal tea—peppermint, which he knew helped with digestion—and settled Kei onto the sofa, propping up his feet with a soft pillow. Tadashi grabbed the remote and the laptop, ready to put on the documentary.

Before starting the movie, he snuggled close, resting his head near Kei's lap and gently resuming his belly rubs. His fingers moved in slow, comforting circles over the soft fabric of the gray sweatpants, tracing the full curve of Kei's stomach.

"Just relax," Tadashi murmured, his voice low and soothing. "No more candy today. Only tea, movies, and plenty of this." He gave a final, gentle press to the center of Kei's stomach.

Kei reached out and ran his fingers through Tadashi's soft green hair. "Sounds like the perfect plan for recovery," he said, the pain already fading into a dull background throb thanks to the care and attention. "Thanks, Tadashi. You really know how to take care of me."

Tadashi looked up, his warm brown eyes full of affection. "That's my job, Kei. Now, let's learn about the Triassic period."

Kei settled back, his head resting against the cushion, the rhythmic belly rubs and the quiet hum of the laptop filling the room. He was still miserably full, but he was also warm, comfortable, and deeply cared for. He wouldn't trade that for a thousand bags of candy.

Later in the afternoon, during a break in the documentary, Kei looked down at Tadashi, who was still faithfully rubbing his tummy.

"I still can't believe how much we ate," Kei mused, a slightly embarrassed smile on his face. "I think the worst part was when I tried to fit a mini-chocolate bar and a handful of gummies in my mouth at the same time."

Tadashi giggled. "I remember! I think you started choking a little. I had to rescue you with that glass of milk. You were so determined to win that candy challenge, though." He paused his rubbing to place a soft kiss on the fabric stretched over Kei's round stomach. "But look at the result. You're going to be recovering from your sugar coma for days."

"Worth it, almost," Kei replied, leaning down to kiss the top of Tadashi's head. "Especially since it got me this much attention."

"Oh, you'll get plenty of attention," Tadashi promised, resuming his soothing strokes. "But next year, we're sticking to a hard limit. Say, ten pieces each? We need a system."

Kei considered this. "Ten pieces sounds reasonable. Write it down, though. I have a feeling I'm going to forget this pain by next October."

Tadashi laughed, a bright, happy sound. "Deal. Now shush, I think they're about to talk about the Velociraptor again." He pressed his hand firmly against Kei's taut belly, a silent promise to keep taking care of his overstuffed boyfriend, even if he did have to tease him a little about it.

[stuffednsnuggly]

Post-Halloween Recovery (Part 1)

The crisp autumn air of Halloween night still lingered in Kei Tsukishima's memory, though now it was overshadowed by a far less pleasant sensation. He woke to a dull ache in his stomach, a persistent throb that hinted at the previous night's sugary excesses. He felt… full. Not just content, but genuinely bloated, his usually lean frame feeling taut and distended. He carefully sat up, a low groan escaping his lips as his stomach protested the movement. His pajama pants, which had fit perfectly yesterday, now felt uncomfortably snug around his waist. He discreetly tried to loosen the waistband, hoping the minor adjustment would alleviate some of the pressure.

Kei felt a pang of guilt. He had been the one to egg Tadashi on, challenging him to see who could eat more candy from their trick-or-treating haul. Tadashi, ever the good sport, had taken the bait, and they had spent a good portion of the evening devouring their spoils, giggling like children despite their age. Now, Kei was paying the price. He didn't want Tadashi to worry, or worse, to tease him about his overindulgence. He decided he would try to hide his discomfort.

He managed to get out of bed and into the kitchen, where he found Tadashi already awake and humming cheerfully as he bustled around, preparing breakfast. The smell of sizzling bacon and pancakes filled the air, usually a welcome aroma, but today it only made Kei's stomach churn a little more.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" Tadashi chirped, turning to give Kei a quick, warm hug. "I thought I'd get a head start on breakfast. Made your favorite – pancakes!"

Kei forced a smile, trying his best to appear normal. "Thanks, Tadashi. Smells good."

They sat down at the small kitchen table, and Tadashi piled a generous stack of fluffy pancakes onto Kei's plate, along with a side of crispy bacon. "Eat up!" he encouraged, oblivious to Kei's internal struggle.

Kei picked up his fork, took a small bite of pancake, and chewed slowly. It tasted delicious, as always, but his stomach immediately sent warning signals. He felt absolutely stuffed, even after that single bite. He swallowed with difficulty, a faint burp catching in his throat that he quickly suppressed. He took another, even smaller bite, trying to seem like he was enjoying it, but the feeling of being overly full intensified. His waistband felt like it was cutting into him now, a constant, uncomfortable reminder of his predicament.

Tadashi, meanwhile, was happily devouring his own breakfast. He paused, noticing Kei's slow pace. "Hey, what's wrong? Aren't you hungry? You usually love my pancakes."

Kei tried to feign nonchalance. "No, no, they're great. Just… not as hungry as usual, I guess." He pushed a piece of bacon around his plate, trying to look busy.

Tadashi's brow furrowed with concern. He knew Kei too well. "Are you feeling okay? You look a little… rounder than usual." He gestured vaguely at Kei's middle, a playful glint in his eye, but also a genuine worry.

Kei’s cheeks flushed slightly. He couldn't hide it anymore. "I might have… overdone it a bit last night," he admitted, his voice a low grumble. "My stomach's been aching all morning."

Tadashi's eyes widened in understanding, then softened with sympathy. He reached across the table and gently placed his hand on Kei’s stomach, feeling the slight distension through his shirt. "Oh, Kei," he murmured, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles. "You really went for it, didn't you?"

The gentle pressure felt surprisingly nice, a small comfort against the discomfort. Kei leaned into the touch, a soft sigh escaping him. "Yeah," he confessed, "I really did. My pants feel like they're going to burst."

Tadashi chuckled softly, then got up and came around to Kei's side, kneeling beside his chair. He carefully pushed Kei's shirt up just enough to expose his stomach, which indeed looked noticeably swollen. "Aww, you poor thing," he cooed, his voice full of affection. He began to gently rub Kei’s belly, his touch warm and reassuring. "Does this help?"

Kei closed his eyes, a wave of relief washing over him as Tadashi's fingers kneaded his taut stomach. "Yeah," he mumbled, a genuine smile finally gracing his lips. "Yeah, it does. You're the best, Tadashi."

Tadashi continued his gentle massage, his movements slow and tender. "Next time, maybe we stick to just one bag of candy, huh?" he teased, but his eyes were full of care.

Kei grunted in agreement. "Definitely. Or maybe just one pancake for breakfast."

Tadashi laughed, pressing a soft kiss to Kei's forehead. "Don't worry. We'll get you feeling better. More belly rubs and less candy."

Kei leaned into the embrace, grateful for Tadashi's understanding and his soothing touch. He might have overindulged, but with Tadashi by his side, even a bloated stomach felt a little less miserable.

[stuffednsnuggly]

A Vampire's Gentle Cure: Shoto's First Halloween

The common room in Heights Alliance was a whirlwind of glitter, fake blood, and last-minute costume adjustments. Mina Ashido, a self-proclaimed Halloween expert, was directing traffic with a megaphone she'd undoubtedly "borrowed" from Present Mic. "Okay, people, listen up! Uraraka, your ghost sheet needs more... presence! Sero, excellent mummy work, but can you actually see?"

Tenya Iida, dressed impeccably as a classic vampire with a cape that swished just so, adjusted his glasses. He'd tried to bring some order to the chaos earlier, but the sheer enthusiasm of Class 1-A had proven formidable. He turned to Shoto, who stood a little apart from the fray, looking slightly bewildered in a remarkably convincing zombie costume. His half-white, half-red hair peeked out from under carefully applied fake wounds, and his usually calm eyes held a hint of uncertainty.

"Shoto, are you quite ready?" Tenya asked, a gentle hand on his boyfriend's shoulder.

Shoto nodded, a faint blush dusting his pale cheeks. "As ready as I can be for... this."

"It's going to be fun!" Tenya assured him, squeezing his shoulder. He knew this was Shoto's first time trick-or-treating. Growing up in the Todoroki household, such frivolous activities were undoubtedly not on the agenda. Tenya was determined to make it a memorable, positive experience.

Soon, the horde of heroes-in-training descended upon the unsuspecting neighborhood surrounding U.A. High. The sheer novelty of it all seemed to slowly chip away at Shoto's stoic exterior. He watched, fascinated, as kids in tiny hero costumes ran past, clutching overflowing bags.

At the first few houses, Shoto politely took one piece of candy when offered. But as they continued, and he saw the sheer quantity of sweets being distributed, a new expression, almost childlike wonder, began to bloom on his face.

"They just... give it to you?" he murmured to Tenya after receiving a handful of miniature chocolate bars.

"Indeed! It's a tradition of goodwill and community," Tenya explained, though he suspected Shoto was more interested in the "free candy" aspect.

It wasn't long before Shoto, observing his classmates' enthusiastic consumption, began to partake more freely. A crunch of a hard candy here, the rustle of a wrapper there. Tenya, ever observant, noticed the increasing frequency of these sounds.

"Shoto, are you pacing yourself?" he inquired gently as Shoto unwrapped his third full-sized candy bar.

Shoto merely hummed, his mouth full of nougat and caramel. "It's... good."

As the evening wore on, the group's candy bags grew heavy, and their laughter echoed down the streets. Shoto, still mostly quiet, was now clutching his stomach with one hand as he walked, his zombie makeup doing little to hide the slight pallor on his face. Tenya, walking beside him, noticed the subtle changes. Shoto's steps were a little slower, his usual calm demeanor replaced with a faint wince every now and then.

"Are you feeling alright, my dear?" Tenya whispered, leaning closer so their friends wouldn't overhear.

Shoto shook his head, looking down at his shoes. "My stomach... it's doing something strange."

"Too much candy, perhaps?" Tenya suggested, a knowing, albeit sympathetic, look on his face.

Shoto nodded miserably. "I think so. It was... very good, though."

Tenya stifled a small chuckle. "I'm sure it was. But perhaps we should consider heading back to the dorms?"

Shoto's head shot up, his eyes wide with a flicker of panic. "No! I'm ruining it. It's my first time, and I'm already... I don't want to make everyone leave."

"Nonsense, Shoto. You're not ruining anything," Tenya reassured him, taking his hand. "Besides, I believe even the most seasoned trick-or-treaters sometimes overindulge. We can simply make our excuses and head back. You're not the only one feeling the effects of this sugary onslaught, I assure you."

With a quick, whispered explanation to Midoriya and Uraraka about Shoto feeling a little unwell, Tenya gently guided Shoto away from the boisterous group. The walk back to the dorms was quieter, punctuated only by Shoto's occasional, soft groan.

Once they were back in the relative quiet of Heights Alliance, Tenya led Shoto directly to their shared room. He helped Shoto out of his zombie costume, replacing it with comfortable sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. He then brewed a cup of ginger tea, hoping to settle Shoto's upset stomach.

Shoto sat on the edge of his bed, looking dejected. "I really messed it up," he mumbled, accepting the warm mug from Tenya. "It was supposed to be fun, and I just... ate too much."

Tenya sat beside him, gently rubbing Shoto's back. "You didn't mess anything up, Shoto. You simply experienced something new, and perhaps learned a valuable lesson about moderation when it comes to sweets." He smiled softly. "It's all part of the experience. And besides, I rather enjoyed seeing you so enthusiastic about something so... ordinary."

Shoto looked up, a faint hint of a smile touching his lips. "You did?"

"Of course," Tenya confirmed, his voice warm. "Your wonder was quite endearing. And I would much rather spend the evening here, ensuring your comfort, than anywhere else." He pressed a soft kiss to Shoto's forehead. "You didn't ruin anything, my love. You simply made it our own version of Halloween."

As Shoto sipped his tea, the warmth spreading through him, he leaned into Tenya's embrace. The rumble in his stomach was still there, but it was less insistent now, replaced by a different kind of warmth – the comforting presence of his boyfriend. Maybe he had eaten too much candy, but he also had Tenya, and that made even a slightly upset stomach feel not so bad after all.

Tenya continued to rub Shoto's back, silently comforting him as the sounds of their friends' triumphant return from trick-or-treating began to filter into the dorms. He knew Shoto might still feel a little embarrassed, but he also knew that this quiet, tender moment, was exactly where they were meant to be.

~Later that Night~

The room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the streetlamps filtering through the window and the faint, blinking light on the air conditioning unit. Shoto had drifted off, his head resting on Tenya's chest, the half-finished mug of ginger tea cooling on the bedside table.

A little after 3:00 AM, Tenya was jolted awake by a small, distressed whimper. Shoto was stirring, his body curled tightly, one hand pressed firmly against his stomach.

"Shoto? Are you alright?" Tenya murmured, his voice thick with sleep but immediately laced with concern.

Shoto just groaned, a sound muffled against Tenya's pajama shirt. "Still hurts, Iida."

Tenya gently shifted, pulling Shoto closer and sitting up slightly. He reached over to turn on the small, dim lamp on the nightstand, bathing the room in a warm, low light. Shoto's face was pale, his brow furrowed in discomfort.

"Oh, my dear," Tenya whispered, reaching out to gently brush the hair from Shoto's forehead. "Let's see if we can help that."

He carefully helped Shoto lie back down, positioning him flat on his back. Tenya then pulled the covers up to Shoto's waist and, after a moment of hesitation, slowly lifted the edge of Shoto's t-shirt just enough to expose his abdomen.

"I'm going to try and rub it for you, alright? It might help move things along," Tenya explained softly, seeking confirmation.

Shoto nodded, eyes closed. "Please."

Tenya's hand, large and warm, settled lightly on Shoto's skin. He started with the lightest touch, using the flat of his palm to trace slow, deliberate circles around the navel, following the path of digestion. His movements were precise, measured, and incredibly gentle—a reflection of his careful nature.

"Breathe deeply, Shoto. In through your nose, out through your mouth," Tenya instructed, his voice low and soothing, a soft counterpoint to the quiet sounds of the dorm at night.

As he continued the belly rubs, Tenya gradually applied a little more pressure, kneading lightly at the taut muscles. The rhythm was hypnotic: round and round, slow and steady. The warmth radiating from Tenya's hand was a profound comfort.

"Is this better, Shoto? Too much pressure?"

"No," Shoto breathed out, a sigh of relief mixed into the word. "It feels... nice. Warm."

Tenya hummed in response, focusing entirely on the task. He moved his hand up and down the length of Shoto's abdomen, pressing just enough to offer relief. The feeling of Tenya's bare hand on his skin, his complete and focused attention on Shoto's minor distress, was a comfort that went deeper than just physical relief. It was a reaffirmation of Tenya's unwavering care.

After several minutes, Shoto's breathing evened out, and his body relaxed visibly under Tenya's touch. The painful tension slowly began to ease.

"Thank you, Tenya," Shoto whispered, his voice heavy with exhaustion and gratitude. He reached up, his fingers weakly curling around Tenya's wrist, keeping his hand pressed against his stomach.

"Anything for you, Shoto," Tenya replied, leaning down to press a kiss to Shoto's temple. He kept his hand firmly in place, not moving for fear of disturbing the newfound peace.

Eventually, Tenya carefully slipped his hand free only to slide under the covers and pull Shoto tightly against his side, draping an arm securely over him. Shoto nestled his head against Tenya's chest, the lingering warmth of the gentle massage and the solid, reassuring presence of his boyfriend finally chasing away the last of the sugar-induced aches. They fell back asleep like that, side-by-side, their Halloween adventure concluding in the quiet, absolute comfort of their shared bed.

[stuffednsnuggly]

The Weight of a Challenge (Part 1)

Katsuki had done something deeply stupid, and he knew it. It started innocently enough at the class’s post-training celebratory dinner, which had inexplicably featured a massive, multi-tiered meat pie challenge. He hadn't been competing, not officially, but he certainly wasn’t going to let Kaminari or Sero look like they were enjoying their portions more than him.

The problem was that competitive spirit didn't shut off, even after he’d cleared his plate and half of Sero’s neglected leftovers. Now, an hour later, back in the common room, his internal competitive trophy was manifesting as a searing, tight ache just below his sternum.

He sat on the worn couch, rigidly upright, using a textbook he wasn't reading as a shield. Every subtle shift or laugh from his classmates was a vibration that tightened his already agonizingly full stomach. He’d tried the usual Bakugo coping mechanisms: growling, glaring, and clenching his fists. None of it made the feeling go away. It just made him look like he was having a particularly volatile internal monologue, which wasn’t unusual, but the underlying discomfort was making him desperate.

He saw Eijiro folding laundry nearby, humming some terrible punk track. Kirishima glanced over, and immediately, his sharp, red eyes narrowed slightly, catching the unnatural stiffness in Bakugo’s shoulders.

"Hey, Bakugo, you look like you're about to spontaneously combust," Kirishima commented lightly. "Everything alright?"

The question was casual, but the gaze wasn't. It was the look that saw past the smoke and straight to the panic.

Bakugo shot him a look that could melt steel, but there was no real heat in it, only strain. He slammed the textbook shut, stood up with a jerky movement that made him instantly regret his life choices, and strode toward the redhead. He didn't say a word, just grabbed Kirishima's wrist in a surprisingly gentle, but firm, grip and started hauling him toward the staircase.

"Woah, okay!" Kirishima laughed, dropping a pair of folded socks but following instantly, knowing better than to fight this sudden, urgent demand for privacy. "Where are we going?"

Bakugo didn't answer until they were behind the locked door of his dorm room. He immediately shed his hoodie—another garment that felt like it was pressing in on him—and collapsed face-up onto his bed, staring fiercely at the ceiling.

"Lay down," he grunted, the command muffled by the weight in his chest.

Kirishima didn't need another order. He carefully shut the door, tossed the discarded hoodie on the floor, and climbed onto the bed next to Bakugo. He watched the blonde’s tightly drawn expression for a moment, waiting for an explanation that he knew might never come.

Instead of prodding, Kirishima just settled in. He shifted until he was lying close, his head resting heavily on Bakugo's chest, right over his beating heart. The rhythm was faster than usual, a subtle tremor he felt rather than heard.

His hand, seeking an anchor, moved mindlessly, instinctively. It brushed over the thin fabric of Bakugo's shirt and drifted downward, settling flat on the tense expanse of the blonde's abdomen.

The first thing he registered was the sheer, surprising rigidity. It wasn't the hard, toned muscle he was used to; this was bloated and taut, resistant under his fingers. It was so full it felt like Bakugo might pop.

Ah. That's what this was about.

Kirishima let out a slow, silent breath and didn't mention the obvious. He just began to move his hand, applying the barest amount of pressure, tracing soft, slow, circular patterns over the overstuffed skin.

Bakugo didn't move for a long moment. Then, his tense body seemed to deflate fractionally, a minuscule shift that signaled surrender. He let out a low, shaky sound that wasn't a growl or a word, but a noise of pure, relieved discomfort. Without opening his eyes, Bakugo brought his own arm up and rested his heavy, warm hand over Kirishima's, gently trapping the comforting touch against his full stomach.

They lay there in silence, the ache slowly subsiding under the warmth of the touch and the security of knowing the secret was safe.

[stuffednsnuggly]

A Gentle Relief

The quiet hum of the common room was a stark contrast to the lively dinner they’d just shared. Tenya Iida walked a little slower than usual, his posture just a fraction stiffer. He was trying to look like the picture of his usual composed self, but the truth was, he felt like he might burst out of his crisp white shirt.

Their class had decided on an all-you-can-eat yakiniku buffet to celebrate acing their latest hero ethics test. Being Iida, he had taken the challenge very seriously, determined to get his money's worth and, more importantly, uphold the honor of Class 1-A's appetite. Now, as he settled onto the worn, comfortable couch in the corner of their dorm lounge, he carefully positioned a thick, knitted blanket over his lap, trying to hide the tell-tale bulge beneath his button-down.

Shoto Todoroki sat beside him, silent and observant as always. He hadn't overeaten; Todoroki possessed an almost unsettlingly moderate approach to everything, including buffets. He shifted closer to Iida, a silent gesture of comfort he’d grown accustomed to making.

"That was… a rather extensive meal," Iida said, his voice a little too formal, a little too loud. He straightened his glasses, attempting to appear focused on the muted news report playing on the television.

Todoroki simply nodded, his eyes soft. "You ate enough for two people, Iida. You don't need to hold your breath."

Iida's shoulders slumped, defeated. "It is just… not very dignified, Todoroki. I feel… quite packed." He placed his hands stiffly on his thighs, his usual impeccable posture now a genuine effort against the internal pressure. He could practically feel the strain on the top button of his pants.

Todoroki didn't say anything more. He just reached out, his hand sliding over the thick, soft blanket covering Iida's middle. His touch was feather-light, barely disturbing the fibers, but it was enough. He began to rub, a slow, mesmerizing rotation over Iida's stomach.

The warmth of Todoroki's hand, even through the blanket, was instantly soothing. Iida let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, his entire body relaxing into the cushions. The bloated tummy beneath the fabric was firm and swollen, a testament to his ambition at the buffet, and the gentle friction of the belly rubs was a pure, focused comfort that started to ease the tightness.

"You should really unbutton your pants, Iida," Todoroki murmured, his eyes fixed on the peaceful curve of Iida's cheek. "It will help."

Iida hesitated for a moment, his sense of decorum battling his physical discomfort. The comfort won. He quickly slipped a hand under the blanket and discreetly undid the top button, instantly letting out a quiet, grateful groan as the pressure eased.

Todoroki’s hand continued its steady, hypnotic circles. The motion felt so good, so targeted, that Iida finally gave in completely. He moved his own hand, guiding Todoroki's under the blanket, directly onto his swollen, packed tummy.

Todoroki's fingers, cool and smooth, made direct contact with the taught fabric of his undershirt, and the effect was immediate. He began to rub more deliberately now, his palm cupping the impressive, round swell of Iida's stomach. A long, shuddery breath escaped Iida, and a moment later, a quiet, muffled, soft burp escaped his lips.

He flushed slightly, but Todoroki only smiled a small, gentle smile. "Better out than in, Iida."

Iida let his head rest back against the couch, his glasses slightly askew, his hand resting trustingly over Todoroki’s on his round, full belly. The quiet warmth of the room, the soft weight of the blanket, and the simple, profound comfort of Todoroki's touch were exactly what he needed. The ambitious Hero of tomorrow could wait; for now, Tenya Iida was just a boy with a very full stomach, being quietly cared for.

"Thank you, Todoroki," Iida whispered, his voice thick with a mixture of relief and contentment.

Todoroki shifted slightly, pulling Iida closer until the other boy's head rested comfortably on his shoulder. "Any time, Iida. Just rest."

[stuffednsnuggly]

Not Weak, Just Wounded

The low, amber glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows, making the shared dorm room feel like a quiet, cozy cave. Tenya Iida sat propped against the pillows, a picture of calm reassurance, with Shoto Todoroki nestled between his legs.

Shoto was usually a fortress of cool composure, but tonight, his brow was furrowed, and a faint, embarrassed blush dusted his cheeks. His stomach was waging a tiny, uncomfortable war, a rare bout of bloating and indigestion that left him feeling awkward and vulnerable. His maroon sleep shirt stretched slightly over his noticeably full abdomen.

“It’s really nothing, Iida,” Shoto mumbled, eyes fixed on the blankets. He was stiff, unused to being fussed over, especially for something as trivial as a stomachache. In his childhood, discomfort was something you endured silently. Asking for help or comfort felt foreign and weak.

Tenya only smiled gently, his glasses glinting in the soft light. He didn’t pressure him. “Nonsense, Shoto. Everyone feels unwell sometimes. It’s perfectly normal, and there is no need to feel ashamed. Let me help.”

He positioned his hands, warm and large, on Shoto’s stomach, resting them gently, not quite rubbing yet. “Where does it hurt most?” he asked, his voice a low, steady rumble that somehow settled Shoto's nerves more than any medicine could.

Shoto hesitated, then sighed, a soft sound of surrender. “Just… everywhere. Full.”

Tenya started with light pressure, his thumbs beginning to circle slowly, clockwise, following the path of digestion. Belly rubs were new territory for Shoto. At first, he tensed, wanting to pull away, but the heat from Tenya’s palms was surprisingly soothing, a steady anchor against the turbulent sea inside him.

“Is that better?” Tenya murmured, his chin resting lightly on the top of Shoto's head.

“...Yes,” Shoto admitted, his voice barely a whisper. He leaned back further into Tenya's embrace, allowing himself the luxury of simply receiving care. The gentle kneading worked wonders; he could feel the knots loosening, the pressure shifting. A deep, wet gurgle sounded from his midsection, a startlingly loud noise in the quiet room.

Shoto’s blush deepened instantly. He tried to cover his belly with his own hands, his anxiety spiking.

Tenya chuckled softly, a warm, non-judgmental sound. He nudged Shoto’s hands away. “See? It’s just working things out. That’s good progress.”

He moved his hands down slightly, focusing on a particularly tight spot. He pressed a little firmer, maintaining the slow, rhythmic circles. A moment later, Shoto jolted slightly as a soft, muffled burp escaped his lips, quiet and airy, a small puff of release.

He immediately buried his face in the pillow, mortified.

“Excellent!” Tenya praised, completely unbothered. He pulled Shoto closer. “That’s what we want. Don’t be embarrassed, my dear Shoto. It means relief is coming.”

Tenya continued the soothing massage, a silent promise of patience and unwavering support. He didn’t offer advice or try to fix it quickly. He simply offered comfort—a steady warmth, a quiet presence, and a hand that never wavered.

As the massage went on, Shoto's stiff posture softened. His heavy eyelids drooped, and his breathing became slow and even. The tension eased from his stomach, replaced by a lingering, pleasant warmth. He realized this was what care felt like—a safe harbor where he didn’t have to be strong or silent.

He shifted, turning slightly to snuggle his head under Tenya’s chin, his full stomach pressing lightly against Tenya’s midsection. He whispered, his voice thick with drowsy relief, “Thank you, Tenya.”

Tenya squeezed him gently. “Always, Shoto. Now sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

With the rhythmic sound of Tenya’s slow, steady breathing above him and the comforting weight of his hands still resting lightly on his now-calm stomach, Shoto drifted off, the embarrassment forgotten, replaced entirely by a profound sense of safety.

[stuffednsnuggly]

Kirishima's Secret Intervention

After the Credits Roll

The movie finally sputtered to a close, ending with the usual rushed, cheesy victory and a groan of disappointment from the assembled Class 1-A students. Lights came on slowly, bathing the common room in a soft, non-judgmental glow.

Bakugo, though still a little tender, felt a thousand times better. He slowly unlaced his fingers from Kirishima’s, a movement so subtle no one would notice, and pushed himself upright. The bloating had significantly subsided, and the sharp cramps were replaced by a dull, manageable ache.

"That was terrible," he announced, loud enough for everyone to hear, folding his arms in their usual defiant pose. "Next time, I'm picking the movie."

"Sure thing, Bakubro! You can pick the horror movie where the monster is a giant, sentient gas bubble!" Kaminari snickered, instantly regretting it when a murderous glare was leveled his way.

Kirishima just smiled, giving Bakugo’s knee a quick, reassuring squeeze before standing up. "I'm heading up to crash. You coming, Bakugo?"

"Tch. Yeah, whatever, Shitty Hair."

He followed Kirishima towards the elevator, moving with a slight, deliberate stiffness that only his boyfriend would recognize as a lingering discomfort.

Once they were safely inside the elevator, the metal doors sliding shut on the rest of the world, Bakugo finally dropped his guard. He leaned his head back against the cool wall, crossing his arms over his chest again, but this time, it was protective rather than aggressive.

Kirishima didn't say a word. He just reached out, his hand resting lightly on Bakugo’s hip.

"It was just some spicy chili, dumbass," Bakugo muttered, staring up at the changing floor numbers, suddenly finding the small, painted numbers incredibly fascinating.

"I know," Kirishima said, his voice soft and low, a secret just for the two of them. "But even a pro hero needs a little help sometimes, Katsuki."

Bakugo scoffed, a purely defensive noise, but his lip twitched. He uncrossed his arms and reached over, quickly gripping Kirishima’s wrist. It wasn't a hostile grab; it was a firm, silent pressure.

"Thanks," he forced out, the word feeling foreign and rough on his tongue. He never said it. Never.

Kirishima grinned, his signature sharp-toothed smile. "Anytime, man. You know I've always got your back... or your belly, as the case may be."

The elevator dinged, announcing their floor. Bakugo yanked his hand away, his cheeks feeling warm despite his best efforts to suppress the flush.

"Don't get any stupid ideas," he warned, stepping out first. "You tell anyone about this, and I'll send you to the ICU."

"My lips are sealed, bro," Kirishima replied, following him out. He knew Bakugo's threats were meaningless when it came to their privacy. His only victory was the small, comfortable warmth blooming in his chest.

Bakugo reached their room and quickly unlocked the door, stepping inside. Before he could slam it shut, Kirishima slipped in right behind him.

"You need anything else? Tums? A hot pack?" Kirishima asked, his tone still gentle.

Bakugo was already shucking off the oversized dungarees. "Just you being quiet," he huffed. He threw the dark green fabric onto a chair and collapsed onto his bed.

Kirishima didn't push. He just changed quickly and slid in beside his boyfriend. He pulled the blanket up, and after a moment of consideration, he settled his hand once more on the still-slightly-tender, firm curve of Bakugo’s stomach, under the blanket, concealed from all.

This time, there was no pain, just the lingering, residual comfort. Bakugo made a low, content sound and shoved his face into Kirishima's shoulder, already half-asleep.

"Good night, Katsuki."

"Yeah, whatever."

But the way he subtly pressed back against the slow, steady rhythm of Kirishima's hand spoke volumes more than any grateful word ever could.

[stuffednsnuggly]

Last part of The Nap After the Feast

The light filtering in from a small window had changed from the deep orange of dusk to the cool blue of dawn. Kabru’s neck was stiff. His arm, still resting protectively over the captain’s massive, soft middle, was completely numb.

He cracked one eye open. Mithrun was still deeply asleep, his silver hair a mess, his mouth slightly parted, and his cheek pressed firmly into Kabru’s chest. The rhythmic rising and falling of his abdomen was less pronounced now, the 3 pounds of Dragon Meat having apparently settled into a slightly less terrifying state of matter.

The others—the elves and the shaggy creature Fa—had eventually dispersed, leaving Kabru alone to act as the captain’s unwilling human cushion.

A few more moments passed in agonizing stillness. Kabru was starting to believe he might have to surgically remove himself from the captain when Mithrun’s eyes suddenly, alarmingly, snapped open.

He blinked, his single functioning eye (the other was as lazy and unfocused as ever) trying to process the sight of the low ceiling. Then he registered the pressure on his stomach and the chainmail beneath his cheek.

Mithrun slowly turned his head to look up. His expression, usually empty or mildly aloof, was now a perfect blend of confusion, mild horror, and the dawning realization of extreme physical discomfort.

He was looking directly into Kabru’s tired, bloodshot eyes.

“...Kabru,” Mithrun’s voice was a low, rusty croak. He paused, testing his voice, which seemed to awaken the residual pain in his stomach. He winced.

“Good morning, Captain,” Kabru replied, his voice flat with hours of exhaustion. “Glad you didn’t set off the chain reaction.”

Mithrun pushed himself up slightly, trying to sit straighter, but the movement was too much. A wave of nausea, combined with the sheer inertia of his overstuffed gut, made him immediately regret it.

He slumped back down onto Kabru. “...I feel as though I was devoured by a very large earth dragon and am now being digested very slowly,” Mithrun murmured, his gaze drifting aimlessly.

“Yeah, well, you ate one,” Kabru grumbled. He gently moved his numb arm and carefully prodded Mithrun’s belly with his fingertips. It was still firm and round, but less rock-hard than before. “You still feel like a balloon. Do you remember… anything?”

Mithrun’s eye focused briefly on Kabru’s face, then drifted to the hand resting on his stomach. He seemed genuinely perplexed.

“I recall the scent of fire-laced meat… and then… an unusual sense of calm. A deep, heavy slumber,” he said, his elven apathy conflicting strangely with the very human distress of his digestive system. “There was a constant, soothing motion. It was… effective. Like a spell.”

Kabru’s blush returned, hot and fast. He looked away, fiddling with a piece of his chainmail.

“That was not a spell, Captain,” Kabru said stiffly. “That was me, guarding you from yourself. And it was belly rubs.”

Mithrun was silent for a long moment, staring blankly at the wall. Then, he looked back at Kabru with that same deep, empty curiosity he reserved for analyzing ancient magic.

“...Fascinating,” Mithrun said, finally. He shifted again, but this time, he didn’t move off of Kabru. Instead, he leaned back into the warmth and support of the human's body. “It seems I require further… therapeutic assistance to fully integrate that meal.”

He reached up with a pale hand and, with slow deliberation, placed it directly over Kabru’s own hand, pressing it gently down on his belly.

“Continue, Kabru,” Mithrun commanded, closing his eyes once more. “And perhaps… lower your voice.”

Kabru stared down at the captain, who was already verging on sleep again, his demanding little elven hand trapping Kabru’s own. Kabru was furious, exasperated, and yet, completely unable to stop himself from sighing and resuming the gentle, ridiculous, intimate ritual of rubbing the captain's overstuffed stomach.

I am absolutely not getting paid enough for this, Kabru thought. But if he throws up on the noble carpet, I’m the one who has to clean it.

And so, Kabru continued to rub, the warrior resigned to his role as the captain’s personal human digestive aid.

[stuffednsnuggly]

The Nap After the Feast Part 2!!!

The silence in the room, broken only by Mithrun’s steady, deep "ZzZzZ", was heavier than any armor Kabru had ever worn. He was trapped—not by a monster or a magical ward, but by the sleeping, over-fed captain leaning against him. He dared not move.

“See?” the silver-haired elf whispered, her voice carrying easily in the stillness. “I told you he works faster than a spell. Look at him, utterly subjugated.”

Kabru gritted his teeth, his face burning. “I didn’t subjugate him, I kept him from creating a biological hazard!” he hissed back, though his voice was barely a breath. The gentle, rhythmic expansion and contraction of Mithrun’s stomach against his own hand made it difficult to maintain his annoyed stance. He had to admit, the captain looked incredibly peaceful, all the usual intense, slightly annoyed energy gone. He was just... soft, and very, very full.

The blonde elf, having finished her meal, walked over and peered at Mithrun. "Is he going to be okay? He ate more than I thought was possible for a non-dragon."

"He's fine," Kabru mumbled, keeping his voice low. "Just sleeping it off. He needed to settle his stomach." He shifted his hand slightly, resuming the small, careful circles. He had to keep doing it; if he stopped, he was afraid Mithrun would wake up and feel sick again, and then they'd be back to square one.

The dark-skinned elf smirked. "So, you are responsible for his wellbeing after all."

Kabru sighed, defeated. "Shut up. Someone has to be."

Suddenly, Mithrun let out a massive, rumbling sigh that shook his entire body. His arm flopped slightly, knocking a loose piece of chainmail on Kabru’s shoulder. The movement pulled his white coat tighter, revealing the roundness of his stomach again.

"He's not gonna wake up, is he?" Kabru asked the others anxiously.

The shaggy creature, whose name Kabru vaguely remembered as being Fa or something similar, padded closer, its large head tilting. It sniffed Mithrun’s protruding belly, then let out a small, satisfied, humming sound. "He's very full. Like a good winter store. Sleep will be deep."

Kabru took a deep breath, resigning himself to his fate. He was going to be here for a while. He shifted again, trying to get comfortable, carefully adjusting Mithrun so his head rested better. As he did, he noticed his own arm, wrapped around the captain's midsection, felt strangely natural. He was supporting him, anchoring him.

Looking down at the serene, slumbering face of the notoriously difficult Captain Mithrun, Kabru felt a surprising warmth that had nothing to do with his blush. He was tired, his back was starting to ache, and he smelled faintly of dragon meat, but Mithrun was asleep, and he was safe. For now, that was enough. He closed his own eyes for just a moment, letting the gentle weight of the captain lull him into a state of weary peace.

Final part coming soon…

[stuffednsnuggly]

Kirishima's Secret Intervention

(Kirishimas pov)

Ah, Bakugo. My tough, explosive, secretly soft boyfriend.

The moment he'd clamped his jaw shut after eating Sero’s chili, I knew we were in for a bumpy ride. He was trying his best to look stoic, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the cheesy monster on the screen, but I could feel the tension radiating off him. He was pulled tight as a guitar string, and the way he’d subtly angled his body forward—hiding the slight, angry swell of his gut—told the whole story.

He let out that choked, strangled sound, a stifled burp that was pure, painful effort, and I knew I had to act. He’d sooner spontaneously combust than admit he had gas in front of the others.

I kept my gaze fixed on the screen, letting my expression stay neutral. Nobody would suspect a thing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pinky was asleep, and the rest of the class were too engrossed in the movie or their own conversations to notice. Perfect.

I let my arm drop from the back of the sofa and snaked my hand down, sliding it under the edge of his loose, dark green dungarees. I pressed my palm flat against the tight fabric covering his lower stomach. It was warm, taut, and frankly, a little hard. Poor guy was really bloated.

He stiffened immediately, a startled glance shooting over to me. His eyes were wide and annoyed, a silent but sharp "What the hell are you doing?!"

I didn't answer out loud. I just leaned in and mouthed, “Subtlety is my specialty, bro,” giving him my best reassuring smirk.

Then, the belly rub started. I kept the movement small and slow, just using the pad of my thumb to draw gentle circles, focusing on the area just below his navel. It was less about massage and more about firm, steady warmth—an anchor for his discomfort. I could feel a low, churning vibration beneath my palm, and a little chuckle escaped me.

“You look like you swallowed the monster from the screen, ‘Tsu,” I whispered, just loud enough for him.

“Shut your damn mouth, Shitty Hair,” he grumbled back, though he didn't pull away. That was my permission. He might grumble, but he always accepts the help when he’s hurting.

I widened the massage, gently kneading his stomach. He let out a muffled, painful “Nnngh—” as a wave of gas hit him. I knew he was trying to hold it all in, which just made the cramps worse.

I shifted my hand, applying gentle but firm pressure over the most distended area, moving in slow, clock-wise circles to encourage things along. I could feel his muscles start to reluctantly relax under my touch. Finally, a series of small, pressurized puffs of air—the stifled burps—escaped against my shoulder. The tension in his core melted away, and he let out a long, quiet sigh.

He was still too prideful to talk about it, but he didn't need to. He just settled his own hands over mine, his fingers intertwining with mine, a silent acknowledgment of thanks.

“Pass me a pillow, Shitty Hair,” he commanded, the growl back in his voice, but softer now. “My back is getting stiff.”

I smiled. The immediate crisis was over, but the discomfort lingered. I handed him the pillow, and as he propped it against the armrest, my hand stayed exactly where it was, continuing the slow, gentle belly rubs. It was just part of the background now, a silent, comforting connection.

It's what we do. He's tough enough to take on villains, but he's also allowed to have a belly ache. And I'll always be there, ready to be his rock, even if he'd kill me if I ever told anyone.

[stuffednsnuggly]

The Nap After the Feast

The silence in the room, broken only by Mithrun’s steady, deep "ZzZzZ", was heavier than any armor Kanye had ever worn. He was trapped—not by a monster or a magical ward, but by the sleeping, over-fed captain leaning against him. He dared not move.

“See?” the silver-haired elf whispered, her voice carrying easily in the stillness. “I told you he works faster than a spell. Look at him, utterly subjugated.”

Kanye gritted his teeth, his face burning. “I didn’t subjugate him, I kept him from creating a biological hazard!” he hissed back, though his voice was barely a breath. The gentle, rhythmic expansion and contraction of Mithrun’s stomach against his own hand made it difficult to maintain his annoyed stance. He had to admit, the captain looked incredibly peaceful, all the usual intense, slightly annoyed energy gone. He was just... soft, and very, very full.

The blonde elf, having finished her meal, walked over and peered at Mithrun. "Is he going to be okay? He ate more than I thought was possible for a non-dragon."

"He's fine," Kanye mumbled, keeping his voice low. "Just sleeping it off. He needed to settle his stomach." He shifted his hand slightly, resuming the small, careful circles. He had to keep doing it; if he stopped, he was afraid Mithrun would wake up and feel sick again, and then they'd be back to square one.

The dark-skinned elf smirked. "So, you are responsible for his wellbeing after all."

Kanye sighed, defeated. "Shut up. Someone has to be."

Suddenly, Mithrun let out a massive, rumbling sigh that shook his entire body. His arm flopped slightly, knocking a loose piece of chainmail on Kanye’s shoulder. The movement pulled his white coat tighter, revealing the roundness of his stomach again.

"He's not gonna wake up, is he?" Kanye asked the others anxiously.

The shaggy creature, whose name Kanye vaguely remembered as being Fa or something similar, padded closer, its large head tilting. It sniffed Mithrun’s protruding belly, then let out a small, satisfied, humming sound. "He's very full. Like a good winter store. Sleep will be deep."

Kanye took a deep breath, resigning himself to his fate. He was going to be here for a while. He shifted again, trying to get comfortable, carefully adjusting Mithrun so his head rested better. As he did, he noticed his own arm, wrapped around the captain's midsection, felt strangely natural. He was supporting him, anchoring him.

Looking down at the serene, slumbering face of the notoriously difficult Captain Mithrun, Kanye felt a surprising warmth that had nothing to do with his blush. He was tired, his back was starting to ache, and he smelled faintly of dragon meat, but Mithrun was asleep, and he was safe. For now, that was enough. He closed his own eyes for just a moment, letting the gentle weight of the captain lull him into a state of weary peace.

Part 2 coming soon…

Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your

(Based off of artwork by @fangusfungs)

[stuffednsnuggly]

Kirishima's Secret Intervention

(Bakugos pov)

The low murmur of the movie and the occasional rustle of a snack bag were the only sounds filling the U.A. common room. On the plush sofa, nestled between the armrest and Kirishima, Katsuki Bakugo was trying his absolute best to look like he was riveted by the cheesy monster flick.

In reality, his entire focus was on the war raging in his gut.

It had started innocently enough with that extra-spicy chili bowl Sero had concocted for "Movie Night Munchies." Now, Bakugo's stomach felt like a pressurized balloon, a painful, gassy testament to his momentary lapse in culinary judgment. He’d hunched his shoulders forward, pulling the oversized, dark green dungarees over his orange hoodie, hoping the loose fabric would conceal the slight, painful roundness of his middle.

He was doing a decent job, he thought, until a particularly painful upward surge caught him off guard. His mouth clamped shut, and a sound that was less a burp and more a choked, wet "Hk!" escaped. He instantly coughed into his fist, glaring around in case anyone had heard. Pinky was snoring softly, Deku was whispering theories to Todoroki, and Kaminari was trying to sneak a chip from Jirou's bag—nobody was looking.

Almost nobody.

Beside him, Eijiro Kirishima hadn't moved his gaze from the screen, but Bakugo felt the subtle shift in his boyfriend's weight. Kirishima’s arm, which had been resting along the back of the sofa, suddenly snaked forward, not to the front, but low down, out of sight of anyone across the room.

His hand settled, warm and gentle, right over the taught fabric of the dungarees, cupping the lower swell of Bakugo’s upset stomach.

Bakugo stiffened instantly, his eyes shooting to Kirishima's face. The redhead still stared straight ahead, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips, as if fully aware of the blonde's internal chaos.

"Subtlety is my specialty, bro," Kirishima mouthed silently, his tone light and teasing, even as the warmth of his hand was already an anchor against the cramp.

Then, the belly rub began. Kirishima’s thumb started an easy, slow circle just below the blonde’s navel. It was barely a touch, soft and rhythmic, but under the pain, it felt like an oasis. The pressure was just enough to encourage things to move, but not so much as to hurt.

Bakugo let out a slow, controlled exhale, trying to relax his core muscles, which were currently fighting a losing battle against expansion.

"You look like you swallowed the monster from the screen, 'Tsu," Kirishima whispered, leaning in so the comment was just for him.

"Shut your damn mouth, Shitty Hair," Bakugo growled back, though it lacked any real heat. He leaned into the touch, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement that gave Kirishima permission to continue.

A low, vibrating rumble sounded from Bakugo’s gut, loud enough that Kirishima felt it under his palm. Kirishima just chuckled quietly, moving his fingers up a little higher, kneading gently.

The relief wasn't instant, but it was coming. Bakugo felt another gaseous wave rise, this one stronger. He twisted his shoulders further inward, pressing his chin to his chest, and managed to suppress the sound into a tight, muffled "Nnngh—" against his own collarbone. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

"Easy, Katsuki," Kirishima murmured, his thumb drawing a slow, figure-eight pattern. "It's all good. Just let it out."

Bakugo shook his head stubbornly, even as the pain ratcheted up again. He wasn't going to embarrass himself in front of the damn extras.

But Kirishima knew him too well. He slid his hand out and then brought it back instantly, this time resting his full, large palm flat against the most distended part of the blonde’s belly. He applied slow, steady, consistent pressure, circling and pressing gently.

The warmth and the gentle, persistent massage finally broke the dam. A series of small, surprisingly quiet stifled burps escaped Bakugo—little, pressurized puffs of air that relieved the tension and didn't even make it past Kirishima's shoulder.

He sagged slightly into the back of the couch, a grunt of genuine relief replacing the previous pained stiffness.

"There," Kirishima said, still focusing on the screen, maintaining the perfect illusion of just watching the movie while his hand continued its slow, soothing work. "See? Nothing unmanly about a little belly distress."

Bakugo didn't answer. He just settled his own hands over Kirishima's, his fingers lacing loosely with the redhead’s, giving a silent, grateful acknowledgment. The cramps were easing, the pressure receding. He could finally focus, not on the war in his stomach, but on the comforting, steady presence of his boyfriend, who always seemed to know exactly when he needed to be cared for, even when he was trying his hardest to hide it.

"Pass me a pillow, Shitty Hair," Bakugo commanded, his voice back to its usual growl, if a little softer. "My back is getting stiff."

Kirishima smiled, still watching the screen, but his hand never left its comforting spot. "Sure thing, man."

And under the cover of the fluffy pillow, the subtle, slow belly rubs continued, a silent, caring secret between them for the rest of the movie night.

[stuffednsnuggly]

The Unbeatable Stuffed Hero

The air in their shared apartment felt thick with the savory scent of ramen, a scent that clung to their hero costumes even after a quick change. Eijiro Kirishima was practically vibrating with satisfied energy, his usual enthusiastic grin stretched wide across his face.

"Man, that was awesome," he said, dramatically stretching his arms above his head, drawing attention to his slightly round, satisfied belly. He was wearing his comfiest, baggiest sleep shorts and a loose t-shirt, though the shirt was currently bunched up, revealing his bare torso. "Thirteen bowls, Bakugo. Thirteen! I haven't eaten that much since the last training camp."

Katsuki Bakugo, meanwhile, was hunched over the kitchen island, his elbows on the cool stone, a dark cloud of regret forming around him. His stomach, usually a firm expanse of muscle, was distended and tight beneath the slightly-too-snug waistband of his sweats. He looked less like the explosive hero "Dynamight" and more like a very grumpy, over-inflated balloon.

"Shut up, Shitty Hair," he grumbled, his voice strained. "It was fourteen."

Kirishima chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "No, dude, you had thirteen. I had twelve, remember? You got the extra one because you wanted to beat me. And now look at you. You look like you're gonna explode for real this time."

Katsuki shot him a glare, but even his fiery eyes lacked their usual heat. He had been determined to out-eat his boyfriend. It was a competition, wasn't it? Everything was a competition. He just hadn't accounted for the sheer physical discomfort that would follow. The sheer volume of noodles and broth was fighting a vicious battle against his digestive system.

A soft, wet sound escaped his lips. A burp. It was quiet, pathetic even, and utterly mortifying. He quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.

Kirishima just laughed again, but this time it was gentler. He walked over, his own slightly-plump belly brushing against Katsuki's back.

"Come on, drama queen. Couch time," he said, tugging lightly on Katsuki's arm.

Katsuki offered a weak resistance. "Don't touch me. I'm fine."

"Yeah, you look 'fine.' You look miserable," Kirishima countered, easily pulling his heavy boyfriend toward the living room. He practically dumped Katsuki onto the plush couch, then sat beside him, turning to face him.

Katsuki immediately curled in on himself, clutching his midsection. A series of soft, churning gurgles emanated from his stomach. "Ugh. I hate this."

"I know, buddy. Here." Without asking, Kirishima gently reached out and started rubbing Katsuki's tummy. His hand was warm and large, applying just the right amount of pressure. He started high up, beneath Katsuki's ribs, and slowly worked his way down to the tight area just above the waistband of his sweats.

Katsuki tensed at the contact, ready to snap, but the feeling of Kirishima's firm, circular motions on his aching gut sent a surprising wave of relief through him. He let out a shaky sigh and, against every fiber of his being, he leaned into the touch, letting his head loll back against the cushion.

"M'not a baby, don't do that," he mumbled, though his body was clearly contradicting his words.

"I know you're not," Kirishima whispered back, his voice low and soothing. "You're just stuffed. This helps." He continued the slow, steady massage.

Katsuki's tense muscles began to relax under the comforting rhythm. He closed his eyes, his breathing deepening. The tight, painful pressure in his belly lessened with every minute.

Suddenly, a louder, more substantial sound broke the silence. A soft, prolonged 'Bwuurp' escaped Katsuki. It tasted faintly of garlic and miso. This time, he didn't try to hide it.

"Better out than in, man," Kirishima said cheerfully, keeping his hand moving. He gave a gentle pat to the bloated belly.

Katsuki just let out a low groan, but it was less of a sound of pain and more of pure, exhausted resignation. He grudgingly scooted closer, resting his head on Kirishima's shoulder, allowing his boyfriend's arm to wrap around him, his hand still diligently rubbing the overfull expanse of his stomach.

"Don't tell anyone I let you do this," Katsuki mumbled into the fabric of Kirishima's shirt.

Kirishima just chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Katsuki's head. "Never. Now stop fighting it and just relax, Bakugo. You're safe to be a stuffed, grumpy idiot with me."

Katsuki didn't reply, but the faint, contented sound of another tiny burp and the soft, rhythmic gurgling of his protesting belly was all the reluctant acceptance Kirishima needed. He just kept rubbing, happy to have his competitive, stubborn hero boyfriend finally subdued and resting right where he belonged.

[stuffednsnuggly]

Warm Hands on a Queasy Stomach

The late-night air in the dorms was quiet, a stark contrast to the lively date night Eijiro Kirishima and Katsuki Bakugo had just enjoyed. They'd hit up a new yakiniku place Bakugo had grudgingly agreed to try, and the meat had been incredible. Too incredible, perhaps.

Kirishima walked a little slower than usual as they reached the door to their shared space, his hand subconsciously pressed to his midsection.

"Hurry up, you slowpoke," Bakugo grumbled, but his voice lacked its usual sharp edge. He noticed the slight slump in Kirishima's shoulders, the way he was favoring his gut. "The hell's wrong with you?"

"Ah, nothing, man," Kirishima tried to brush it off, forcing a bright, but weak, smile. "Just... maybe a little too much beef. My stomach's been kinda churning since we left."

Bakugo just glared at him, a silent, pointed 'I told you so' hanging in the air from the one time he'd suggested sticking to the lighter sides. He pushed the door open, not saying another word, but instead of heading to his own side of the room, he walked straight to the twin-sized bed and kicked off his shoes.

Kirishima, confused, watched as Bakugo yanked back the comforter. "Oi, get in."

"Bakugo, you don't have to—"

"I said get in!" he snapped, though the heat in his tone was minimal. "You look like you're about to keel over. Now move it."

Kirishima knew better than to argue when Bakugo's rarely-seen gentle side was showing. He toed off his sneakers and scrambled under the covers, lying on his side and pulling his knees up, a soft, involuntary moan escaping him as a particularly potent bubble of gas shifted.

Bakugo settled in behind him, pulling Kirishima close so his back was flush against Bakugo's chest. Kirishima was stiff at first, but Bakugo's warmth was already starting to feel good against the chill of his upset stomach.

Then, a large, warm hand slipped under Kirishima's hoodie—the ridiculously soft, pumpkin-colored one he only wore around Bakugo—and rested right over the tense, slightly distended swell of his stomach.

"Relaaaax," Bakugo muttered against the back of his neck.

The hand began to move, a slow, continuous circular rub that was firm but not painful, right over the center of the discomfort. Bakugo’s thumb pressed lightly, feeling the hardness under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Kirishima sighed, the tension in his shoulders finally starting to release.

"Mmm... that actually feels really good, Bakugo," he murmured, his eyes starting to droop.

"Shut up. Just try to go to sleep." The rubbing didn't stop. Bakugo just kept drawing lazy, comforting circles, his fingers pressing in gently when he felt a particularly stubborn knot of tension.

A quiet, wet burp slipped past Kirishima's lips, making his eyes widen in embarrassment. "Oh, crap, sorry!"

"Don't be a damn idiot," Bakugo scoffed, but his voice was soft, an octave lower than normal. "It's gas. Just let it out." He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against Kirishima's back. "You sound like a leaky pipe, Shitty Hair."

The playful insult, coupled with the continued, soothing belly rubs, made Kirishima relax even more. He let out a few more quiet, gurgly burps, each one easing the pressure in his gut a little more. He sank further into the pillow, his head resting heavily.

Bakugo's fingers dipped slightly lower, continuing their steady work. He felt the muscles of Kirishima's tummy flutter and twitch under his palm, a sign that the digestion was finally getting a nudge.

"You're a lifesaver, man," Kirishima mumbled, his hand reaching back to cover Bakugo's large, warm one, securing it over his uncomfortable stomach. "The best boyfriend ever."

Bakugo just grunted, a noise that could have been anything from a denial to a soft agreement. He didn't stop the rubbing. Instead, he just pulled Kirishima's head back slightly, pressing a warm, dry kiss to his temple.

"Just go the hell to sleep, Eijiro."

Cradled safe and warm, with the rhythmic pressure of Bakugo's hand working magic over his pained abdomen, Kirishima's worry about the upset stomach finally dissolved, replaced by the profound, surprising comfort of his explosive, yet impossibly tender, boyfriend.