Title is based off of the comic for FEH.
Really wanted and was craving something soft and fluffy. Plus I recently got F!M!Corrin to +10 so I was extra motivated to do this.
This isn’t really WG based, it’s just a soft scene of relaxing but with them being fat lol. But did make sure to include a lot of descriptions about their size.
So here’s the first actual story (at 4.3k words) involving fat Tibarn and Grima after a year of saying I would and it also involves fat Corrin cause I love them all so much,,,
Glad how it came out and probably/hopefully do something else with them later
“Kiran...,” Taking short, shallow breaths, Corrin huffs as he rests his head on the soft large dome of Kiran’s belly.
The summoner known as Kiran past the stages of chunky, or even portly, their sizable, prodigious figure is easily shown despite their rather large and loose robes. Currently resting his back against a tree, Kiran gently yet firmly grasps Corrin’s left hand, his sausage fingers woven with Corrin’s. Eyes closed, small bags reside underneath them. Corrin residing in between the comforting spot in between Kiran’s hefty thighs, the warm sanctity of Kiran’s embrace reigns in his draconic blood. Kiran’s large gut tucked inside his cool, vibrant blue shirt, the hefty mass of fat slots itself comfortably in between Kiran’s girthy thighs. The fat from his thighs already necessitating the need for him to spread his legs, Corrin had taken up Kiran’s offer of resting in his lap.
Kiran staggeringly tall, a feat shocking to several of the heroes just as much as Kiran’s weight, Corrin’s averagely unremarkable height only accentuates Kiran’s tall figure. However, Corrin’s remarkable weight, even more remarkable than Kiran’s weight, downplays Kiran’s fat figure.
Originally trim and slim, as all the heroes from the World of Fates knew Corrin to be, Kiran’s eating habits had rubbed off on Corrin. Once used to rather barebone meals, the extra portions offered in Askr had been too tantalizing for the pampered yet neglected dragon. Even more extra portions offered due to being one of Kiran’s favorites, Corrin’s beastly state had been unable to remove all traits that his normal self contains, Corrin’s naive nature still residing inside him.
A limber yet toned, athletic figure epitomic of Corrin, the trait easily vanished as the meals began adding on the pounds. Form-fitting interlocked armor adorning his frame at all times, the extra pudge made putting on such a thing a struggle before, soon enough, the piece of metal had been scrapped all together. Transforming into his dragon state Corrin’s method of fighting, the loss of his armor was unfelt by Corrin. Especially as Kiran consoled Corrin, offering him kind words about his plump body, the extra weight a sign of his own caring for his body. Or jokes instead about how Corrin still weighed less than Kiran’s prodigious weight. The ease on his conscious made the ‘just one last plate’ or ‘a third desert’ weigh less and less heavily on Corrin’s mind, his gluttony soon growing unabashed. Soon left in nothing but the tight black spandex meant to go under his armor, the tight, stretchy fabric revealed all of Corrin’s many extra curves. His large rolling hill of a gut tucked tightly in the highly elastic waistband of his pants, his meaty, door-crushing thighs firmly wedged inside his spandex, his girthy flour bag for arms squished inside his sleeve, his cushiony pillows for breasts crammed inside the fabric of his shirt, each single body part of Corrin was visible to every hero. The extra weight easier to deny his body the draconic urges welling inside him, Corrin’s own excuse sufficiently placated him even as his body swelled up to Kiran’s size. And even further as he ate and gained even more. Even the shockingly high elasticity of his clothes stood no chance as Corrin swiftly and easily crammed increasingly higher amounts of food down his greedy maw. Kiran had taken his time getting an outfit for Corrin made, the outfit barely completed by the time Corrin’s shirt was nothing more than an ill-fitting makeshift bra.
Corrin lying down on the floor, his ridiculously round roll riddled gut rises high above him like eager yeast. His gut also blankets his body, the tucked in mound of fat going halfway down his thighs. His thighs unwilling to be left in the large doughy shadows of his gut, the girthy tubes of dough for thighs remain wider than his massive gut. The malleable flabby fat of his thighs smoosh down on the forest floor. Requiring a wide stance due to only being able to waddle, Corrin’s own legs are spread wide apart, even wider than Kiran, as a reflection of his massive cushions of fat needing copious amounts of room. His tail resting in between them, the appendage seemed to grow wider as Corrin did, the large tail resting in between Corrin’s own legs, his tail crammed inside the limited space. Corrin taking habitance in between Kiran’s thighs, Corrin’s rolls of fat overlap onto Kiran’s legs, the harsh color of Corrin’s black shirt and pants a stark contrast against Kiran’s bright white pants. Corrin’s soft jiggly stomach splays onto Kiran’s thighs, the doughy fat close to blanketing them. And it would if not for his large pants keeping his stomach and thighs contained. His ass also firmly contained inside his pants, the two cushiony mounds press up against Kiran’s spread out legs. Corrin’s breasts splay to the side similarly, the two large jugs also falling down the hill of his stomach and resting against the tire of fat known as Corrin’s neck. The neckline of Corrin’s shirt rather low, his fair creamy skin peeks out, his collarbone invisible with so much fat. The upper slivers of fat from Corrin’s sizable breasts show. Corrin rests both of his doughy, fat arms over Kiran’s lap, happily holding Kiran’s left hand with his own. Though the act is a bit more difficult than should be, Corrin’s chorizo-like fingers wedged firmly in between Kiran's sausage fingers.
“Kiran,” Corrin repeats, his face a bit strained as he grits his teeth. His chipmunk cheeks tighten up ever so slightly from the motion, but not before jiggling.
“It’s okay. You’re okay,” Kiran coos as he gazes down at Corrin’s closed eyes. Ruffling the soft silvery strands of Corrin’s hair with his free hand, Kiran runs his hands playfully through it. “You’re getting a lot better; trust yourself like I trust you,” Kiran removes his hand from Corrin’s hair; he grabs Corrin’s portly cheek, giving it a playful pinch.
“You shouldn’t trust me,” Corrin whines, letting out a gasp as a shiver runs down his spine. His dilated piercing red eyes opening wide, his back arches. Corrin’s dome of a belly rises before he falls back down, Corrin unable to get up as easily as he used to. Huffing, Corrin pants as he regains his breath.
Kiran’s hand never once leaving his own, the other reassuring hand rubs whatever part of Corrin's big body it can reach.
Corrin eye’s slowly undilate, his horns and wings no longer begging to form themselves, his breath slowly regains its normal composure. “I…” Corrin shifts his head to the side, Kiran’s warm belly conforming to it. “am nothing but a beast,”
Kiran wastes no time in responding. “You’re you,” Kiran bends slightly over, the upper flab of his stomach crinkling over Corrin’s face, Kiran’s stomach and moobs making more contact with Corrin’s vision than his face. “There are plenty of other heroes here with non-human traits. Some with draconic blood as well,” Kiran brushes Corrin’s bangs away, a warm smile offered his way. "And you try so hard, and that's what matters,"
Corrin lets out a sigh. “Thank you,” Corrin opens his mouth ever slightly but closes it before he can speak more.
"I'm glad you joined us at the castle; you're worthy of trust and care," Kiran continues strumming his fingers through Corrin's hair.
Corrin responds with a quiet hum, his free arm resting on his gut.
Kiran simply squeezes Corrin’s hand tightly in his.
The large flaps of wings sounding throughout the forest, Kiran instinctively glances up. Bringing a sizable hand to cover his eyes, a round tan mass of fat comes creeping through the trees.
Tibarn summoned quite some time ago, the rugged muscular hawk king was of a height and size comparable to that of Kiran’s. Only a few inches shorter than Kiran, Tibarn’s width had been accompanied with a heaping helping of muscle unlike Kiran’s fat frame. Prideful yet honorable, Tibarn’s outgoing nature helped facilitate bonds with other heroes, even those not hailing from the World of Radiance. Tibarn’s main method of doing so involved one of two methods: sparring or eating. Pheonicis’ mountains and cliffs not well suited for the progress of cuisine, Askr’s overflowing abundance of variety had Tibarn trying as much as he could. A grand meal often accompanied with every overwhelming victory of his, of which Tibarn’s stellar prowess in battle meant that said occurrence happened every battle, meant Tibarn’s hefty meals eventually began to add up despite his high activity. Glistening washboard abs washed away as a trickle of fat began to slowly soften them up. Once firm athletics tape unraveled and bulged from the unexpected extra pounds before Tibarn simply got rid of the tape altogether. Never shy about showing his body, Tibarn’s open green coat and unbuttoned shirt offering the perfect display of his body, soon even his shirt was tossed to the wayside. His jacket only split further down the side as the little onset of a tummy blossomed into a round dome of a gut. Able to shift into his hawk form unimpeded by his weight, the extra flab was irrelevant to him. The great conversations and the even greater meals worth the pounds. Kiran’s constant praise and side glances at Tibarn’s body only emboldened the prideful king. Tight beige pants that once illustrated his musculature instead began to illustrate his widening form, Tibarn’s pants often needing an upsizing to withstand his flabby ass. Relatively uncaring about others opinion on him, the only worthwhile opinion being on his character, Tibarn’s swelling size was unimportant to him even as he grew to Kiran’s size and even further.
Grunting, Tibarn’s face is flushed. The soft jowls offer a cuddlier depiction of Tibarn, his wide scar the only visual depiction of his rugged nature. Each massive flap of his wings creates a gust of wind, the leaves scattering all around from the gusts of air. His sizable frame a few inches from the ground, Tibarn simply lets himself down with a resounding thud. Resting a hand on his voluminous stomach, Tibarn catches his breath.
Accustomed to eating as he is to fighting, Tibarn’s great gut freely sags down. His coat uselessly flutters to the sides of his elliptical stomach. His inundated enjoyment of food visible, his stomach neatly partitions itself, a generously portioned love handle separating his two rolls for a stomach. His wave of a stomach uninhibited by fabric, the large lardy underside of his gut flows freely all the way down to his knees. The sides of his rolling gut spread out far, the blanket of fat as wide as his thighs. His overly generously sized moobs tiredly flop down on Tibarn’s shelf of a gut. Both splaying to the side, Tibarn’s saucer sized nipples jiggle freely. Another roll of fat forms under them, accentuating their bulk. The two melons for tits press up against each other, the upper curvature of them exaggerated even further. Tibarn’s sleeve once roomy, his gigantic bingo-wingo arms use up the entire expanse, Tibarn’s green coat seemingly painted onto his arm. His other arm free of the confines of a sleeve, the massive mound of fat rests down, the bunch of fat bundled up around his elbow and wrist. Tibarn’s arms alone are wider than his head. His thighs not as large as the top-heavy Tibarn, the restrictive fabric of his pants cling to his thighs, each of Tibarn’s jutting rolls of fat easily visible. The waistband of his pants no longer visible with melted icecream for a stomach covering it, the non button elastic band is invisible to all. Tibarn’s doughy hill of a back is covered by his coat, the abundant rolls hidden. His massive wings nearly touch the ground, Tibarn’s wings still far wider than his expansive frame. Though even with his strong wings, they struggle to carry his bulk for long while untransformed.
“I figured you’d be here,” Grinning at Kiran, Tibarn waddles his way over to the two. His heaping stomach in the way, his cushions for legs rub past one another. Stopping in his tracks, Tibarn hits his chest for a second before emitting a small belch, obviously having eaten before coming to find the two. “The wind tells me a lot of things. And my ears help fill me in on the rest,” Slowly waddling his way to Kiran and Corrin, Tibarn’s voluminous jet black hair bounces just as the rest of his corpulent frame does. “If you ever do lose yourself,” Tibarn offers a grin at Corrin, resting a meaty hand on his sizable love handle. “Then I’ll be there to stop you,”
“Thank you,” Corrin plainfully responds, no ill will taken from the threat.
Both of them ignore Kiran's tsk of disapproval.
Tibarn reaching the large tree, he lazily plops his ass down, resting all his weight on the tree with a heavy sigh. Resting a hand on his gut, Tibarn drapes his other arm around Kiran’s shoulder. “Though, I’d rather tie you to a bed and call it a day than kill you,” Grinning, Tibarn lets out a chuckle as Kiran scoffs.
Tibarn pressed up against Kiran, his beefy stomach digs into Kiran’s arms. Adjusting himself, wobbling and grunting accompanying it, Tibarn sighs as he rests against Kiran’s left side.
“Didn’t peg you as much of a nature person,” Tibarn lazily comments, his eyes watching the slow breezy winds flutter by.
“I have my moments,” Kiran keeps his left hand fixed to Corrin’s, his free right hand ruffling Corrin’s hair as Corrin lackadaisically remains in his lap. Both Tibarn and Corrin absolutely large, the cool evening weather offers a bit of a cooling down for Kiran with so much body heat produced from their weights. “Besides, it’s nice to get away from all the business once in a while,” Yawning, Kiran’s body tenses before unclenching as he shifts around a bit.
“I’m the opposite, I need some chaos every now and then,” Tibarn presses Kiran a bit more to himself, Corrin grumbling from the movement.
“Some? You certainly get enough for the both of us,” Removing his right hand from Corrin’s hair, he reaches around his own belly, patting the sides of Tibarn’s gut. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself before joining us,”
“Heh, I gotta show those heroes
I can still take 'em. I need to defend your honor and all that,”
Kiran scoffs once more, finding himself doing the act so often with Tibarn’s jovial nature. “I can defend my own honor. Besides, to me it looked like you did more eating than sparring,”
“You’ve found me out so easily?” Kiran mockingly raises his right hand to his plump chest.
“It’s obvious,” Corrin mumbles, his eyes still closed as his fatigue continues to creep up on him. He fidgets for a moment before his breathing calms down, his chipmunk cheeks rising with each breath.
Tibarn lets out a roarous laughter. His body reverberates from the motion, his rolls for a stomach jiggling to and fro. Kiran chokes on his own words from the surprise interruption, Kiran having forgotten about Corrin’s presence despite being in his lap, so used to him being around. Kiran slowly regains his words; he clears his throat yet Tibarn is the first to speak.
“When are we heading back? The order would collapse without you,” Tibarn’s arms still draped over Kiran’s shoulders, he squeezes Kiran’s doughy arm.
“I find that personally hard to believe,” Kiran lowers his head as Tibarn’s shrewd gaze directs itself towards him, Tibarn’s piercing amber eyes no less harsh despite his rounded face. Kiran's retort of Phoenicis doing fine without it's king dies in his throat. “But, thank you,” Kiran pauses for a moment. “And I wanna enjoy the calm atmosphere a bit more,”
“You’re just waiting for him,” Corrin whines, his eyes opening. “He’s almost here,” Corrin lazily flicks his tail in between his legs.
“There goes the atmosphere,” Tibarn shrugs off the playful jab from Kiran with a grin, his gut absorbing the blow.
“You cursed worm,” Wheezing promptly following the sentence, Grima lumbers his way past a clearing of bushes.
Grima summoned long before Corrin and even quite some time before Tibarn, Grima’s brutish, rude nature had left him rather unpopular with several heroes. Most of all, those from the World of Awakening. Still, his arbitrary, at times, nature left somewhat of a nice taste in Kiran’s mouth. All humans far beneath him, the only heroes Grima could be considered on working terms was his fellow dragons. And even the term is rather loose, Grima’s biting tongue keeping a sizable distance between himself and them. The only true decent companionship Grima found in was Kiran, the summoner able to leverage his contract to reign him in. Kiran obedient, Grima went along with it, finding him to be a serviceable minion.
Food unnecessary for Grima’s vessel, Kiran’s innocuous offer of food had the Fell Dragon’s hunger spiraling downward. A simple snack a day soon turned into a bundle of snacks throughout the day. Soon, said snacks were often accompanied by full blown meals before those became a requirement too, Grima unwilling to accept any less. Said demands made of Kiran, Grima’s incessant tasks were met everyday, his hedonistic gluttony unchecked, everyone too afraid to mention anything. Everyone besides Kiran, Kiran lavishing praise upon the copious, wanton bubbling of fat caked upon Grima’s short stature. His twig of a body ballooned out further and further, Grima’s once thin limbs widening and filling his clothes. Grima uncaring about his appearance, the tears and rips littering his outfit was deemed unnecessary, Grima only upgrading his duds whenever Kiran gave him another offering of clothes.
His clothes still the same appearance, the massively upsized clothes caress and fondle his soft pale blubber. Grima’s massively fattened state is impossible to ignore; his prodigious, girthy thighs are much harder to ignore. Grima immensely bottom-heavy, his gelatinous thighs appear affixed to one another, the soft undulating rivulets of fat pressed up against one another despite his constantly wide stance. Two column-like thighs crammed inside the soft fabric, the material contours to his shape, the flabby overlapping fat jiggling for all to see. His fat pad melds in between his blubbery thighs, the outline of it evident. Thick engorged calves help fill out the bottom of Grima’s cramped pants, his calves bouncing and wobbling about as well as Grima tiredly lifts one encumbered leg over the other. His ass his defining feature, the massive chairs for cheeks jut out behind him like his stomach. Each alone larger than Grima’s torso once was, the bulbous yet squarish mounds of fat sag down as gravity tugs it closer to the earth. The shelf for an ass ridiculously wobbles behind him. The waistband of his pants gradually falls down on the rare occasion of Grima walking. His stomach still large, the soft jiggling mass remains tucked inside his shirt, his gut reaching past his crotch. His shirt and coat are just as small on Grima’s big body as his pants. The outline of Grima’s curvaceous stomach presses against the fabric, Grima’s plump breasts defined and visible as they rest on top of his gut. His face round as a ball, the extra chins and doughy cheeks helps diminish the outward appearance of Grima’s wrathful nature. But the extra eyes on his face negate said jovial look. Though the summoner’s presence reduces Grima’s nature to that of a petulant yet dangerous beast.
“You…” Face flushed, Grima attempts a growl, his sharp teeth barred. But his smushed cheeks make it difficult for him to accomplish the sound. Eyes darting between Tibarn and Corrin, Grima squints his eyes at them. Not as keen on sharing the summoner as the two of them, Grima accustomed to occupying Kiran all to himself, he bites his tongue as Kiran smiles at him. Letting out a grunt, Grima waddles his way to the fatty pile, Kiran patting the empty spot beside him on his right.
No care in the world, Grima lets himself fall with a deafening thud, his couch for an ass cushioning the blow for him, resting his back against the tree, Grima immediately latches onto Kiran’s free hand with his own. Still catching his breath, the labored sounds of his gulps of air fill the silence for a moment.
“Tired?” Kiran jokingly asks.
“I tire of your idiocy,” Grima bites back, his head leaning back against the tree.
“You do have a short temper. It matches your cute height” Kiran sagely nods, choicely ignoring Grima’s insult.
Turning to face Kiran, Grima glares at him.
“I’m kidding,” Kiran chuckles, his soft body jiggling as a consequence. The edge of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. Kiran’s eyes follow the path of Grima’s, Grima glaring at Tibarn’s meaty arm wrapped over Kiran’s shoulder instead. “You’re getting better,” Kiran’s mind replays numerous instances of Grima snapping upon anyone touching him. Grima’s eyes gaze back as Kiran beams at him, Grima holding back a grumble in the depths of his throat. He tightens his grip on Kiran’s hand further, refusing to let go.
"How was your day?" Kiran asks. Corrin still peacefully in his lap, the feral prince's eyes remain closed. His breath slowing down, the dome of his stomach rises high in the air with each breath. Tibarn rests his head against Kiran's, the long soft black hair as pleasant to the touch as his fat. His eyes closed as well, he basks in the soft gentle winds and Kiran's presence.
"It was fine," Grima grumbles, still unused to any sort of actual respect or care for his well-being, so often needed for his strength and strength alone. A frown still eternally plastered on his face, the ends of his mouth squish from the fat, his harsh expression softer than before. Mentally aware of just how close Tibarn and Corrin are to his summoner, Grima scoots a bit closer to him, still keeping a small gap. "This damn tree is too small," Grima lies. Kiran's own chunky form pressing up against his, Grima refrains from holding back his smile, glad to dwarf the summoner in one aspect besides strength.
"Glad to see you enjoying yourself," Kiran closes his eyes, leaning his head against the tree. He yawns, his entire body suddenly wracked with exhaustion. Squished by Tibarn from the left and Corrin from the front, the gap of space still in between him and Grima feels unpleasant, too strange. "Come closer,"
Tibarn adjusts his arm a bit, the meaty appendage shifting from resting across the entirety of Kiran's shoulder to instead slink it around Kiran's head, Tibarn's hand on Kiran's doughy collarbone.
"The point is, I want you closer to me,"
"If it'll cease your grovelling,"
Kiran hums in the back of the throat as Grima struggles to shift himself closer, small grunts and complaints uttered at his usual quick, annoyed pace. Kiran expectantly bumps his arm against Grima's.
Eyes darting around the forest, Grima's tense body loosens. No worm around, Grima closes his eyes as he rests against Kiran.
"So warm…" Kiran purrs, a whine in the back of his throat.
Corrin tucked in the safety of Kiran's husky thighs, he tightly keeps his left hand interwoven with Kiran's. His right hand free, he rests it along the length of Kiran's wide leg, Corrin's head nestled on top of Kiran's gut. Corrin's gut spreads over Kiran's legs, the small little dam unable to withhold all of Corrin's fat.
Tibarn to the left of Kiran, Tibarn uses all his willpower to refrain from enveloping Kiran with all his might. His large wings tucked in, the top of Tibarn's head presses against Kiran's face, both leaning upon each other. Tibarn's gut digs into Kiran's side, smothering him as his portly ass presses up against Kiran's.
Grima to the right of Kiran, he steals Kiran's right hand, their hands fiercely interlocked. Much shorter, Grima's head rests against the soft surface of Kiran's arms. Unable to muster up a grumble, Grima's face retains a slight smile to it. His large ass envelops Kiran's side, his girthy stomach pressing up against Kiran as well.
Kiran smothered in between all three, his usual busily racing mind slows down. The cool refreshing air grazing against the bit of his flab that isn't smothered under his three favorite heroes offers a nice relaxing and cooling sensation, his body absolutely absorbed in warmth all around. So absorbed in ensuring the smooth daily ongoings of the Order of Heroes oftentimes, any time to himself is a rarity. Kiran slowly begins to doze off. He remains oblivious to the three men's alertness, all of them keeping an ear out for any hero dare intruding in on them.
All four quiet, nature's little sounds fill the ambience. The small trickle of water sounds out in the distance. The leaves rustle every so often, a random gust of wind taking a few with it each time. The small hurried footsteps of the local fauna occasionally occur, a few extra noises from their shouts or the ground stomped underneath them. The sporadic yet strong flurries of wind echo in their ears, the fabric of their coats swishing to and fro along with their hair.
Nestled up in a big bundle of fat, Kiran's breath slowly lightens up, Kiran's body growing a bit more limp as the land of dreams begin to envelop him.
Three eager men to keep watch, the entire area is clear. Kiran dozes off in between them. No one daring to approach, the three of them remain still, none of them willing to disturb Kiran or lose any time with him.
