I have all these incredible request prompts that want to turn into something but my jobs have got me exhausted! I'm having a hard time not just going asdfghjkl b-bellies
So, the best I can offer you for now is my latest brain worms about fat mechanic Steve Rogers and diner owner Bucky Barnes.
Steve starts out as this burly mechanic, always in his dusty, dirty dark blue coveralls and work boots with grease stains on his face and hands. His blond hair is fucking mess so often from running his fingers through it and getting it stained and rumbled. So, Steve is just this huge dude working on cars and trucks and even big rigs because-! His auto shop is next to the truckstop just off the interstate.
I can not stress this enough. He's a big, capable guy. Lifting heavy shit with teeth-gritted grunts, putting in the elbow grease to turn the most locked up lug nuts, sweating and swearing his way through jobs that look grim but always pulling the car or truck through. He's a damn good mechanic, so much so that he has clients that want to repay him. Truck drivers that come back through after he did them a solid with a damn good job on their rigs will bring tokens from other states, drop off homebaked food if their significant other happens to live around there, or some of them even bring gift cards. Gift cards like one to the newly opened diner just across the street in the heart of the actual truckstop.
It's an all-American diner, so at first, Steve passes it up. He can eat American food whenever he wants! He can at least make burgers on the grill. He isn't a totally helpless cook. C'mon. But when he has a gift card and works late for a client to get them back on the move... he doesn't have dinner with him, so... might as well try it.
The diner is seemingly run by this one guy, Bucky, despite how much foot traffic this place has to get with all these truckers and road trippers stopping in. Bucky's a damn fine cook, though, Steve finds that out quick. Everything he orders for dinner is moan out loud good.
The first night, he has a greasy, heavy American food feast. A bubbly coke with a thick bacon double cheeseburger and a side of heavy loaded fries. For dessert, he splurges on a wide slice of pie and a healthy scoop (scoops, really) of ice cream. Before he leaves, taking time to digest before he has to walk back, Bucky even sweet talks him into adding a milkshake to his dessert. Steve has to eat it with a spoon, the shake is that thick. It's so sweet that he can feel it in his teeth.
Bucky's food has to be enhanced somehow, though, 'cause he can't stop. It's too good. Steve's never lost control with food like that before. Woof. Steve waves it off that first night, though, he'll work off the calories easy. It's just one night.
It's not just one night.
Steve first goes back every once in a while, which turns into a few times a week to every day for lunch to... he has lunch there and then heads back to the diner for dinner, too, even if he's not staying late at the shop. Sometimes, he has dinner at the diner, and by the time he gets home, he's hungry again. So he makes himself dinner, too.
With all the greasy, stick to your ribs diner food Steve's coveralls change from baggy to fitted to tight.
His whole body gets wider. His thick, strong neck welcomes a friend in the form of a thickening double chin. His shoulders start to slope, soft and fat, not hard chistled stone. His big arms are bigger, muscle covered with this layer of pudge. His chest gets soft, so soft that his stretched nipples start to poke through his grease and sweat stained white undershirt when he rolls his coveralls down and ties them around his (fatter) waist on hot afternoons. His belly and waist are the real goners, though. His butt rounds out, and his thighs pack on enough to jiggle - something he's never experienced before - but nothing comes close to his gut. And it's a GUT. Round and firm and huge.
Even when he hasn't just stuffed himself to the point of groaning and sweating with excess, his fingers don't sink into that fat. It's hard fat that gets in the way. He presses himself harder and harder against the cars and trucks he works on, trying to get as close as he wants to be to work, but he can't get there. His belly doesn't squish nearly as much as he thought it would but... maybe he's just never empty. His stupid belly's in the way. It's in the way constantly! When he's zipping up his coveralls (and when they're already done up, his rounding stomach presses against the heavy fabric like it's trying to break free), when he's on a creeper under the chassis, he has to jack up the car more than normal now, just to make sure he fucking fits underneath the thing, when he's looking in a client's trunk for a spare tire or whatever and he has to bend over and there's his gut, oof, when he's taking the vehicle for a test drive and he has to suck in to attempt fitting behind the wheel... usually, he ends up having to adjust the whole seat, and still, his gut pushes up against the wheel. His gut can't stop being in the way but... Steve can't stop eating. He's weak for Bucky's cooking even if it's making him feel heavy duty himself, or like his body has gone from a regular truck to a big rig.
He feels it most after he's gorged himself on another unending diner meal, leaving the place bloated unbelievably, having had to unzip his coveralls or burst the zipper with all the pressure of his overfull belly. He waddles back across the street to his shop, stomach gurgling and churning audibly the whole way. Hell, as he goes, he's stifling burps behind his fist from jostling his gut too much, half-running across the road to get outta the way of traffic. He's not getting any work done like this. He can't. Too full.
He's gonna fucking lie on the floor and wait for his bloat to go down or something. His coveralls are unzipped to his big waist, and his undershirt has rolled up to expose his tight, shiny, stretch-marked gut where it sticks out between the open half's of his coveralls. Someday soon, he's not gonna be able to fit into those things. Too, soon, he's gonna get stuck in a car or underneath it or some shit, he swears. It's worth it for that food, though, God, he's addicted to it. The greasy, salty, fatty flavors. The aching fullness of too much. The way Bucky stares at him like he wants to have him for dinner as he sweats and groans and burps through his hearty meals. Lunch and dinner.
Suddenly, with an uncontrollable craving in the pit of his overgrown stomach, Steve wonders what the breakfast menu of the diner is - he's never had it. Maybe... if he heads home now, he'll get to bed early enough to digest in his sleep and wake up in time to make it here for breakfast? He can't drive with his belly in the way like this, though! What if... what if he sleeps in his shop and gets to the diner first thing? Then he can eat his heart out before work 🥵
Thinking about Steve getting so big and round that he can rest on his belly like it’s a giant beanbag and he’s alone without Bucky so he starts to belly fuck himself and is just whining and moaning and panting being very verbal while feeling himself jiggle
Asdfghjkl 🥵🥵🥵
Oh.
Warning for unbeta'd stucky belly kink ahead, including impossible/unrealistic levels of belly fat, belly humping, immobility, etc.
A stuttered, high moan bursts desperately out of Steve’s heaving chest as he squirms on top of his impossibly big gut. The sensation is otherworldly. It doesn’t feel real even though it’s so fucking visceral. It’s all he can feel. He can only feel his own fat. Fat. Fat. Fat. Huge. He’s lost in it, lost in his own fucking fat. Steve’s grown so huge. Fattened and then overfattened recklessly. Ungodly round and swollen.
Steve lets his head hang down toward his overgrown middle and chest, pecs turned to moobs to just breasts, they’re so big and fat. All of him is. And he’s out of breath, panting and gasping, just from bucking his hips down frantically, barely doing any work at all, just trying to get any sort of friction to his blubber-buried dick. He hasn’t seen his dick in so fucking long, he hasn’t had Bucky’s hand or mouth or anything of Bucky’s around his dick is so long. His dick might as well be gone at this point, all of his normal sexual pleasure replaced by the pure pleasure of consumption - eating like a madman, eating so much that his belly stretches and he moans and cries, swearing he’s going to burst at the seams, straining around all this food and drink packed and stuffed into his body. It’s how he’d like to go, though, if he has to, he’s going to ride the wave of utter unrestrained gluttony like a true pig. Steve shivers just thinking about it - oh, oh, fuck yes. His gut stretched, new marks etching themselves into his thick flesh, his stomach churning and gurgling, his skin flushed red with how big he’s made himself, his body glistening with sweat, and creaking. There’s not enough room. There’s never enough room for everything he wants inside him. Delicious, decadent food.
Steve’s thinking about stuffing himself now, while he fucks his own fat. He’s reached an entirely new plane of greed and gluttony that he can’t be stopped. He’s the size of a boulder, his belly the shape of one, and he’s going to be stopped just about as easily as a boulder rolling down the side of a mountain. Jesus, he’s greedy. He’s fat. Huge. He’s moaning, crazed with the sensation of what he’s become.
The only thing Steve has to work with to get out his throbbing, pulsing arousal is the taut, huge surface of his belly. Nothing else. He’s so big. He can’t reach anything but so of his gut. Even his belly is too big for him to reach all of it. Steve whimpers. All he can feel his the sweaty, hot sensation of his own overfattened flesh. Thick and heavy, wobbling and jiggling underneath him. All over him. He’s massive. He almost can’t breathe, his stomach is so filled and so hard and pressing into him, trying and failing to find any more room to expand into.
Still, having trouble breathing or not, with every lazy thrust of his hips, pleasure sparks inside Steve. It feels so good. Fucking his own fat. So. good. But he needs more. Still. Steve always needs more. More food, more pleasure, and more complete hedonism.
Really writhing now, not just squirming, Steve’s toes curl until the soles of his feet ache like the sizes of his absolutely massive belly do, trying to stretch around all those calories, exponentially swelling him more. More. Steve whimpers unstoppably through a burp. There’s gas inside him rolling and bubbling in his stretched stomach and intestines from the damn keg of beer Bucky poured into him (trying, in vain, to placate and satisfy the monster of Steve’s appetite that they’ve built together) before he left to work on the monumental task of gathering, buying, and then hauling all the groceries they (mostly just Steve) need at home. So, now, Steve’s gargantuan stomach is carbonated. The feeling of bubbles in him is too much. He keeps belching and moaning, the bloat, the pressure mounting inside him. He’s gonna explode. All the humping and wiggling isn’t helping, he’s making more bubbles inside himself. Pressure. More pressure, tricking his body into thinking he’s fuller and leaving him panting even harder. He’s so fat. He can’t believe it.
Actually, he can believe it. He lives in his own head with the constant onslaught of thoughts that demand moremoremoremoremore. That’s how he got so giant. More. That’s how he grew this massive, round gut that holds his body off the ground like he’s laid out on a big, plush beanbag.
More.
Lavish.
Soft.
Big.
Steve just can’t fucking help himself. He’s so gluttonous and he doesn’t want to stop. Never.
Waves of his own wobbling fat take Steve beyond reason, almost beyond pleasure. It’s fucking good. So good that he can’t comprehend what he’s become. A true, immobile beached whale. His feet can’t touch the ground, they haven’t been able to touch the ground in ages. Ages and ages that have only been filled with food and drink - filled like Steve is filled. Overfilled. Unbearably filled with literally anything that Bucky wants to shove down his throat, from greasy pizzas to rich pastas to creamy desserts to malty beer and thick milkshakes.
More.
Steve licks his lips, whining. He just keeps fantasizing about food while he humps and fucks his gut. Jiggling. Wobbling. Bloating. Slowly… slowly… slowly growing fatter, stuffed with food, and always reaching new heights. Every day that goes by he’s the fattest he’s ever been and also the smallest he’ll be from now on.
God.
Another burp makes its way out of Steve, he intends to moan, squeezing his arms and legs into the blubbery sides of his belly - what he can reach of the sides of his belly underneath him - but he can’t control whether or not he moans or burps. He can’t control himself. What’s the difference anyway at this point? Indulgence is pleasure, pleasure is indulgence; food is sex, sex is food. There is no difference. All he knows is the pure sensation of unending fat underneath him. His body. So big. He can’t comprehend how fucking huge he is and it makes him so fucking horny.
Fuck now I can't stop thinking about them taking Steve out to celebrate him for being an M.V.P for so many games and ensuing their victory at the top of the ladder, and first, they fill him with sports water and protein drinks like always until he's swollen and sloshing because they can't break the tradition, and only when they know he's in that empty-headed place he loves where he can only think about the pleasure and the sensation, that they take him out for a night on the town and pour alcohol down his gullet until he really is drunk on the feeling, and he's so used to swallowing everything they give him without hesitation that he doesn't even know that he's moved from shakes to booze. They drag him on a pub crawl and he gets more swollen, drunker, more clumsy and less coherent as the night drags on, and they play and prod and fondle and tease him all night and all he can do is enjoy it. I imagine after an entire season of the ritual his skin would be stretched from all the liquid and he'd be plump from all the protein shakes, and I can't even begin to imagine how much he'd enjoy it.
Origin and back for seconds
Fuck yes, they take their MVP out for a victory lap!
And all of Steve's hyped, rowdy teammates tease him the entire time that they're gonna roll him between bars, he's so round and sloshing and too heavy. But what actually ends up happening is two, three, four, or more guys around Steve's big, wide body at all times. It takes way too many of them, considering that they're peak athletes, strong and sturdy, but... Steve is big. Really big. So, it takes more guys to hold onto his arms, take handfuls of his fat, or tug at his indecently tight clothes to make sure that he stays on his feet as he stumbles uselessly around the crowded bar, bumping into everyone because there's nowhere where his fat ass fits. He knocks a few people over just by hitting them with his round, uncontrollable gut a few times like a bowling ball hitting a pin.
He's huge.
Steve waddles, stumbles, and burps obscenely, drunk on all the beers he's had, so full of bubbly alcohol. Bright red in the face, breathing heavily from all the hands on him - intentionally [his teammates] and unintentionally [strangers scooting past him, scoffing at how fucking out of control and tubby he is, who let the pig in here?].
His team doesn't roll him between bars, though. Instead, they're holding him up straight or they're pushing and shoving, hands hotly all over his plush body. Against his lower back (what used to be the small of his back, now nothing about him is small, he's got back rolls forming after a season of reckless, forced indulgence, piling the pounds on, getting so swole), his wide, jiggly hips, his monstrous ass, and his dimpled thighs as they try to squeeze him into an Uber. They're not done celebrating yet, but Steve is too tired lazy to walk a couple of blocks to the next bar so... they make do. Shoving, pushing, and wedging Steve in. Licking their lips when Steve hazily moans, out of it, then burps.
It just fuels them more, cracking jokes about how he should keep doing that - keep belching, gotta make him fit in this fucking car, deflate his balloon gut a little. But it doesn't do any good. He's too big. Too full. Too sloshing and drunk. There's no helping him. He can't get smaller. He can't go back to sensible consumption. He's hooked. He needs this. Fuller. Fatter. More. Humilation and praise and, just, the attention.
When he finally pops into the backseat, unsticking, only one other guy fits in the back of the car with him, and he spends the short ride groping and fondling Steve's thick fat while offering him sips of more alcohol from tiny nip bottles that he stashed in his bomber jacket just for this. Gotta keep your gains up, Rogers. Can't be slipping, you're not off the clock yet.
Steve's gonna get stuck in the next Uber when they go to the bar after this bar, the indulgence unending. That, or, they're gonna have to order the next tier up. Get a bigger fucking car just to fit Steve in it. Fuck it, maybe they don't even put him in a seat next time, maybe they order a fucking big-ass car, maybe a van, and shove him in the back like the big, round cooler he is. He's an object, he doesn't need to be buckled in! Plus, if he's in the back, untethered, the team can pile in the front and listen to him slosh and groan and roll around in the back, loving the sensation of it all - lost in his fat, lost in how full he is, lost in all of everything he's had shoved down his throat swirling around inside his drum-tight gut.
Himbo Steve that accidentally dresses super slutty
So like I’m imagining like a college au w ex jock Steve being Bucky’s roommate that’s used to just wearing what he has so he’s just wearing some running shorts but he wears that and like an old college t shirt but he’s aware enough to know he’s gotten fat but oblivious to the fact that he now looks like a blimp, so his ass is straining the poor shorts (also leaving a good amount of bulge on display in the front) and his shirt fits in the morning pretty snug ,but by the afternoon it’s riding up and he’s completely unaware so he’s just in his dorm ass fully over filling his shorts , his gut hanging out of his shorts , and his bulge just there , and Bucky comes back (maybe from class ig) but he just comes back to Steve sprawled out on their futon everying fully on display a beer or two maybe by Steve’s feet (and purely just for visual purposes you know how Chris gets that pink kinda flushed look when he’s kinda drunk, anyways I’m imagining that carrying over into Steve) and poor baby is just unaware how much of a slut he looks like (I also imagine him just adjusting his crotch in his too tight shorts but the touching just leaves him like half hard so he’s constantly readjusting but basically playing with himself) anyways Bucky sees Steve like this and it’s absolutely the final straw and he just puts his stuff down on his desk and just practically pounces on him and starts making out w him (and obviously Steve’s into it but he’s thinks it’s just out of no where still unaware how slutty he is )
Anyways can you tell I’ve been getting college ready 🤓
I have had this prompt for so long. I'm so sorry 😅😅 so hopefully you stuck around to see this request get filled and please enjoy if so!
Warning for stucky belly kink ahead. Always unbeta'd. Stuffing, weight gain, tight clothes, kink discovery, etc. all ahead!
"You-you're going out like that?" Bucky feels like his brain has blue-screened, staring at Steve as he stumbles out of the bedroom in their tiny box apartment not too far from campus.
"Like what?" Steve inhales hugely in preparation for his equally massive yawn, his belly swelling enough that the seams at the sides of his shirt audibly strain to contain him. Once he's done yawning, covering his mouth with one big hand, he smooths that hand down the dome of his belly over the thin, worn fabric clinging to him like a second skin. He's wearing the college shirt he bought their first year before their first term even began. It's gone from being white to practically transparent.
Transparent and... the shadow of his belly button is... 🥴 it's present.
And it's too early for this shit.
Why is he wearing that shirt!? 😫😫😫
The shirt he bought in school spirit and excitement before their first term even began as freshmen - before Steve stopped working out cold turkey, too much studying to keep up with his routine from football. Besides, he's not playing football in college, so why should he keep going to the gym? He doesn't need to!
He was actually a size medium, back then, but he always crammed himself into smalls. Back then, his muscles threatened to burst the seams of his shirts. And now...
It isn't his muscles that Bucky is focused on drooling over, staring through the transparent fabric. Far from it. It's his belly button. Shadowed. Deep. And always stretched by the end of the day from the food he shoved down his throat, piling up under the soft fat that's expanded out like a balloon under his shirt. Bucky is staring through the transparent shirt, not at his muscles, but at his pink, round, hard nipples. Bucky can just barely see them around the logo of the name of their school. But he can. He can definitely see them. He can see his nipples and the puffy mounds of his pecs-turned-moobs because all the excess weight he's put on stretches the logo out. It's not really obviously readable anymore - that logo. Bucky's not focused on staring at his muscles through his transparent shirt, he's drooling over his arched spine when he shrugs, "yeah, 'course," and walks around Bucky. Walking away from Bucky.
Oh, God.
Watching him walk away is worse than seeing him, soft and so, so unaware as he stumbles out of bed.
His ass in those fucking pants. Jeans. His ass in painted-on blue jeans.
His backside is ripe. It's huge. It jiggles when he walks. His thighs rub together like they did before, but it's not solid muscle anymore that doesn't shake and move so easily. Thick. Hard. It's softness. Fat. Jiggly, bouncy, rippling fat that's widened his thighs and his ass and even his whole entire waist.
Widened to the point that it makes the bottom hem of his shirt cling to his muffin top deliciously.
Bucky hasn't had breakfast yet. He could devour a dozen muffins, he thinks, and he doesn't have Steve's gluttonous appetite. He never has. Steve doesn't just have a hollow leg to store the excess food he stuffs himself with; all of his body is hollow, and it's all so stretchy. He stretches big. Wide. Fat.
"Why?" Steve's sleepy mind finally catches up to Bucky's odd, struck-dumb behavior. Questioning him.
"'Cause, because, 'c-cause," he swallows all the spit that's gathered in his mouth. He really can see the line of Steve's spine through his transparent shirt. He can see the way it's been pulled forward and pushed back to compensate for all the weight he's got on his front and all the weight on his back. His belly. His boobs. His ass.
Bucky feels faint.
"Because?" Steve prompts, lazily going about his breakfast routine - making himself an an exorbitantly sweet, exorbitantly sized protein shake, helping himself to a protein bar (or two) to snack on while he waits for the blender to be done with his shake, and two (or three) bowls of cereal with (full-fat) milk. No wonder all of his clothes look painted on. No wonder he's blown up after high school football like a blimp.
A fat, delicious blimp.
"Because someone is gonna, gonna try to pull some moves on you," Bucky pushes out a stupid excuse. A shitty little pick-up line. What he really wants to say is because one of your professors is gonna kick you out of their class for indecent exposure! I can see you're... you're... all of you!
Steve smirks around his chewing. He's already got a mouthful of protein that his body clearly doesn't know what to do with anymore, and it's only 10 in the morning. Early for their college-student asses. His throat contracts, swallowing a big chunk of it, a fattening chunk, "you think so?" Again, he smooths his hand down his front.
Is he trying to torture Bucky this morning?
Bucky nods stiffly when he realizes Steve actually wants an answer.
Steve smiles so wide that his dimples appear on his chubby cheeks.
Oh, God.
He's so hot and he's so sweet. Literally. All he seems to eat (besides everything) is sugar.
Bucky makes a strangled noise and stiffly walks around their apartment, picking up his books and binders and pencils and unplugging his laptop from its charger, loading his bag up so he can get to his first class on time.
Bucky allows himself to steal one more look at his stupid hot, stupid boyfriend before he leaves. Hand on the doorknob, looking over his shoulder, he gets the perfect eyeful of him from the side as he chugs his protein shake. Fuck. He has curves for days. He's shaped like a fucking S. Fat tits, looking irresistible in his impossibly tight shirt. Huge, round belly defying gravity, sticking straight out. Mounding asscheeks trying to bust out of his stretched jeans. He nearly lets a moan slip.
Every swallow leaves his throat bobbing and his tummy swelling larger.
"Later," Bucky calls, voice strangled.
Steve stops chugging for long enough to lick his lips, wipe his hand across the shining, wet surface of his plump lips, burp unashamedly, and say, "yeah. I'll see you for lunch?"
"Uh-huh," Bucky forces out, his voice nearly audibly wrecked. Lunch. Yeah. Like Steve needs lunch. Just look at him. So. Big. Or, actually, no! Don't look at him! Bucky ends up slamming the door and shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the semi he's now rocking.
Jesus Christ.
Bucky hears Steve rip one more, loud burp as he's shuffling away from their front door. Palms sweaty. Lightheaded.
Thanks, Steve.
...
They meet up for lunch at their usual spot on campus. Today, Steve is a little late, but Bucky wouldn't change that little fact for the entire fucking world. He's sitting at a table, bouncing his knee, half paying attention to his phone, waiting for Steve to dig into his meal when--
"Oops, that was close!" Steve's cheerful voice cuts in. "Sorry! My bad!"
Bucky sets his phone on the table, next to his tray, and looks up.
Steve has his own tray. It's dangerously full, nearly overflowing. Especially dangerously full because as he was approaching the table, a huge smile on his face, excited to eat and excited to see Bucky, he apparently wasn't paying attention and nearly ran into another student.
The other student grimaces, also apologizing. But then slips away without further incident and...
Bucky is forced to watch, in seemingly slow motion, Steve strut toward the table. His hips, so wide now, sway. His thighs swish, swish, swish, rubbing together as he walks. It's no wonder two pairs of jeans have worn through at the thighs already. His moobs bounce with each step. His belly, too. It's so round. Rounder than Bucky remembers it being this morning. How-? Has he been snacking in class? How much did he eat for breakfast after Bucky left?
Bucky is struct dumb by the idea of Steve leaning against the fridge, chugging his protein shake that's practically a fucking milkshake or sugary smoothie at this point, head tipped back, throat working, belly growing. Then, on top of that thick, sugary drink, barely a drink more a thick slurry, shoving down a whole box of cereal. Also, tipping the sugary, crunchy food straight back into his mouth. Chewing through it. One hand rubbing his tight, tighter belly. And when that's not enough, he throws the empty cereal box aside with an unsatisfied growl, turning his huge ass around, pulling open the fridge with all the elegance of a starved grizzly bear, then bending over, sticking his fat ass out, belly hanging underneath him, and using both hands to grab anything edible and shove it straight into his face.
Shaking himself out of the fantasy, Bucky bites his lip. His stomach growls. The sound of desire has nothing to do with the food on his plate or even all the food piled onto Steve's plates. It has everything to do with Steve himself. Steve crammed into his fucking clothes. They look like they might burst at the seams at any moment, like that soft-yet-firm fat could come bursting out, pale except where he's being squeezed the tightest, red lines cutting into him.
God.
Steve looks impossible good. Impossibly good standing, walking, then, even better sitting down.
When he sits down, his belly jiggles like extra firm jello and expands even further into his lap. Taking up a lot, lot of real estate. Bucky would like to take up the rest of the space on his lap. He'd like to get up and fall over onto Steve. Straddle his lap. Press himself like a cat against his round, overfull tummy. And he'd like, more than anything, he'd like to feed him every crumb of food sitting on the plates on his tray. He wants it so much that he feels like crawling out of his skin. Bucky is on the edge of his seat and this close to falling off, drooling as Steve scratches his belly, now seated, and finds his shirt rucked up enough to expose a few inches of his delectable belly that puffing out over his pants.
"Hey, Buck, you havin' a good day so far?"
Bucky swallows, his voice suddenly rougher than gravel, "yeah." His day has been... fine. But, now it's great.
It's great.
...great watching him nod and instantly wrap his big mitt of a hand around his fork and scoop up his food, straight to his mouth. So eager to eat. Feed himself. It's great. It's definitely not torturous for Bucky to watch him swallow mouthful after mouthful, eating with the efficiency of a competitive eater, making pushing all that fuel down into his already swollen belly seem easy. Where the fuck is he putting it?
Bucky can barely hold into his own fork. He can't really hold onto any thread of conversation Steve starts, talking around his constant mouthfuls of food, either. He's entirely consumed by Steve's consumption.
His painted on clothes just get tighter and tighter and tighter.
He drops some sauce on his huge, puffy moobs, and it causes Bucky to choke on his water. He nearly does a spit take.
Steve whines about it, upset about ruining his shirt.
"We'll bleach it," Bucky says all too quickly. As insane as Steve is making him, he can't get rid of that shirt. He just can't! It's so transparent, and it's the closest he can get to watching Steve blissfully stuff himself shirtless, spilling sauce over his big, strained boobs.
Steve frowns but nods, too.
His appetite is far from ruined.
Bucky pretends to need something from his backpack so he can lean down and peer under the table. Those inches of dough-bursting-from-a-cardboard-biscuit-tube fat are on display again. He's swelling. With every mouthful, his gut is growing. Wider. Fuller. Bigger. He's bloating. He looks like a blimp.
Bucky doesn't know how he's going to get up from his chair to go to his next class, he looks so heavy, but he would pay a million dollars he absolutely doesn't have to watch it happen. He wants to film it and replay it again and again and again until the tape wears out so he knows each and every jiggle, so he can see every place his clothes roll up or ride down, so he see can memorize the entirely satisfied, pleased expression on his handsome, chubby face.
Bucky nearly bursts himself, thinking about it, so he doesn't know what's going to happen when Steve does have to get up. He'll combust if Steve gets up to get seconds.
Steve will probably get seconds. He can't imagine Steve sitting through an entire two classes without his big belly grumbling if he doesn't have at least a few more plates.
Oh, God.
When did his boyfriend get so fat?
And when did Bucky start liking it so much? 😳😫
...
Bucky gets just a glimpse of Steve in their apartment after class before he's off to work. And it's a... a lot.
Steve nearly doesn't see him. He's studying, so focused that he's mindlessly snacking. He has to snack. Otherwise, he can't focus. That, or, he focuses by nearly chewing holes in his cheek and lip. He's always had some kinda oral fixation. His football mouthguards always ended up with teeth marks in them, same with his yellow, #2 school pencils, and every year for his birthday, he gets Steve a pack of weirdly flavored gum for him to try alongside whatever regular gift Bucky got.
Bucky is relieved and pained by Steve's transition from non-edible (or not swallowable (gum)) oral fixation to completely, only edible items. Relieved because he doesn't have to tell him to stop chewing on shit he shouldn't and pained because...
Fuck.
Just looking at him hurts.
It... hurts. 😳
Steve parked his fat ass on their couch - putting a big dent in the middle, thanks to his weight - and as he studies, he's working his way through a pile of snacky, easy-to-eat, processed food. Wrappers are everywhere.
His transparent, stained shirt has rolled up past the few inches of his thick lower gut all the way to his belly button. Huff. The "small" of his is back exposed as he hunches over, reading the textbook in his lap. His chunky love handles are visible as well. Jesus. Bucky bites his own lip, suddenly also in need of something to do with his mouth. Steve's pants have been exchanged for gym shorts, and they're forced down loooow on his hips. There's too much stacked weight on them for them to sit in the right place. Woof.
"See you later," Bucky rasps, staring at Steve's thick back. As he looks, he imagines Steve's front, though. He's leaned forward, so his gut must be crushed into stretched, thick rolls. It must look extra round and big between his chest and thighs and--
Stop thinking, Bucky. Stop imagining, Bucky. He tells himself. It's not good for him. He's not gonna be able to function at work. Shit.
Steve lifts his head, "huh?" There are crumbs on his face. His chubby, messy cheeks will be the death of Bucky. "Oh, yeah, Buck, see you. You'll be back for dinner?"
"Yeah," Bucky coughs, "dinner."
He eyes Steve's exposed tummy now that he's turned in his seat. Round. Getting rounder. Impossibly rounder. How is he still getting rounder? Still bloating and growing and swelling. Ripening. Marked with red and pink and white lines. Growing fatter faster than his skin can take it. Ballooning out of his clothes and his own body.
Hnnng.
How does he fit it all in there?
How does he not notice?
He's growing out of... everything!
Bucky spins around before he can pop a boner, "dinner!" He squeaks and speeds away.
By now, he's so round he's almost fucking spherical.
He's so big that he's massive.
He's pink with heat and satisfaction, a lazy, little smile on his face, and he's reclined fully back on their couch, the TV playing in the background - some football game Bucky couldn't give less of a shit about - one hand resting over his dick and cupping his balls under his gym shorts and underwear while the other is wrapped around a beer can.
Bucky doesn't make words. He just growls. It escapes his throat.
He's had a few. The cans are sprawled messily around the coffee table with evidence of more snacks. Not just thoughtless snacks for studying. Deliberate snacks. Snacks enjoyed while relaxing in the light of the TV. Nuts. Meats. A few sweet treats.
"B-ugh-ck!" Steve hiccups in the middle of his bright greeting.
Bucky still can't speak. The TV is on full volume, but he can't hear it; it doesn't matter that there's anything playing on it. All he can hear and see is Steve.
Steve.
Steve, in his stupid, too small shirt that's rolled all the way up to his motherfucking tits by now. It's a bra. The shirt looks like a bra now, stretched tightly over his moobs but not covering them. Bucky swears it's even more see-through now. His nipples are hard. Pink. Round. Hard. Hard like his drum-tight, globe of a gut.
Steve hiccups drunkenly once more, staring at him, patiently waiting for any sort of response. He jiggles and jolts; he sloshes with alcohol.
"You eat without me?" Bucky can hardly get the words out.
"Nah, nah, just-" he broadly gestures toward the mess in front of him, the beer, the snacks, the GUT fat and full in his lap, monopolizing the space, "-relaxing."
Bucky shivers, "yeah." He licks his lips, "you know... work wasn't so good for me. You gonna help me relax?"
"Ov-" Steve stifles another hiccup behind his fist, "oof," he puffs, pulling his hand out of his pants to settle his sloshing belly, digging into the taut side, "of course!"
Bucky swallows, "'kay," his mind is reeling, "stay there." Not like he could get up even if he wanted to. "I'm, I'm gonna... I'm gonna get what I want to relax."
"M'kay," Steve smiles into his next sip of beer despite still dealing with his belly-jostling hiccups.
Bucky goes to the kitchen, places an order for pizza, a lot of pizza, using his phone, but comes back with the box of cupcakes Natasha sent him home with after work. Working for a heartless, large corporation like Starbucks can have its perks, as it turns out.
Steve has finished his latest beer, and he tries to throw it onto the coffee table but misses. It rolls across the carpet instead. Bucky can't hold it against him. Bucky can't hold anything against him. Not when he's like this. Big. Huge. Hiccuping. Sloshing. Stretched tight. So tight that every time he burps, he groans. Thighs splayed out as wide as he can get them to give his huge, huge, bare belly space to breath. His tits barely covered by what used to be a shirt - what was a shirt just this morning.
"Oooh, gimme," Steve reaches out his hands, making grabby hands for the box. He knows it contains something sweet.
"Jesus," Bucky can't help but murmur. How does he still have room?
"What?" Steve asks, making a greedy sound that goes straight to Bucky's own uncomfortably tight pants. "You wanna relax by living through me vicariously?"
"Sure," Bucky rasps. "You'll work through 'em in no time," he nods toward the cupcakes. Steve takes a bite from the first one, getting frosting on his nose and nearly choking as he moans around the taste, his eyes rolling back, then closing in bliss. "Your metabolism."
"Yeah," Steve moans, arching his back, trying to shift some of the weight off of his lap, "couple'a sessions and they won't mean nothin'."
Bucky is stunned. He genuinely doesn't know if Steve is drunk enough on beer and food and sugar to think he still works out or if Steve just somehow knows that Bucky is throbbing at the sight of him and is going with it. "Yes, and"ing.
Whatever.
It doesn't matter.
The sight of him.
Fuck.
Overfed.
Ballooning.
Fattening.
Steve swallows the first cupcake. The second. The third.
"Ugh," he smacks his lips, they're sticky with sugar, "do you want me to eat them all."
"Mmm-hmm, big guy," Bucky smiles, trying his hardest not to crack. "There's pizza on the way, too."
"Ohh," Steve moans. He moans! At the thought of pizza.
What. the. fuck.
He doesn't just moan, though, he wiggles in his seat. His gut is so hard, packed to the brim, that it doesn't really move. Bucky swears he can see the jump of Steve's pulse in the stretched, tortured skin. It looks so heavy. So full. He wiggles like he's trying to find room, but it's obvious to Bucky that there is none. It would be obvious to anyone who had the pleasure of seeing Steve like this. Anyone but Steve himself.
Steve, who's groans and gurgling and has his eyes so heavily lidded that they're practically fully shut. Yet...
He's making steady progress.
He swallows the fourth and fifth cupcakes in practically one bite each. Bucky sees the thick, moist cake go down his throat in a big, bulging gulp.
Steam is about to shoot out of his ears. Fuckfuckfuck. This is his wet dream that he didn't know he had.
Steve hiccups, he's not even closing his mouth all the way as he chews now. He's breathing too hard to do so, and so he keeps making these lip-smacking, sighing, exhausted sounds. But he also keeps eating. Bucky doesn't even have to prompt him. He just does it.
How?
What?
Why?
He looks inflated.
No wonder he's gotten so fat!
He'll be fatter tomorrow.
Bucky would bet money that this shirt won't get over his swollen pecs in three weeks, in a month, tops. He's just blimping up too fast.
"Gimme the last one."
"What?" Bucky startles.
"G-guh," Steve groans, rubbing his hands on his ball-shaped stomach, massaging, like he can work the fullness and tightness away. "Gimme the last one."
"The, uh, the cupcake?"
Steve cracks open one eye, "yeah, duh," he says.
"Okay."
Bucky's hand shakes as he grabs the last cake, unpeels the wrapper, and extends his arm, shaking more and more the closer he gets to Steve's mouth.
Steve's fingers wrap around his wrist, steadying him, and he leans in the last half inch, tilting his head to the side, his eyes slipping shut and his sweet, sticky, pink lips part. It happens in slow motion. He bites in slow motion. He moans, "mmm, yeah," around the delicious cake, his fingers grasping tighter, locking Bucky in place as he takes bite after bite until it's gone.
He licks Bucky's fingers clean.
Bucky
Bucky doesn't
Bucky can't -
Bucky can't function.
Steve's long eyelashes flutter, "that's the stuff," he groans, fully satisfied and sounding like it.
Bucky is sweating.
"The cupcakes, sure," he puffs, "but I dunno if I can work off a whole pizza, Buck," when he turns his head to the side to look at Bucky where he's sitting next to him, his chin doubles. Bucky almost moans out loud.
Instead, he shakily gets out, "n-no one said anything about an entire pizza?"
Steve whines, digging his fingertips into his gargantuan tummy. It looks fake, he's so round. Like he got a fake, heavy, silicone pregnancy belly - overdue pregnancy belly and stuck it on himself. "But you knooow I can't control myself around pizza."
"I don't want you to!" The words explode out of Bucky.
Steve jolts in surprise. He hiccups painfully, wincing, "huh?"
"I don't want you to control yourself. Fuck, Stevie, I can't fucking take it. I gotta - I, I, you-! You make me crazy. God. I can't get over this. I don't want you to control yourself, and I don't want you to work anything off. I want you, I want you to -" he can't say it out loud.
He can't say, I want you to get so, so much fatter. Bigger. Heavier. I want you bursting out of the next size up in clothes, too. I want you waddling. I want you always stuffed and satisfied. I want you so big that when I fuck you your tummy hangs and jiggles and you moan about how anything else, any little extra bit will make him pop, even just Bucky's come in his ass.
"Over what?" Steve's eyebrows crease together adorably.
"This!" Bucky groans, "oh, God, all of this," he gestures to the globe of Steve's belly.
"I'm," Steve licks his lips, "I'm just bloated, though."
Bucky moans, "you're not." He does what he's been dying to, he digs his hands into that fat, he pinches Steve's heavy, stacked sided, "you're not just bloated, baby. And I love it."
Steve makes another confused noise, he stares down at himself, trying to wriggle and getting nowhere as his chest heaves with the effort to move all his weight. "Oh."
The doorbell rings.
Pizzas here.
They stare at each other, both of them breathing hard, just for different reasons. Steve's fat fucking gut is weighing on his lungs, compressing them and every time he tries to move, he can't. Bucky's on the edge of orgasm, just watching Steve glut himself, and his lack of breath isn't helped by his frantic admission.
"You don't have to-"
Steve slides both hands down the apex of his rooooound gut, he leans back into the sofa, seemingly reveling in the feeling, really truly taking in the feeling of his bloat, of his fat, for the first time. "Feed it to me."
"What?"
"I don't think I'll be able to get anything else in if I have to do it myself. So. You're gonna stuff me."
"What?"
"Buck, please, stuff me. I want it," his voice is raw. He moans needily, "stuff me."
What if a Stucky au in which Steve never became cap and they never end up in the present.
Steve’s earliest dream was to be fat, like they were young and Steve just innocently says ‘I wanna be fat, wanna have all the food’ and something clicks in Bucky’s brain from that day and his entire existence becomes focussed on providing for Steve? Bucky’s ambitions are based on the idea that he will provide Steve access to food and the means to gain weight?
So that includes healthcare and stuff too, also enough so that Steve doesn’t have to work, etc? Bucky feeding Steve over the years and it’s just how they are, Bucky doing all the work and Steve as this chunky lil thing that never had to lift a finger if Bucky has anything to say about it? And so when it reaches when the movie is set Bucky owns some bakery or butcher or deli or restaurant or something and Steve’s this lil thicc boy who’s always sat at a table in the corner eating?? More than thicc, huge, massive, belly hanging between his knees and hunched over as he spends all day eating?? And Bucky keeps bringing him more and it’s a bit of a local thing the fat guy at Barnes’ Bakery and people sometimes pay for food for him because it’s supposed to give you good luck or something??
I, I, um... 😳😳
This is a really, really hot idea! It's a great idea 🥴 I just so happen to have written some stuff like this before 😈😈
pre-serum Steve, wider than he is tall
fat pre-serum Steve getting taken care of
pre-war stucky swapping weights
ALSO, for the PERFECT visual, there's art from @namjoonscutetummy
do you have any more thoughts about your stevebucky werewolf au? i love it very much, it holds a very special place in my heart ❤️
Original werewolf Steve
Follow up werewolf Steve
Aw, thank you! ❤️
I was having trouble thinking about what more I could add to this alternative universe that wouldn't be redundant because werewolf puppy Steve scrambles my brain so hard.
If anyone brings him up, suddenly I don't know anything. There are no words but lots of in-my-pants feelings. Nothing but big, fat, dumb puppy Steve that crawls on all-fours with his belly dragging on the ground for as long as he's still able to wobble forward. Still mobile. And even when he can move…
He's too big.
That belly is blubbery and thick and heavy. It leaves his back arching deeply. Bloated full of enough meat to satiate the ravenous wolf inside him along and bloated full of sloshy alcohol because the wolf inside Steve is obsessive, relentless, and it's been trained to crave, to ache for enough alcohol to drown in.
BUT inspiration struck ✨️✨️✨️
And as I was thinking about Steve, blubbery and wobbling, I had a new thought that scrambled my fragile little brain.
What happens when Steve fattens up from the monthly gorges?
I-
*gulp*
I have some ideas.
Unbeta'd stucky belly kink nonsense. Warnings for stuffing, weight gain, mobility issues, immobility, animal play (werewolf/puppy), etc.
Eventually, with month after month of gorges under the light of the full moon and the eyes of his indulgent lover, Steve begins to blow. up. His wolf form and his human form. Both go through rapid transformations that have nothing to do with the moon's cycle.
Steve's wolf form: his lean, all-muscle, powerful frame blooms into the body of a soft, excessive, lazy housepet. He's more of a puppy than a wolf than ever before. He gets softer and softer until even when he's bloated beyond belief with food and alcohol - taut and flushed red under his fur - his belly fits in with the rest of his frame. He starts to look fat all the time in wolf form. Bloated or not. It's unmistakable. It's not just a belly that looks like it's fake, sticking out. His legs don't ripple with muscle. Instead, they jiggle with fat. His belly hangs hugely underneath his swollen chest and forces his legs apart wider, altering how he prowls. He lumbers. It's much less intimidating and much hotter. Clumsy and uncoordinated because his hunger is so out of control. His spine is buried by not only his thick fur but his new blubber as well. Nowhere on his body is immune to the weight he packs on. His muzzle even fills out. Bucky didn't know wolves could get fat faces! His puppy-wolf has a chubby face. So cute.
Steve's human form: his lean, all-muscle, powerful frame becomes buried under layers and layers of fat. His human form fattens much faster than his wolf form; somehow, the wolf has a faster metabolism than Steve's serum-fast metabolism. His chin doubles sweetly, and his cheekbones go from model-sharp to biscuit-dough soft. Those broad shoulders round out with fat. His biceps look even fucking bigger than usual - pillowy, not hard - and strain all of his shirt sleeves, no matter how fast he sizes up, he just can't keep up. He's growing too big too quickly. Plumping up. His chest swells and swells from masculine and hard to swollen and flabby. He doesn't have pecs, he has tits. "Worst" of all, his belly explodes out. Despite how soft his gut gets, it retains the most mouth-watering round shape. It's a perfect dome. The tight, pale surface of the ball attached to him is only broken by the stretch of his belly button and his white, healed stretch marks. His ass is monstrous, as are his thighs. Jiggly. Pale. Big.
Big.
Steve gets bigger and bigger and bigger.
Until…
He's vast.
He is massive.
He is so fucking oversized and fattened that he struggles to move in his human form.
Steve is so fat that his gut and swollen tits weigh down on his plush thighs so heavily and seemingly overnight he can't, without Bucky's help, heave himself to standing. At that point, even with Bucky's help, by the time he gets to his feet, he's panting and sweating. Every breath makes him jiggle. He's red in the face and so hot. In more ways than one. All this insulation is hot and it's heavy, heavy on his cock. It's hot and humiliating. He used to run miles and miles without breaking a sweat, yet now he can't get from reclining on his fat, cushioned ass to his feet (which he hasn't been able to see for… a while) without panting and growing damp with sweat.
Oh, God.
What happened to him?
How did he get like this? 😫
How did he get like this? 🥵
He's never dreamed that he could overpower his body ever again. Not since the serum entered his veins. But. Here he is.
He's overcome his super muscles.
He's transformed his body again. He is huge.
Mammoth.
So fucking fat and soft and plush and-
So hungry.
He can't ever stop eating. He constantly has something in his mouth and much more inside his stomach. Filling him. Bloating him. Stuffing him. So fucking hungry.
It gets worse when Steve's in wolf form. His appetite increases exponentially. Steve can not control himself. He has to gorge. Feast. Glut. Devour. He feels absolutely starved in wolf form. He can't pack anything and everything into his hungry yet overfed maw fast enough. He can't swallow anything that ends up in front of his face for more than five seconds fast enough. He can't get enough.
No wonder he ballooned… 😮💨
But with all the fat that's piled up on his frame -
Steve can't move.
He's overpowered the serum in his veins and he's overpowered the wolf inside him.
All he can do, now that he's grown so fucking unbelievably massive, is lay on his bloated side and whimper. Desperate for food; desperate for prey to fill him deliciously.
Filling up is the only thing that stops him from complaining. It feels so good. Too bad he always needs more.
When Steve tries to roll over onto all-fours, needing so badly to hunt, he can't actually make it. He's too heavy. Too fat and clumsy. He can't get there.
Besides, if Bucky helps roll him onto all-fours, Steve can't go anywhere, anyway. He's all belly. His belly fills the space between him and the floor and more. On all fours in wolf form, he lays out on top of his gut, a little wolf attached to this obscene, huge belly.
His days of hunting are long behind him. The closest Steve gets to hunting these days are growling and snapping his teeth pathetically, non-threateningly at Bucky when Bucky teases him and doesn't push the end of the funnel straight into his mouth, instead dangling it just out of reach. What's he gonna do? He can't fucking move. He's all fat. Plush, wobbly fat. Bucky can do whatever he wants to his puppy. He can funnel endless amounts of beer and melted ice cream into him until he's lifted a few more inches off the floor from the inflation of his tanker gut. He can grab handfuls and handfuls of his fuzzy, jiggly fat. He can roll his puppy around if he likes. There are no hard edges left to his wolf. Only soft fat. Perfect to grope and admire.
Steve is a blimp. He's not a werewolf. He's pathetic. Perfectly shaped. He went from dragging his belly against the floor to his belly being the only thing resting on the floor. It's unbearably hot.
Bucky isn't sure how Steve could possibly get any bigger but… if he can, he will. Bucky will make sure he will. Human Steve and wolf Steve. Human Steve can still walk after all. That has to change, doesn't it? 😈
i was thinking about those eating competition/contest videos on youtube, where people eat so much food in 30 mins or an hour, etc. then i thought of steve/bucky/nat and eating contests. maybe one of them is involved, maybe multiple.
they have always been into eating and these seem like a good way to finally be full. they start out slow, maybe once a month participating to avoid piling on weight. they are good and win some contests, and start doing more. once a week they have an eating challenge. to avoid getting fat, they eat healthy during the week. maybe large salads to avoid too many calories but keep their stomach capacity up.
they have to take a break from the contests and all is okay still, but they get bored of the healthy eating. they decide to have a cheat week and just eat whatever they want. the weight piles on, and they decide they like it (their partners like it too) and they keep gaining.
I've been holding onto this ask for forever 😫 so sorry!
The eating contest component immediately made me think of the fic "No Contest" by caloriebomb, which is literally just FAT STEVE and I-
It's good.
Anyway, you know what this made me think of-?
This made me think, what about an alternative universe in which Steve, Bucky, and Natasha meet as competitive eaters? Maybe they aren't, like, famous competitive eaters but are just casual enthusiasts. Local gods, perhaps.
Anyhow, they all meet at a competitive eating contest...
Natasha seeks out Steve and Bucky intentionally when she sees the newcomers at an annual contest she's been attending for a few years. Not only are they new, meaning they don't know about her crazy stomach capacity and stretchability, but they're also both very handsome, and she feels like seeing some handsome men eat their words, literally. She wonders if either of them with blush. That, or if either of them will willing admit that they're wrong when they end up being wrong about her... maybe they'll just say it. Maybe they'll squirm 😈
So, she elbows them, offering a bet while the announcer is, well, announcing the event. I bet I'll eat more than you. She makes sure to smile softly. She doesn't want to give away her plans just yet. She's having too much fun.
The slightly shorter man with dark hair immediately agrees with a charming grin of his own. He looks her up and down and then gestures to himself, inviting her to do the same to him, raising silent eyebrows. It speaks only of, are you sure? The blond haired, taller man only stares at her. She can tell he is trying not to panic, having a pretty girl talk to him - it's cute. Normally, she'd roll her eyes, but there's something about blondie. Something about the brunette, too.
She likes them 😏
The brown haired guy nods when blondie doesn't do anything and says, under the announcers excited tone, that he'll bet.
"What're we betting?"
"$100?"
"Shit, I can't resist that," he says, offering his hand for her to slap in agreement.
She does. "And you're friend?" She bats her eyelashes at him, blondie, and watches him open and close his mouth like a fish. She almost laughs out loud. He's a golden retriever. Cute.
"He's in, too. Trust me."
Oh, yeah, this will be fun, Natasha thinks, and she has to look away because she doesn't want to give them her "predatory" smile. Predatory as her friends have told her it looks. What? She can't help that she knows she's right. She's gonna win.
Natasha learns the boys' names as they're announced to go on. Bucky, the brown haired one. Steve, the blond haired one.
So, Natasha meets and greets and beats the the boys.
At this competition they're eating poutine. Not Natasha's favorite, especially considering that she didn't grow up with it. It being just fries with shit piled up on it, but it's still pretty good. Poutine is good for shoving down. Good for contests like this one. Soft and relatively wet with good flavor. It means that fistful after fistful can go down before she has to take a millisecond break for water or before she can tire of the taste.
Natasha empties her first tray, then her second and third and fourth and fifth and on and on and on.
She smashes through it. Her stomach filling and expanding but not full.
She can feel Steve's eyes when they stray to her every once in a while. Flicking. Not checking her out, but, just trying to figure out how she's going so fast. Her fingers are a blur. Lifting fries to mouth again and again and again, shoving it down, getting it inside her. The faster, the better. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, she urges herself.
Suddenly, he opts to go whole hog, shoving her face into the fries and inhaling them.
She doesn't look at Steve.
She's not looking at anything but her prize, looking through the poutine servings just like a runner doesn't stare at the finish line, they look through the finish line that way they'll go the whole way with full power. She's going full power. She can see poutine when she shuts her eyes to chew harder, getting more into it. She is in the zone. So much so that she hardly feels the stretch of her flexible stomach muscles. Rounding out. Convexity created by the weight, the mass, of the poutine. No, she doesn't feel the stretch. She just feels the fire under her ass. She knows she can beat any beginner, but she wants to do her best. She doesn't wanna win a little. What's even the point in that?
She wants to win by a landslide.
A landslide that was slid right down her throat and into her gut. All that rock and earth heavy and full, making her massive. For anyone who didn't see her figure prior to the event starting when she gets uo, they're gonna question who let a pregnant lady join an eating contest.
She's still packing it in.
And, God, she must be massive with how those fries and toppings slide right doooown.
Down her throat.
She's getting heavier.
It has to be almost over.
It's been so long.
But-
She's not going to stop until the buzzer hits. She's not even going to look at the clock. No distractions. Not even the handsome boys to her right.
She hammers down more. She's almost done with this tray.
Another. Get is down. C'mon, you have this.
BZZZZZZ!
There!
Yes!
It's over!
Natasha finally lifts her head, "wooo," she huffs, feeling how her head buzzes with the rush of sensations. Now that the heat of the moment is done, it's all coming back. Woof. She's stuffed. She can feel the grease and fat going straight to her veins. She can feel the heavy, solidness of fullness. Wonderful. And-
"Holy shit!"
She can feel pure satisfaction at knowing she's won. Easily. She's a cat that's got the cream. A whole gallon.
She looks over to her new favorites. They're both sweating with messy mouths.
New heat stabs Natasha when she sets her eyes on the pretty gape of Steve's grease-slick, shiny lips. It's multiplied by the grin growing over Bucky's own lips. Equally shiny but not as plump. Steve's bottom lip takes the cake on that. And, my, my, my could it be cake. It looks soft. Natasha would like to sink her teeth into it. Into them both.
Natasha wins the eating competition and $200 extra from her new companions.
As they stand to waddle heavily off stage, Nat notes that Bucky has managed to do well. She can see the bloat of his belly. It looks nice and firm but still soft. He would be good to touch she bets. He had more padding than she initially thought, strong but still soft. Steve, however... Steve is not fairing well. He's probably eaten just as much as Bucky, perhaps even more than him, but he was not padded. He's all hard muscle with pounds of poutine attached to him.
Woof.
His new gut sticks out like a beer gut. Through his tight shirt that's been forced to expand enough to expose a few inches of pale, strained skin, she can tell that his abs are not happy with him. They're stretched taut. She licks her lip, picturing how pink his freckled skin must be, those muscles struggling to keep his belly attached to him.
That time, they part ways.
The next time they meet up, it's another competition. Bucky strolls up to her, Steve behind him like a trailing puppy, and confesses he's been training, patting his belly with a charming grin. She laughs, oh, really? You think you can beat me?
He does.
They end up betting again. Steve stays out of it this time, clearly the smarter of the two, Natasha teases.
Because-
Natasha wins again.
Bucky may have been training, but he's been training with water. Water is different from food. It goes down easier. It might be heavier than food, and it might stretch you out like food, but it isn't the same. Natasha blows him out of the water, pun intended.
She ends up with her gut sticking out past her tits, breathing hard and heavy and caressing the sides of her gut with her fingernails while Steve looks on, trying and failing to hide his interest. He's blushing now worse than he was immediately after eating.
Steve's muscles may not want to stretch, too used to being tight and perfectly sculpted, but he's stubborn, and he packs a lot down. Bucky, too. He's having an easier time, but he burps something crazy. Steve hisses out little moans and gasps. They're both delicious in their own ways.
They meet more and more and more.
They exchange numbers and constantly are texting and sending photos. Talking about training exercises and sometimes even showing exactly what they mean. Boasting about wins (Natasha) or near wins (Steve and Bucky) from competitions they all don't attend. Showing off photos of their guts post-contest then showing the subsequent damage days after they get stuffed full for contests. Their own and others entertainment.
It becomes routine to crash into an Uber on the way back from a contest, all together, making the car sink that much closer to the ground as a result of their combined weight. They go back to either Bucky's and Steve's apartment or Natasha's apartment to spread out on couches and floors and beds. Anywhere they can starfish out to digest. Sometimes separate. Sometimes, in one huge bloated pile.
After contests, Bucky burps and pats his belly hard like he doesn't mind how tender his gut must be. Steve, meanwhile, moans and gasps and complains about how much he ate, how he should stop, or how he can't believe he did it again, and he has the loudest gurgles. He can hardly seem to touch his own belly. It's too much. Post stuffing, Natasha would purr if she could, feathering her fingers over her stretched belly and taking the time to massage lotion into her skin. She'd purr because of the feeling of her own body along with the feelings of the bodies around her. Two big, big guys squishing her, confessing that they still don't get how she can just do that.
It's a gift. Her capacity and her boys.
Her boys because... aomewhere along the lines, they start becoming more and more intimate.
Steve begins letting Natasha rub his belly with lotion and moans like she's wrapped his dick up her in lotion-slick hand. If not her, otherwise he won't touch himself and will actively lift his heavy body up and away, groaning as he moves like it's the most difficult thing he's ever done, from Bucky. He does not want his gut slapped or prodded. He will burp when his body wants him to, thank you very much.
Bucky begins pinching her hip and telling her how nice she always looks but blushes when she does it back to him. Bucky starts unbuckling his belt and letting his pants drop after pushing up his shirt. Crashing hard and getting comfortable. He also gropes his gut in front of them both. Nat catches an eyeful of his dick getting interested in his rough touching more than once. Steve takes off his shirt but leaves his pants off. She isn't so thrilled about it though, she's curious if he's like Bucky. Truly into this. And she's slightly concerned those pants are going to cut him in half one day.
Soon after those developments, Natasha allows herself to slip out of her bra more often than not when they're crashing after contests. Bucky both jokingly and sincerely confesses that it's crazy hot that she can stuff herself so much that the band of her bra becomes too tight. It gives her enough confidence to slip out of her pants, too. Leaving her to join Bucky in just a t-shirt and underwear.
They begin to see each other at times other than post-competition, too.
Eventually, they're more often together than not. And one day, Steve blurts randomly, "are we dating?"
Bucky bursts out laughing, shaking his head, "when I left it to you to figure that out, I- I didn't! Think you'd!!-" he slaps his knees, laughing harder.
Natasha looks between them, crossing her arms, "so you've talked about this together. Without me."
They both stumble and stutter.
She relaxes, allowing herself to grin, "good. You're both on the same page then."
Steve mumbles about having a heart attack. Bucky smacks his shoulder, "serves you right."
"So..."
They stop behaving like children and snap to attention. Starting at her.
"Do you want to date?"
They both nod eagerly.
"Good. We'll keep doing what we're doing then."
And that settles it. They keep living in each other's pockets, and they keep going to eating contests. It's the same. Just as good. Until... something breaks.
Steve stops working out. Like that.
It's so sudden.
He shrugs and claims he just doesn't feel like it. He'd rather be home with them or out eating with them. He doesn't want to waste time at the gym. He's full of love. He doesn't need to obsess over a hobby to fulfill him any longer. Bucky and Natasha cuddle him extra tight that night. And night by night... Steve gets softer and softer. His abs fade fast. His trim waist widens a little. And. It breaks them. Natasha and Bucky become even more obsessed with Steve. There's more of him.
If they all also gave up their obsessions of eating healthy and being active during the week when they don't have eating contests... there would be more of all of them.
And they can't go back once they realize that.
More. There could be more of them all. More love. More to touch and hold and-
Okay. Yes.
With the ending of their self-imposed rules about healthy eating and exercising and the continued entering of eating contests, they all start feeling the brunt of those calories near immediately.
Steve changes the most rapidly because of his sudden dropping, cold turkey, of working out. His poor body. It doesn’t know what to do with continued heavy calories that aren’t protein; his body could work off the cheat meals of competitive eating contests and put it towards more muscle, bulking, but his body can’t deal with cheat meals every day. Stuffing himself every day. Moaning about it. Loving it. As a result, Steve’s waist actually gets wider. His abs are gone impressively fast, and he starts to look puffy. Thick like frosting. (Natasha certainly thinks he’s as good as frosting - he’s sweet and pale white, and she could spend hours and hours licking and tasting him). His waist as well as everything else. His hips and thighs and ass. His chest and arms. And his jaw. Oh my god. His face starts filling out, those model cheekbones filling in. It’s cute.
He looks so good.
The frame of a liftaholic, gym rat is still under his new weight, but it’s buried, leaving him wide and fluffy looking. It’s only when you press your fingers into his new fluff that you can feel those hard-earned muscles underneath, holding up his new bulk.
And as much as Steve’s chin begins to get a twin it’s worse for Bucky.
Bucky already was holding onto a lot of puppy fat, youthful with a soft, smooth belly and face. So, as his gain creeps up on him - gaining slower than Steve - his face is chubby. Full cheeks and a soft jawline that both Natasha and Steve are obsessed with kissing. Natasha has a thing for biting it. When they don’t have to go anywhere for the weekend or the rare alignment of their schedules off work, she’ll leave marks on his double chin and press on it with her thumb every chance she gets, admiring her handy work and feeling all the weight Bucky has gained. It’s not just his face, though. Bucky gets nice and wide, too. His shoulders widen, his back starts to arch and forms little rolls, his legs begin to soften, and his chest gets hit. But it’s really his gut. He gets a great, full gut. Along with his swollen gut come chunky thighs and an impressive ass. Steve looks like he’s been inflated like he’ll pop if you poke his constantly stuffed ball of a gut while Bucky looks like he’s been hitting beers too heavily for too long. Bucky is relaxed and carries himself with a jiggling, heavy swagger. Steve is seemingly in pain, in the best way. He’s moaning and working around his gut. He doesn’t know how to carry himself. His mind can’t keep up with his body.
Natasha gains right along with her boys, of course. Her tits get bigger - she gets stretch marks on the sides of them, right around her underarms - and for a while, unless she’s stuffed, you can’t tell her belly is getting soft compared to her chest because of the size of her chest. But. Her gut catches up eventually. Suddenly. Her body gains weight in her thighs and hips and chest until, bam! Overnight, she suddenly has more than a soft little curve to her belly.
Bucky goes from burying his face in her tits or between her thick thighs whenever possible to pressing his face against her tummy. It’s kinda the best thing he’s ever seen. Nice and round and balancing her top and bottom half. Connecting her curves with an even larger, more irresistible curve.
Steve is never as brash as Bucky. He is less shy than he once was, but he still blushes and still is shy, curling in on himself whenever he’s turned on and has the chance to touch Natasha or Bucky. It’s adorable. It brings out the sadist in her, wanting to force him to beg or wanting to encourage him, grabbing his wrists and making him grab her tits or belly or ass. It's her game to make Steve call her fat. His good boy manners and society’s conditioning leave him tongue-tied until he’s really, really strung out. She can sometimes make him stutter it after a good, long week of stringing together eating contests day after day until they might as well roll themselves home after the last one or after Bucky and her have spent the day winding Steve up. Stuffing themselves and complaining about how full they are, obscenely eating food. Touching each other or even straight-up having sex in front of Steve without inviting him in. Anything. Everything. Teasing Steve until he’s willing to admit she’s fat. Nice and round and plump. Whatever naughty, big word she can get from him, she cherishes.
She also cherishes all of Bucky’s words, but Bucky’s mouth is filthy. She needn’t encourage him to call her names that should make her upset but instead make her hot. She doesn’t have to do anything before honey is dripping from his mouth, and he’s making himself and Steve blush. And they all love it. Natasha often jokes that they have turned their lives into an orgy of gluttony. Bucky kisses her right on the mouth and wonders out loud if three is really an orgy. Steve just groans. The two of them together is too much and he’s had too much - his body is still the most sensitive, he’s gained the most weight, and they both seem to favor shoving food at him the most, so he’s never not stuffed full, lying back under his pale, mountainous gut. Steve is their bloated playground. They tease him. They mess with him. Stuffing immobilizes him. He doesn’t have enough self-control to stop until they stop him, so while they can crawl all over him and all over each other… Steve lies back. Panting. Moaning. Weakly shifting as his gut burbles and they kiss on top of him, pressing their guts together. Natasha will often ride him while Bucky fucks his mouth or fucks Natasha’s ass, struggling to get close enough to her now that they’re all so fat.
