delicious in dungeon

A) the "I finally reached my goal weight!" euphoria. Feedee's smiling in front of the mirror, basks upon the fruit of their labor, hand placed atop their distended belly. They look sooo cute! Getting fat is the best choice they've ever made. ☺️

B) the "omg what have I done to myself??" shock. Mouth agape above a scrunched double chin. Eyes wide with denial, denial, denial. Muffintop spilling over the waist of their jeans, futile attempts to cram their overflowing body into clothes that belong to the past now. They lost control and it's finally caught up to them. 😳

pov: girl you went to high school with thinks she still fits into her band shirts…

she keeps catching your eyes flickering to the sliver of underbelly thats escaping the bottom hem of her shirt. you dont say anything, but shes no stranger to that gaze ever since shes outgrown her old wardrobe (several times over). its pretty obvious, and you know you do such a bad job hiding it.

to be pampered with gentle forehead kisses and fed rich desserts until moving comfortably isn't an option anymore, your s/o rubbing deep circles into your belly to make space for more. cooking you large breakfasts in bed and taking you out to lunch and encouraging extra helpings at dinner, making sure your growing belly is filled with snacks between meals, hand feeding you rich heavy desserts when you're too full and sleepy to eat anymore.

thinking your tummy is only rounded out from being kept so full all the time but you gradually become softer around the edges, your thighs a little chunkier, your stomach starting to soften and fill out until all your tshirts are a little too tight against the soft curve of your chub and your jeans barely hold together when you sit down

prompt: someone discovering they’re a feeder as their feedee partner gets bigger

Sometimes you’re both in bed, distracted and ignoring each other on your phones or laptops, when you notice. Your eyes lift from your phone and notice your partner’s relaxed belly, rising and lowering with calm breath, stretching the fabric of their shirt. Really stretching it now, not just with every inhale, but by default. Not just pushing the seams a little with chubbier hips, but forcing the cotton to bow out close to its limit, forcing the stitching to cave into a belly button deeper and softer-looking than you remember. And your eyes inevitably take in the rest: thicker thighs, more shapely chest, less defined arms, softer jawline.  

You’re aware that your partner’s gained a little weight. More than a little, but it’s fine. Probably thirty or so pounds, not a big deal, and you absolutely don’t judge them for it. Have they mentioned it at all? No, they just keep tugging at their shirts and pants. And underwear. Their underwear is getting too small for them, with weight gain making them a bit of a pear and all, but you don’t say anything. You don’t say they need bigger underwear. You don’t tell them how much you appreciate the fact that they need it. As long as they stay mum on the subject of their weight and the fit of their clothes, so will you; that’s your rule.

Sometimes you’re both in bed, watching TV, and they’re eating their way to the bottom of a quart of appallingly flavored ice cream (super-caramel-quadruple chocolate-chunk type stuff), and you keep sneaking glances. Because you’re amazed they’re comfortable enough around you to eat freely like this—or so you tell yourself. Their eyes are so glazed with distracted pleasure that maybe it didn’t even occur to them not to gorge themselves tonight, right in front of you.

Not gorging themselves like some kind of pig—no, it’s just, you both ordered a lot of takeout just a couple hours ago, and then they snacked on chips for a while, and then there was that candy bar they ate on a whim while you took out the trash, and now it’s a whole quart of ice cream. A whole quart. The more glances you sneak at them, the more you notice how their budding second chin peeks out when they chew. The more you notice that their bites seem hasty, as if tinged by some kind of distant, unconscious desperation.

You lean against them as if too tired to stay upright, reaching over them casually, letting one arm rest against their belly. It’s soft. It’s bigger. Not a big deal at all, you tell yourself for the millionth time.

And yet, you ponder their weight more. You’ve been pondering it incessantly. You can’t stop thinking about how they went to the mall two weeks ago without telling you, bought clothes a size up, and already were uncomfortably tugging and pulling on on every tight band and seam again. You can’t stop your thoughts from wandering to the idea of them sizing up again any more than your partner can stop their hands from opening another package of cookies.

“Ugh, this stuff is so good,” they mutter, swallowing the last bite, then closing the lid on the carton and setting it aside.

“Mm. I’ll buy more then,” you say without thinking. It’s fine if they size up again, after all. You’ll love them no matter their body type. Their happiness comes first. “I’m going to the grocery store anyway.”

"Confront her!"

It sounded insane when she suggested it. How would you even bring it up? You were half joking when you said your boss was trying to make you gain weight, but your friend seemed almost convinced it was true, when you explained the daily sweets planted directly across from your desk. "They are for clients, visitors," she said when you first started, before inviting you to help yourself. A few visitors a day might bite, but it seemed like overkill, always twice what might seem prudent. Some days it felt like an entire buffet was left out for you, and the 5 or so people that might pass through into her office. Every day when it's time to leave, she's always so adamant you take something home, providing a bag or a box despite your protest.

You weren't sure who you were trying to convince when you assured her she was just being sweet. "Sweet" wasn't the first word that came to mind when describing your boss. Intense was more accurate. Years in law had made her intimidating and charismatic in equal measure. When you try and refuse her care package, she insists in a way one might use to batter the defense. Perhaps the money she had accumulated simply made a few stale donuts a thing that didn't matter.

Now your stomach turned. You asked to talk to her in private this morning. You weren't going to until you felt how tight your skirt was already getting. 25 pounds in 3 months was a lot on your small frame. You saw the accumulation pushing against your waistband in the mirror and got a burst of confidence, though what you had imagined was to be a "I know what your doing!" had collapsed into "Can I talk to you after lunch today?" once you saw her in her impeccably tailored suit.

You toss your salad container into the trash, steel yourself, and enter with a light knock on the door as you enter.

"You wanted to see me?" she said almost expressionless.

"Yeah. Uh, so I was talking to a friend and. So since I've started working here. I just noticed. I really appreciate it but."

"I have a client soon, please be concise."

"Sorry. I just. You keep giving me all these sweets. I've already gained like, 20 pounds..." you say as your face starts to burn red. "Are you blaming me for your sweet tooth?" she said with smirk. Was she thinking it was funny, or did she think you had gone crazy.

"Are you trying to make me fat?" you say rapidly with your remaining composure. "Am I making you fat?" she says, slowly standing up, the smirk now morphing into a devilish smile. "Sure I keep a lot of sweets around the office," she says, walking intently toward a small platter next to her desk. She pulls the top off revealing your favorite doughnut variety almost shining from the desk lamp's light.

"But since you've worked here, "she says, "it's not like I've ever picked up the doughnut," as she picks up the doughnut.

She walks slowly towards you as you sink back into the chair, "Brought it to your lips..."

She's now over you, slowly moving the doughnut toward your face.

You close your eyes but start to open your mouth. You aren't sure why. Your whole body starts to feel on fire.

"And made you eat anything," you feel the cream and chocolate moving down your throat.

You open your eyes as she again brings the pastry to your mouth.