They placed a final raspberry on the immaculate tart they were making for dessert and looked up to find their girlfriend standing in the doorway. She only wore pants and a bra, but they were both digging into her. Her boobs were overflowing like overfilled muffin cups. Her body had become pudgy lately, that much was true. Very different from the toned and lean woman that they had started dating.
"Like... right now? Or in general?" They said.
"In general," she snapped, "Look at me."
"I am," they said, "You look hot."
She snorted and unzipped her pants, her belly rounded out and wobbled. They tried desperately not to make an indecent noise, feigning nonchalance and going back to decorating the tart.
"Look at me," she repeated. She picked up her gut and dropped it, the fat bouncing, "Your food is too good and I keep eating it, so stop cooking."
They smirked, "Baby, I make the food to be eaten, so it makes sense that you, you know, eat it?"
"My pants are getting a holes worn in between the thighs," she said, "That's never happened before. I'm outgrowing my bra-" she gripped her breasts and then snapped the band of her bra, showing the grooves where it was digging into her.
"Just more to grab," they said, wiping their hands on a dish rag and then walking to her. They grabbed the unbuttoned flap of her pants and pulled her as close as her belly would allow. They brushed their fingers up her side, feeling the divots of fresh stretch marks on the new curves on her side. Her breath hitched, her eyes wide as they roamed over their face.
They traced along the edge of her bra, poking the fat that bulged out. She tried to bite back a whimper, but it escaped and they felt a small smile twitch the corner of their mouth. Finally they placed a soft hand to the side of her face and she melted into their touch, her fat on her face made her look like a doll. Her small double chin covered what used to be an impressive jawline.
oh gosh either you know me or the zelink to twiyor pipeline is just that common hahaha, i do love twiyor! if i could think of a meaningful plot i would looove to write them, but pure fluff/slice of life isn't my strong suit and i don't want to write something that feels too OOC.
that being said, here's a little something just for you :) (and for me cuz it’s my birthday hehe) just over 500 words, not explicit (imo) but def suggestive
—
It wasn’t supposed to happen. In all his years as a spy, in all the deep cover missions he’d taken on, nothing even remotely close to this had ever happened before, and so for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why it was happening now. Of all times, of all missions, what made this one different? Was he finally going soft…?
“Loid? Could you… help me with this zipper?”
One glance down just past his belt would reveal that he most certainly was not going soft. Rather than acknowledging the obvious, Loid Forger painted his face with a smile and turned to his wife.
“Of course, Yor.” His wife. “This zipper has really been a problem lately, hasn’t it?” His wife, with her glossy raven tresses swept over one shoulder to expose the mouthwatering lines of her neck. His wife, with her ruby eyes gleaming at him in the mirror from beneath heavy, heady lids…
“It has.” She blinked so slow, like a cat lazing in the sun. Her sleepy smile had him glancing at his watch, sure it would confirm that late afternoon could explain away how hot it’d gotten, but all it did was reassure that nagging throb below his belt. It was late. Much too late for him to be alone in her bedroom with her like this, tipsy and aching and greedy. “Keeps getting stuck.”
Meeting her gaze again was as much a mistake as that last glass of wine with dinner because, as it turned out, something about the sparkle of her eyes when paired with a little moonlight and just the right amount of merlot made quite the formidable cocktail. And while Loid might not’ve been a lightweight, he was finding he was too dazed to do much to control his hungry hands as they licked at what scant flesh the troublesome zipper would grant.
“I’ll take it to the tailor right after work Monday,” Loid rasped, sure he’d misinterpreted her tone, swallowing to wet his dry mouth. Her eyes narrowed; he halfheartedly cast away the thought that they were drawn to his bobbing throat.
“That’s a good idea. You know, maybe you should bring your slacks in, too.” His wife, pink-cheeked and grinning with unsung laughter even as his brows furrowed. “It looks like they’ve gotten a little tight.”
She was right. And whether it was that the alcohol had emboldened her and dizzied him, or her zipper and his belt holding fast and taunting him in tandem, or that he’d been so good—too good—for far too long, Loid couldn’t figure out why he shouldn’t be allowed to tear his wife—his wife—out of her dress and pin her to the mattress and lose track of time altogether. This was what married couples did, wasn’t it?
It was somewhere between 1 o’clock and Yor’s thighs that Loid forgot about the mission and how thoroughly he was soiling it. The only thing on his mind as he and his wife panted into the sweaty sheets together was tangling as many of their limbs together as possible. Well… that and how Yor purred his name one last time as she drifted off to sleep.
What type of wedding dresses would be perfect for Hesper and telepath ?
Hesper would wear her armor to her own fricking wedding but luckily she has an adopted niece to convince her otherwise so Time is in for a very lovely surprise
Her dress has very heavy Greek inspo, naturally
Telepath has no money or fancy clothes to speak of, but neither Wars nor Artemis are going to let that slide (and they admittedly are very excited about the diadem to go with the matching suit with Wars)
But I would be remiss to not mention the Soldier! Telepath AU, where Telepath married Wars in their uniform because they used their powers to shove Cia out of his head out of pure spite
Naturally, Wars found the nearest chaplain and married them on the spot
pairing: danstelle (dan heng x stelle)
words: ~8200
rating: explicit (smut)
read on ao3
-☆-
“Psst.”
A few months ago, Dan Heng would’ve known immediately who was at his door. He would’ve known right away how to respond, too, which would take one of several routes: first, he might let them in just to be polite. Second, he might respond and say he was busy, ask if they could come back later (and by the time ‘later’ rolled around, they’d have forgotten entirely). Third, and perhaps his personal favorite, he might ignore them altogether while silently thanking Asta for installing new locks on all the doors.
But it isn’t a few months ago. A lot has changed. And one of those changes is that it isn’t guaranteed to be March 7th on the other side of the door anymore.
“Are you awake?”
His mouth goes dry, because he is, and because that certainly isn’t March. And as those things are what they are, he doesn’t know how to respond. If he should respond.
“Yes,” he says, then winces. What an inopportune time for his voice to crack. “I’m— I am awake.”
A brief quiet. The door rattles minutely on its track, then stops.
“Okay, so… Are you going to let me in?”
Dan Heng watches the door, as if waiting for it to unlock and open itself. It does neither. Is he going to let them in?
“Sure, right,” they scoff. He can practically hear their eyes rolling. “I bet it’s a complete mess in there, knowing you.”
He grits his teeth, standing right in front of the door now, his hand hovering just before its handle. Maybe you are that annoying, he might say if he was funny. He isn’t. It would probably sound like he means it. Which he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. His heart is doing something awful in his chest and careful breaths don’t seem to make a difference. Shaking his head, he flips the lock and slides the door open.
“Why are you awake?” he says instead of a quip, apparently incapable of being charming. Why should he want to be, anyway? Why should he care so much if she takes the direct question offensively?
“It isn’t that late, Dan Heng.” Bright eyes wait for him, flashing a sort of gold or hazel he’s never quite been able to place. He can’t explain why her easy response offers him a sort of relief. But anyway, it’s around two in the morning; late or early, semantics aside, she should be sleeping, not waiting outside his door. Not watching him expectantly. “Are you going to let me in or what?”
i see so many people say "i want to write star wars fanfiction but im so scared people will get mad if i fuck up the complex lore" honey not even star wars can get right the star wars lore write whatever the fuck you want and if someone complains send them my way i will banish them to the realm of miserable nitpickers
I don't like Valentine's Day. Never have. Usually I just go home from work, sit down in front of the TV, enjoy an easy dinner, and pass out on the couch after drinking a whole bottle of wine.
Today I took off my shoes and coat at the door and am about to start my yearly ritual when there was a soft knock. I turn back to my front door and frown. I wasn't expecting anyone.
The hallway of my apartment building is empty. Except, of course, for a pretty large heart-shaped box of chocolates placed perfectly on my welcome mat. Over the swirling cursive that declared "Happy Valentine's Day" on is a sticky note that reads "Eat me ;)".
I look left and right down the hall. Nobody's there. And I had been so close to the door they couldn't have run away that fast. Maybe one of my neighbors left it. I shrug and pick up the box.
I turn on the TV to some random channel and a romcom I don't recognize starts playing. I just need some background noise so I let it go while I make dinner, pouring myself a large glass of wine to drink while I cook.
I had planned chicken alfredo, so I set the water to boil and get out the ingredients for the sauce. I take a couple gulps of wine (wanting it to work as quickly as possible) and after setting the sauce pan on the stove I notice the chocolates where I had left them on the counter.
Both pans were playing a waiting game now, so I flip open the box. There is a large assortment of all different kinds of chocolate and fillings. A few with nuts and a few with dusted freeze dried fruits, and a few with hearts drawn in pink chocolate. The artistry is excellent and this is not a small box. It must have cost a fortune, especially on Valentine’s Day.
I have never been skinny by any means, but I have gained a couple pounds since I started my new office job and I'm watching my weight. Who am I to say no to free chocolate, though? One or two won't hurt.
I pop one in my mouth and go back to cooking. There is an almost unnoticeable twinge in my gut, like something changed but I couldn't pin down what. I guess the wine is starting to make me bloated. I drain the glass and pour another one, grabbing another couple chocolates.
There's that feeling again, deep in my stomach. My brain starts to be a little fuzzy, too. I finish my second glass of wine, so again, probably just the alcohol making me bloated. My pants do feel a little tight. I probably should have changed into sweats before I started cooking.
The water starts boiling, so I add the pasta and stir the sauce. Then leave those to cook while I go to my bedroom to get out of my work clothes. Something feels different while I walk. It's such an odd thing, like my body is wobbling more. I'm already shaky because I'm definitely tipsy, so I just blame the alcohol.
I unbutton my jeans, which I admit are starting to get really uncomfortable and sigh with relief. It's a little bit of a struggle since I'm off balance, but I manage to get them off and pull up a pair of sweatpants. I get rid of my bra, which is also feeling tight and uncomfortable, and switch out my work shirt for one that was much looser fitting.
I frown down at myself. My belly is brushing the fabric of my shirt. It isn't pushing against it at all, but that's definitely not how it fit the night before when I wore it to bed. I guess that wine is making me really bloated. I'll have to check the label and make sure I don't buy that brand again.
I go back to the kitchen to finish cooking and eat four more chocolates. The weird feeling in my gut is louder this time and I almost let out an involuntary moan. Something feels off.
I eat another chocolate and as I'm drinking a little more wine I notice that my sweatpants feel like they fit awkwardly. Like I can't get comfortable in them. I pull them up a little more, having to shimmy to get them higher over my hips and my belly. I guess I put on a little more weight than I thought. My shirt is also laying different, my belly poking out noticeably under the fabric.
There are only seven more chocolates in the box, so I might as well finish it. I eat six in quick succession and my stomach twists, growling loudly. My belly feels heavier and my whole body feels warm. I drain my third glass of wine and finish plating my food. Pouring myself another glass, I eat the last chocolate, then I grab my food and wine and go to the couch to sit down. One movie is ending on the TV and another one is starting.
I put my food and drink on the coffee table and as I sit the waistband of my sweatpants disappears under my belly. I don't lean so much as fall backwards, my gut demanding space. I rock side to side to push myself up and my belly spreads my legs apart. I notice how tight my shirt is. It's hugging my boobs so hard it's squishing them. My belly, hanging over my sweatpants, is peeking out under this shirt that I'm pretty sure fit me last night. Maybe it didn't.
I place my hands on my gut and shake it a little. It jiggles pleasantly. My whole body feels so much heavier. My hips, my belly, my boobs. I shift on the couch, not used to this new weight and trying to find a comfortable position. It ends up being more of a roll, though. I must look about nine months pregnant with triplets with how big my middle is. I feel almost pinned down under the weight.
My stomach whines, reminding me that I haven't eaten dinner yet. I lean forward, groaning with the effort of reaching over fat I'm almost positive wasn't there when I got home, and grab my dinner and my wine.
You're sitting at the bar in a skirt you think is too short and shows too much of your plush thighs. It's a soft night, the lounge lights low and you have convinced yourself to venture out alone to the only sapphic bar in your city. People sit around chatting on the sofas and comfy chairs and you keep telling yourself you're going to introduce yourself to a stranger, but haven't gotten up the courage quite yet.
You stare into your lavender gin and tonic. It's halfway done and you're such a lightweight that you can feel the edges of your brain going fuzzy already. You can also feel your skirt slightly digging into you as your stomach bloats out. Alcohol and an empty stomach… maybe you should have eaten something before you came, but you didn't want to get too full and burst out of your skirt.
"Hey," a voice says.
You look up and see the bartender. She's wearing a crisp white button up and a vest, both hands on the bar, she's looking at you with an expression you can't quite place.
"Hello," you say softly. Your cheeks feel warm, but you can't tell if you're blushing or if it's the alcohol.
"Come here often?" She says.
"Excuse me?"
"Sorry, bad line," she smiles at you and you feel a fluttering in your gut, "Do you need a top off?"
Your eyes widen, "Take my top off?"
She looks surprised, "No! No, do you want another drink?"
"Oh, uh…" you slurp the rest of your drink through the straw, "Sure, that would be nice, thanks."
She takes the empty glass with another small smile thrown your way. You fidget with your skirt while you wait, downing the rest of your drink in one go is definitely starting to make your brain even fuzzier. Looking down at yourself you notice that your belly is definitely bloated, pushing against the waist of your skirt. Under the bar you reach up a hand and press gently on the swell. It's firm and feels like poking an inflated ball. Ugh… you really should eat something.
"Are you okay?"
The bartender is back, placing another fizzy and fruity drink on top of a small napkin. It's definitely not what you had originally, but you're tipsy and it looks delicious.
"Yeah, I'm okay…" You say, "This isn't the drink I had…"
She shrugs, "I took a chance. This is a recipe I made myself, a little bit of watermelon, vodka, mint…. Thought you seem cool enough you might want to try it for me. Let me know what you think."
You take a small sip and smile up at her, "This is really good."
"Thanks, it's on the house," she picks up a couple empty glasses farther down the bar and starts to walk away.
"Oh! Uh-"
"Yes?" She's back in front of you.
"Do you guys serve any food?" You ask, taking a long sip from the drink. You can tell it's strong, but it's mixed so well it doesn't bother you.
She glances at the door to the back room, "Uhhhhh… kind of?"
"Kind of?"
"My sister dropped off some cupcakes for a party that's happening here tomorrow, but it's not really food."
You're feeling even tipsier now, "I mean… cupcakes are food. In my opinion."
She looks at you slyly, "Oh… do you want one? I probably shouldn't since they're for the party tomorrow, but…" she leans on the bar, "You're just so cute that I can't say no."
You blush deeply and this time you know it isn't the alcohol, "You really don't have to."
"Come on," she says, winking at you and walking away. She reaches the door to the back room and looks back at you once before slipping inside.
You gulp down the drink and then hop off the stool, having to catch yourself with a hand on the bar as you sway a little. You get a hold on yourself and then, razor focused, walk around the bar to the back room. You aren't sure why you're trying this, but she's so hot and this is such a weird situation.
You slowly turn the door knob and open the door, poking your head in. The back room looks like a small kitchen, complete with an island. And on the island are two large trays of differently decorated cupcakes, covered by plastic lids. The bartender is standing next to it, holding out her arms.
"Ta-da!"
You slip inside and close the door, "Ta-da?"
Her grin falters just a bit, "Cupcakes!"
You walk forward and look over the trays, your mouth starting to water. Chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, carrot cake, double fudge, lemon; all with different types of frostings and decorations perfectly placed. The bartender pulls the lid off one of the trays and grabs a vanilla cupcake with pink frosting and a single raspberry placed on top. She peels off the wrapper and holds it out to you, like she's expecting you to eat it from her hand.
"Here, try this one," she can see your slight hesitation and moves it even closer to your lips. You stomach growls as your head swims and a hand twitches to your bloated abdomen. You take a small bite of the cupcake and it immediately melts in your mouth. Perfectly baked and the frosting is smooth and bursting with raspberry flavor.
"That's delicious!" You say, covering your mouth to hide your chewing.
"You barely took a bite," the bartender laughs, still holding it out, "there's jam in the middle, you need to at least get a taste of that."
The alcohol in your system slips you even further into the sloshing haze of drunkenness, so you hold both her hands to keep the cupcake steady as you take another bite. This one is much bigger and you get some frosting on your cheek.
You giggle a little as the bartender swipes their thumb over your cheek, wiping off the frosting. Then she sucks it off her finger, popping the rest of the cupcake in her own mouth. You swing your gaze to the trays of the cupcakes.
"Want another one?" The bartender asks. You think for a moment and it does take a moment, your brain working slowly, but then you nod. She looks excited, running to the other side of the room to grab a wooden chair. She sets it down facing her and gestures to it.
You stumble a little and manage to sit down, the waist of your skirt digging into your belly. Your whole body feels warm and loose and you tell yourself you're ready to do whatever she tells you.
The bartender rolls up the sleeves of their white shirt and meticulously picks another cupcake. This one is chocolate with fudge icing, a Ferrero Rocher on top. She pulls the candy off and holds it out to you. Gently you take it from her fingers with your teeth. You barely swallow it when she's holding the rest of the cupcake to your mouth.
You open it to take a bite and she shoves it in. You make a small squeak, but you start to chew. It's just as good as the last one, if not better. You swallow it all in one and the bartender is already waving a lemon cupcake under your nose. You don't even protest and take a bite, lemon curd bursting over your tongue.
Cupcake after cupcake, the amount that you've eaten becomes a blur, but you can tell that you aren't hungry anymore. Wrappers litter around the bartender's feet and suddenly through your intoxication you realize you're halfway through one of the trays. Your stomach whines in protest, rumbling as it tries to make space as the bartender slides another cupcake past your lips.
Your belly, packed full of alcohol and sugar, strains against your skirt. You suddenly can't get comfortable and it's like you can't take a full breath. You squirm in your seat, gripping the edges of the chair to steady yourself.
"W-wait…" you say through some remnants of cupcake in your mouth.
The bartender stops peeling another cupcake from its wrapper, "Wait? You don't want another one?"
"M-maybe I should stop…" You say.
"Oh?" She leans over so her eyes are looking directly into yours, holding up the cupcake to your lips, "Are you sure?"
You can smell the cream cheese frosting and sigh. What's the harm in another one? You open your mouth and she shoves in it with a little more force than the last time.
"They're good, right?" The bartender says, "You just can't help yourself, can you? I bet you're going to finish this whole tray."
You can't respond with the food in your mouth and as soon as you swallow she has another one ready. She keeps going, feeding you cupcakes steadily now. You can almost feel your belly swelling with each bite, your stomach fighting to find room for all the cake.
Your skirt feels tighter and tighter, cutting into you and eventually making you feel sick. You should stop eating, but she keeps giving them to you and what are you supposed to do? Not eat what she's offering?
There's a loud RIIIIP as your skirt gives up, coming apart at the seams to make way for your swelling gut. You let out a deep breath and your belly pushes out even further. The bartender feeds you the cupcake she's holding and you force it down. She reaches her hand in the busted seam and cups the fat spilling over your panties.
"God, you just can't help yourself…" she holds your neck with one hand and breaths the words in your ear. You feel a shiver of pleasure run through you, "You're so fat. I bet you gained all this in the last year."
You hadn't, you had always been chubby, but something makes you nod. The bartender rubs a hand over your round, swollen gut, giving it small pat. She kisses your neck and then pulls back, grabbing the last cupcake on the tray and taking off the wrapper.
"What do you think?" She says sneakily, "Last one?"
Your stomach rumbles and you notice that- alcohol aside- you feel pinned to the chair. You're so bloated and so, so full of cake that your legs are spread apart. You aren't sure you can force down that last cupcake, but the bartender places it to your lips. You take a gentle lick of the strawberry frosting and the second your mouth is a little open she presses the cupcake into it, sliding her other hand back into your hair and tangling it around their fingers.
It takes incredible effort, but you get the cupcake down.
"Good job," the bartender purrs, "Very good job…" She slips her hand into the busted seam of your skirt again and cups your belly, jiggling it and rubbing it gently. You feel goosebumps break out over your arms as she whispers to you. She kisses along your neck, continuously playing with your stuffed gut. Reaching under your shirt, she rubs along your distended upper belly. You moan and so does your stomach. The cupcakes seem to be fighting for space, your guts churning inside you.
The bartender coos at you, calling you "good girl" and telling you that you've done "such a good job". The feeling of her hands on your belly and her whispered words in your ear lull you into such a sweet feeling of security. Your eyes almost close, a sense of peace coming over you. Yet simultaneously you realize that you are incredibly aroused.
The bartender plays with your belly some more, sticking her fingers in your belly button and trying to shake your rounded gut. It feels so good that you let out another moan, letting your head fall back. You feel the bartender's hand travel further down. They stroke their hand over your thigh and towards the middle of your legs, barely brushing the wet fabric of your panties before pulling back.
She takes the plastic cover off the other tray of cupcakes, "Should we get started on the other one?"
In the month and a half after that summer day, I noticed Gia had taken to cooking bigger meals for us. Not that I was complaining. I started seeking that feeling of my pants digging into my sides, my skin round and tight. More and more I was ignoring how many calories I was consuming. With how much I was eating in one sitting it just made me stressed.
We hadn't discussed it, but I'm sure Gia saw that I was stuffing myself more. I wasn't trying super hard to hide it and the way she was providing me with not only big meals, but filling and rich foods, I could tell she liked it, too. I could feel her eyes on my body when I finally leaned back in my chair, unbuttoning my pants and letting my tight, swollen belly spill out onto my thighs. I could see her react whenever I covered a burp or my stomach gurgled loudly. And it wasn't with disgust, it was like she was trying to cover a moan.... She was definitely getting turned on by me being stuffed to the brim.
I planned to talk with her, see what she was thinking, but I wasn't quite sure what was happening. I knew it turned me on and made me feel good. Even if I was so full I started to be uncomfortable, it just turned me on even more....
One morning I woke up and Gia wasn't in bed with me. I could hear her in the kitchen down the hall and the smell of bacon started to waft to me. My stomach growled impatiently. It had gotten increasingly difficult to satisfy myself. I did some Googling and apparently that meant that my stomach was stretched bigger, so I got hungry way quicker. It was a little annoying, but the thought of packing more into my stomach was actually arousing. Another interesting surprise.
My belly rumbled again and I groaned, stretching. Might as well get up and eat some breakfast.
I rolled onto my back and my midsection wobbled side to side. I froze, staring at the ceiling. That felt different. I was lean and toned. I had always been lean and toned. Nothing on my body wobbled... especially not on its own.
Horrified, I threw the covers off of me and bolted up, walking quickly to the full length mirror in the corner of our room. I stared at myself. Everything looked normal to me. I pinched my thighs, they were a little softer, but that didn't seem like anything bad. Nothing a few squats every day couldn't fix.
I gathered my baggy shirt in my hands, twisting it to be tight around my waist. That's where the issue was. My abdomen wasn't flat anymore. There was a small amount of pudge layered over my abs, barely pooching out over the waist of my panties. I pinched the small bit of fat between my fingers, staring at it in the mirror.
How did this sneak up on me?
I hadn't weighed myself for a month. I guessed that's how. I had been allowing myself to get stuffed more and more recently, so... I guessed that was how, too. The week before I had gotten stuffed at least three times.
I flicked my little pudgy belly and watched it jiggle. I thought this would have sent me into a spiral, but it was kind of cute. My body softening up felt good.
I wiggled my hips back and forth to see how that made my body move. I saw that my softer thighs wobbled a little more than I expected them to. It was kind of... hot?
Huh. Not what I had been expecting to feel about putting on weight without noticing. I bent down and grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor. I thought about how a less than a year ago I would have freaked out if I had suddenly woken up with a little fat on me, but even though it surprised me I was able to think through it logically. I was eating more, so of course I was going to be bigger. Right?
The jeans got a little stuck around my thighs, which means they must have shrunk in the wash, but a little bouncing got them up onto my waist. When I went to button them, though, I met a little resistance. I sucked in my stomach and tried again. Suddenly my belly seemed so much bigger. I was squeezing my fat between my hands, the button barely kissing closed.
I managed to get it through the hole, sucking in my stomach as far as it would go. After a tense moment, I let out a breath and the button popped open again.
I swore under my breath, staring at my middle in the mirror. It looked so soft... I wasn't used to it, but I wasn't mad about it. I turned side to side, watching as it wobbled. This wasn't too bad. I tucked my thumbs in the belt loops of my pants and hiked them up, then I turned to the bedroom door and headed toward the kitchen.
I smirked to myself and wondered how Gia would react to me not fitting in my pants.
