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#prompt 154
promptsbytaurie · 2 months
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prompt #154
"Beep. Beep. Beep."
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
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umprompted · 6 months
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#154
“Blow me a kiss, sweetheart; I’ll win this one for you.”
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DP x DC prompt #154
Danny has been a god since the day he was born. Not because of something that happened in the past or because of his parents. The reason why he's a god is because of what happens in the future, I.e. Clockwork adopting him. Because of Clockwork adopting him, weird time magic has made it so Danny has been a god ever since he was born.
On an unrelated note, the Justice League Dark has been scrabbling to find out more about this new, unknown god that's been born.
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puppetmaster13u · 4 months
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Prompt 154
Danny is very displeased. He’s going to bite Clockwork and complain his ear off because this is just utter bullshit. 
He’s stuck as a baby, which isn’t his fault. Okay so maybe it was a little bit his fault, but no one had told him not to touch the thing! And Clockwork is apparently too busy to fix his situation. Personally Danny is pretty sure he’s just enjoying being able to carry him around, what with the purr-buzzing and all that. 
Which okay, it’s kind of nice and is making him kind of sleepy but still! He’s supposed to be angry about this situation and biting at his hands! Which he shall continue to do! … after this nap, it’s been a while since he was able to get some proper sleep. 
Okay whoever just woke him up is going to have to catch his itty bitty baby hands! At least Clockwork looks just as unimpressed as he is now, and the people around the summoning circle look confused- save for a trenchcoat dude who looks horrified. 
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stealingyourbones · 5 months
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Submitted Prompts #154
Dani finally managed to extort a Gotham Academy scholarship out of Vlad. Things have been going great, and she loves her new school, but she's more than a little confused as to why her two best friends smell like ectoplasm and the Sun respectively.
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thebibutterflyao3 · 5 months
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Day 1 - Prompt: Snow @jegulus-microfic
December Daily Series - 154 words.
**Series 1/5 of a continuous multi-ship story**
Morning’s light blinded him when his eyelids fluttered open. An obscenely bright reflection of the sun’s rays had the audacity to bounce off of the new fallen snow and attack his retinas with searing prongs. Regulus groaned as he flailed at the open draperies that allowed this intrusion into his bed.
“Potter,” he whined, squinting at the figure staring intently through the now unshaded window that separated their beds. “Too bright.”
James glanced over his shoulder with a look so utterly charmed that Regulus was fully drawn from his sleep-deprived annoyance at once. The glow haloed his face as the mess of curls danced playfully from his sudden movement and cast a stunning relief of warmth against the violently cold world behind him. His breath hitched hard.
“Sorry, Black, but this is entirely too pretty to ignore.” His gaze flicked over Regulus momentarily before he turned back to the scenery outside.
I know the feeling.
Next Part >>>
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badnoahmens · 10 months
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Would you maybe do smut prompts 140 and 154?? Noah?
Ooooft this combination is *chefs kiss*.
140: “you’re so gorgeous”
154: “ruin me”
Smut prompt list can be found here.
Noah was a fool when it came to you, there was no doubt. He would come at your beckoning call, anything you asked for, it was never too much. Why was he like this? Good question. He wasn’t the type that you thought would be so submissive. He was often the one demanding attention in the room, so maybe this gave him the time away from this demeanour.
He definitely has charm, you’ll give him that, but as soon as you step into the room he is quite literally putty in your hands. He was more than just a booty call though, he was something different altogether. Not quite exclusive, but not the opposite of that either. It was difficult to explain, but neither of you questioned it.
It was questioning it that was too difficult. It would lead to too many other questions. Questions that stood in the way of what was important. And what was important right now? Noah, in front of you, begging you to touch him.
He was laying on his back, shirt long gone. His tattoos covering his chest, arms and neck covered in a thick layer of sweat. His shorts were still on, bounding his hard on to just his clothing. All he wanted was skin. He wanted to feel you. He begged for you to do something to him. But the more he asked, the longer he would have to wait.
“Please” he pleaded, voice cracking as he did.
“Please what?” You ask, innocently throwing his your doe-eyed look.
“I need you to-” he was cut off from you hollowing out your cheeks with his dick. The sudden warmth of your tongue made him jolt as a reflex.
“Need me to what” you gurgle around his cock. The vibrations from speaking roll up your throat and vibrate on him. He curls over, grasping your hair with both his hands. Then you are gone. The warmth is lost and the crisp cool air of your breath washing over his dick was almost painful.
“I need you to ruin me with that mouth” he said darkly. He peered at you through his half-closed eyes, trying his hardest not to buck his dick right back into that filthy mouth of yours.
But you were in a teasing mood, again. “Why should I?”
He flips back into the bed, lying down and places his hands over his face. His chest is heaving and his cock twitches as though to demand attention. You grasp it firmly at the base, and slowly start moving your hand up his shaft. He covers his eyes with his arm now, biting down on his lower lip.
“Tell me why I should keep doing this” you press. He still hasn’t answered your last question. Your hand reaches the top of his dick, and then starts to slide down again, achingly slow.
“Because you’re so gorgeous. And you do this so well” he states, muffled by his huffs.
“That’s good enough for me” you reply, then start fisting his cock faster, taking in the tip in your mouth. Your tongue runs along the underside of it, flicking over the end and then circling back to do it again. Your head bobs up and down, in rhythm with your hand, making sure to reach every inch of this man.
The sound of sloppy slurps fill the room, wetness that is a mix of precum and saliva start to drip down your chin. You knew he was close, his hips started to buck beneath you as though he couldn’t control them. Then, without a word of warning, you feel a heat being thrown down the back of your throat. He stills himself, holding his hips high as you slide his cock down into your mouth again, taking it in right to the base. A small gag comes from the back of your throat, but you fight it so that you don’t choke.
You look up at Noah who had beads of sweat dripping down the side of his face. He was looking down at you, eyes ablaze with lust, sex, and pleasure. When he meets your gaze, he can’t help but smile at the view.
You let do of his dick, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. The fluid in your mouth is gulped down as you start to lick your fingers clean. The sight of that almost makes Noah cum again.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous” he says in a sigh, dropping his head back down onto the bed.
“You said that already” you retort, standing up from your position and heading to the bathroom. The only real way to clean this up was with a shower. “Care to join me?” You call out, tossing your clothes onto the floor. You’ve never seen Noah move faster.
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singulxarity · 3 months
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Jegulus microfic - Day 30 - prompt - "uneven" @jegulus-microfic
Word count : 154
Regulus feels an uneven breathing beside him. Which is strange because he is currently the only person in his dorm.
"You know you shouldn't bother being invisible if you're going to breathe as loudly as a rampaging rhino."
"A rampaging rhino? That's creative," says James, pulling off his invisibility cloak with the air of a magician revealing a rabbit from under a hat.
"I didn't know you owned one of these," Regulus says as he runs his hands through the silky fabric of the cloak. "And why are you panting?"
"Had to run after you for the password"
"Ah of course"
James moves behind Regulus and wraps his hands around the other's waist, while slowly pressing feather light kisses to the side of his neck.
"You know, having an invisibility cloak makes it easy easier for us to meet and do things like this..."
And this time, it is Regulus' breath that gets uneven.
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ghuleh-recs · 5 months
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It's @iamthecomet's birthday!!! Comet is easily one of my favorite ghoul writers and in honor of her birthday I threw together a list of some of my all-time favorites of hers. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have enjoyed every. single. thing. Comet has written. On top of being an incredible writer, she is a DELIGHTFUL human being. She is SO ridiculously kind and quick to offer advice or support to whichever anon might be dropping into her inbox that day. We are beyond lucky to have such a talented, beautiful soul in this fandom. So go forth, treat yourself to some Comet fics, and leave some comments and kudos as a lil' bday treat ♡
recs under the cut.
Born Under a Troubled Sign - Aether x Dewdrop - 40.7k
Dewdrop goes from water to fire. It goes about as well as can be expected. *THE DEWDROP ANGST FIC OF ALL TIME. I will never stop recommending this and I am not sorry.
Dance With Me - Aeon x Swiss - 1.1k
“Dance?” Swiss rolls his eyes and curls his hand around Aeon’s forearm. He’s so warm. That’s the one thing about Swiss that stays constant even with the glamor. The heat of him. Aeon moves closer like a moth drawn to a flame, and Swiss abandons his grip on Aeon’s arm in favor of one around his waist. “Yeah,” Swiss whispers, leaning in to drag his nose up the side of Aeon’s neck. Inhaling sharply as he noses against his hairline. “That’s what I said.” “There’s no music?”
Tear Me Down - Dewdrop x Rain - 7.7k
Dew can't handle a bad day productively. Rain makes him handle it his way. They make some noise. They're probably never going to be allowed at this hotel again. “Yeah, yeah,” Dew says dismissively. Stroking from root to tip, watching the way Rain is leaking already. Like always. Wet from start to finish. “Can’t believe you’re still mouthing off.” Dew shrugs, watching Rain fill out in his hand, twisting his fist around the head, pressing his fingers to the underside. Rain’s flushed and shiny already. Each stroke makes his stomach clench. “You haven’t really given me a reason to stop.”
Comet's Ficlet Collection (Ch. 154) - Aeon x Dewdrop - 1k
Prompt: i will offer you my firstborn child for a new ghoul focused fic about him being praised about insecurities. i find comfort in my favs having the same issues as me, so the idea of him not really liking his body but being praised for it is just so good to me
Comet's Ficlet Collection (Ch. 16) - Aether x Cumulus x Dewdrop x Sunshine x Swiss - 1k
Could I request something with similar appreciation for a larger body for Cumulus? Any partner or multiple partners are fine. I crave some fat body appreciation and love on a soul level, I adore her so much and she deserves every inch of her beautiful plush figure to be lavished with attention and devotion.
Dewdrop & Sunshine are Chaos Incarnate - Dewdrop & Sunshine - <;1k
Prompt: I neeeeeeed chaos twins Dew and Sunshine gettin in trouble with Mountain and Ifrit
Fill Your Lungs With Words - Aether x Dewdrop - 4.8k
He loves Dew when he’s two seconds away from self-immolation. Loves him when he’s badgering Mountain into letting him in the kitchen—which is always a bad decision. He loves him when he’s high and pliant, loves him when he falls asleep on Aether’s chest, a gentle purr rolling through his body. Aether’s fucking in love with him. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Let Me Decide What You Need - Mountain x Swiss x Rain - 8.6k
Rain and Swiss take Mountain down to studs. It's surprisingly easy.
Perfect Fit - Aeon x Cumulus - 1.2k
Cumulus tries on her old uniform. Aeon gets an eyeful. Can't really blame him for what happens next.
Comet's Mushy May Collection (Ch. 10) - Aether x Everyone (kinda) - 1k
Unspoken I love you / First I love you Love is an easy thing with them. The pack is full of it. Casual I love yous thrown over shoulders. The press of thumbs over knuckles, the slide of fingers together. They all fit together. Bonded by experience, by undeniable kinship. Aether feels it. Feels the swell of love, the burn of it in his chest. And he thinks about saying it back when Cumulus calls it to him. Thinks about whispering it in Dew’s ear when they’re curled up together. Thinks about letting those words fall off of his tongue again. It’s been…he could pretend he doesn’t know. He could just say it’s been a while. It’s been almost a year. He can pretend that he doesn’t know this down to the day—the minute almost. *this one hurts. you have been warned.
It's No Fun 'Til Someone Dies (series) - murder ghouls - 10k
Dew doesn’t understand how they haven’t figured it out yet. Humanity's persistence, its blindness will be its downfall. He’s in awe of the way they continue to insist to themselves that it’s normal for multiple people a month to just—vanish. To “go home” without taking any of their stuff. To flee in the middle of the night. Or fall from balconies, or down the stairs, or drown. That they haven’t figured out that the unlucky few are fodder for the machine that is the Ghost Project. Food, literally, for the hell-spawn that drives it forward. They spend their days looking at the Ghouls like they are something to be attained. A prize to win. Dew is happy to encourage it. To let them walk right into the trap. He runs his teeth over his fangs. He can still taste the blood.
* Okay I need to stop myself because I could keep going indefinitely.
𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!
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revasserium · 1 year
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Can you do #154 with Hoshiumi or Bokuto ❤️🥺
send me a prompt and a character, and i'll write you a drabble (or ukno, like a 2k fuckin fic)
154. Leap into my arms @thisbicc
diving into the wreck
bokuto; 1,815 words; angst in the beginning, but its honestly more hurt/comfort, and the ending is fluffy ;) ish.
he is a volcano, he is a thunderstorm — he is every natural disaster poets have ever tried to tame with language and still, the truth remains — bokuto koutarou is a force of nature. but the thing about natural disasters is that they end. they pass and, like shooting stars, all that remains is the wreckage they’ve left behind, the imprint of light across a moonless night.
“losing isn’t everything, y’know.”
you run a hand down the curved planes of his back, trying to sooth the tantrum building just beneath the surface.
“it is! and you know it is! you just — you just don’t know how it feels! you don’t know anything!”
the words seep through the house, oozing blood like an open wound, soaking the carpets and weighing down the curtains, staining them till neither of you are sure what color they used to be when you first got them.
(”look! look! these are on sale! and they’re the design i like!” “ah, well if they’re the design you like, then i guess we gotta get ‘em, huh?” “oh shut up, you big goofball.”)
you pull back your hand and sigh.
“you’re right… i don’t know how it feels to lose like you do but —” you bite down hard on your lips, swallowing down the words —
i know how it feels to lose you.
he looks up, his expression desperate. he wants to reach out, to pull you close to say no, i didn’t mean that or no, i’m sorry, let’s get some icream or some popcorn or some new damn curtains but he looks away instead.
(”how do you jump so high?” “huh? me? oh… uh… well, i mean… i just kinda do it… i guess.” “but… aren’t you afraid you’re gonna fall and hurt yourself?” “nah. like, the floor’s not goin’ anywhere, y’know?”)
“bokuto… i — i think i’m gonna go stay with a friend for a while.”
bokuto feels the world press in, the walls inching towards him, the ceiling pressing down. he wants to curl in on himself till there’s nothing left, he wants to crush you to him, to hold you so tightly you become a part of him but his body won’t move. his lips are still. and there’s a part of him that wonders if he does this to himself just so he’ll have something to fight for.
because the truth is — he doesn’t know how else to love you.
he doesn’t know how else to love but like this — with no training wheels, with his eyes closed and fists clenched and wild hope pounding in his heart. and he knows he’s not good at this — he’s never been all too good at this but he never thought it would hurt — he never knew that the floor could disappear from beneath his feet and that sometimes, just sometimes, you really should look before you leap but…
“for… for how long?” he asks.
“i… i’m not sure yet but… i think —” you take a breath like gasping for air in a vacuum-sealed space, “i think it’d be good for us,” another heaving breath.
“some time… apart.”
bokuto feels the air leave the room like a scolded child, slipping away through the opened doorway, disappearing into the darkness of the hall. he tries to breathe and finds that he doesn’t quite remember how.
(”so… its like a trust exercise. with the floor.” “w-wha?? you still talkin’ about jumping?” “yeah! like… in order to jump that high, you gotta trust that the floor will be there to catch you, right?”)
“okay.”
the word burns through him, a comet with a too-long tail, singeing his tongue. it tastes like cinder and smoke and all the words he never had the courage to say out loud.
“okay,” you echo, with a tiny little nod.
he feels the ground beneath him crack and crumble, and for the first time in his life, bokuto is afraid of falling.
“i…” he nearly chokes on the word, but he forces himself to his feet, his fists balled at his sides. like this, he towers over you, like this, he’s a huge, imposing thing, but like this — he feels the smallest he’s ever been.
i’m sorry.
“i love you,” he says, finally. after a long-held breath.
you look up at him with wide, sad eyes and after a moment, you let out a small laugh. it shakes your shoulders and breaks something inside him. because this, at least, he knows to be true. he might not be good at it but he knows that he loves you. he loves you strong, and he loves you hard.
he loves you like a thunderstorm might love a lightning sea, too much salt, and not enough water —
“yeah…” you say, “yeah… i know.”
(”ahh… there’s no fixin’ that, is there?” “what, the dish you broke cause you put it in the dishwasher wrong? nope. don’t think so.” “mm… but what if we keep it anyway?” “aww, you big baby, i always knew you were the sentimental type.”)
you run a hand through your hair, leaning back against the kitchen counter with a deep, heavy sigh.
slowly, the air trickles back into the room.
“let’s go swimming,” he says. and you look up, all sadness gone and replaced by confusion, but bokuto is smiling, a hopeful, indulgent sort of thing.
“what, right now?” you blink at him. he rocks on the balls of his feet.
“yeah. right now.”
for a second, you narrow your eyes, for a second, you wonder what this might be about. but years with bokuto has taught you that there are moments where you don’t ask why or when or how. it is only the who that matters — and it has always been him.
the pool is closed but bokuto manages to find the key tucked in the gym manager’s drawer and you bite back an exasperated sigh as he unlocks the door and lets you both in. there’s a triumphant smile on his lips and you can’t help but laugh. when he cannonballs into the water, whooping out in joy, you stand by the poolside and watch him — and for a second everything is fine. for second, everything is forgotten — all the big fights, all the long nights, all the things neither of you really meant to say — washed away by the chlorine-scented water dripping down the length of his spine.
“c’mon! come in! the water’s great!”
bokuto motions for you to join him, and you only hesitate for a second before pulling off your shirt and slipping into the cool, temperature controlled water. you let yourself sink beneath the surface and you feel the world above you slip away.
you open your eyes to find bokuto there, right in front of you, his eyes just as wide open as yours. his lips are moving, bubbles streaming from his mouth as he speaks but you shake your head, feeling the laughter curling up within you.
“b-bokuto — i can’t hear anything you’re saying!”
you break the surface and reach out to pull him up. but he only shakes his head and drags you under again. you shake your head too, about to break away when you see him mouthing the words —
i’m sorry.
don’t leave me.
you still, and for a moment, you both hang there, suspended by the weight of water, the sheer lack of air. and for once, bokuto is thankful for it.
(”i — i’m not that sentimental! i just… i like holding onto broken things, sometimes.” “bokuto… but… we can just get a new dish —” “no, like… i just think… that it’s worth a try is all.”)
this time, when you break the surface, bokuto comes up with you, gasping for air like a drowning man. he takes you by the arms and shakes you, ever so slightly. water droplets cling to his hair like gemstones, glittering in the refracted blue lights.
“we — we’re not broken,” he says, his voice a bit waterlogged, his chest heaving like some great beached whale, fighting for every breath, for every word.
you purse your lips, a wave of something cresting inside your chest.
he gives you another shake.
“and… and even if we are…” he gulps, “i — i think we’re worth fixing.”
you let out a tiny sob, the hot prickling behind your eyes bursting out in a maelstrom of salt and water and bokuto holds you at arm’s length and lets you cry. he lets you scream and struggle and tell him all the things you’d never have told him otherwise.
he takes it the best he can. he weathers the storm. he waits it out like a patient beach, knowing that eventually, the tide will recede. that eventually, even a hurricane will blow through it’s course.
“i’m sorry,” he says, finally, when you’ve cried yourself out, still hiccupping with his hands on either side of your arms, both your fingers pruning in the water.
“y-you better be.”
bokuto laughs, nodding, finally pulling you in for a kiss.
“i am… and… i’m sorry that i’m so bad at apologizing.”
you let out a watery laugh and make a half-hearted attempt to splash him.
“as long as you don’t make a habit of breaking into the gym pool at midnight just to say sorry.”
“i dunno, it’s kinda nice though, isn’t it?”
“what, a midnight dip? i guess it is…”
for a moment, the both of you are quiet. and you both know this isn’t the end, that there are still words to be said, new curtains to buy, old dishes to mend.
“hey, wanna try something?” bokuto’s voice is hopeful, but as you turn to look at him, you allow yourself another smile. because isn’t this what you fell in love with in the first place? the highs and the lows, the sunlight days and the stormy nights.
“sure, what do you wanna try?”
bokuto points at the diving board hanging over the deep end of the pool with a wide, wayward grin.
you hike your eyebrows.
“c’mon! try it! i’ll catch you!”
trust me.
you hesitate for a moment longer before swimming to the edge and heaving yourself out of the water. bokuto whoops as you walk onto the diving board and look over the edge.
he opens his arms and waits for you.
you take a breath, and —
you jump.
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gainingfiction · 2 years
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Go Big, Go Home
Summary: Finn is a slacker with a fondness for milking the system. When he learns that employees of a certain size can apply to work from home, he hatches a plan to get fat enough to qualify. Finn likes his food, and he’s already a bit chubby, but he soon unleashes the inner hog buried deep within him, and a gluttony that won’t let him stop gaining—even when he’s hit his target. This story was inspired by a prompt from a follower based on “King-Size Homer” from The Simpsons.
~
Finn always preferred the easy way out. Why study when you could copy your friend’s test? Why cook if you can afford takeout? Why do more when you can do less?
Sure, maybe it wasn’t the best attitude, but it had served Finn just fine. At 22, he had a decent job and an equally decent apartment. And even if he did care more about his own orgasms than pleasing his partners, he still did well enough on his preferred hookup apps. For Finn, life was going pretty well.
That is, until he learned he was doing more than the bare minimum. That was something Finn couldn’t accept.
He was pouring himself a cup of coffee when he figured out a new way to game the system, eavesdropping on a pair of receptionists as they swapped some particularly juicy office gossip.
Finn’s ears perked up when he heard that Tony from IT wouldn’t have to come into the office anymore. The story was that he’d gained so much weight on the job that human resources and the union rep had agreed that he could work from home. Phrases like “mobility issues” and “occupational hazard” were thrown around. Apparently, employees who reached a certain BMI could qualify for that sort of program.
Finn wasn’t even aware that his employer let anyone work from home, although he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like Finn needed to be at his desk: he worked in customer service. His job consisted mostly of fielding calls and sending emails… all things he could do from his couch—if he was allowed.
The wheels in Finn’s head were already turning as he left the kitchen. He deposited his coffee on his desk and went straight to the bathroom, where he took a good look at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t bad looking—green eyes with a mischief he couldn’t hide, some light stubble, and a crop of floppy, light brown hair.
His figure was masked by a loose-fitting button-down and dress pants. It was hardly the body of a god. His softness stemmed from an extreme distaste for physical exertion, which was part of his natural laziness. This aversion to exercise was no problem when he was in high school—it was easy enough to stay thin with his genetics and a teenage metabolism. But as he coasted through his bachelor’s degree, the Freshman 15 blossomed into a forty-pound weight gain: he weighed in at a spritely 154 pounds the first time he walked onto campus, and by the time he left, he was up to 196. The numbers bounced around Finn’s head as he returned to his desk. 
Finn didn’t mind being a little chubby. He certainly didn’t care enough to diet or work out. If anything, the idea of getting to stay home every day, sitting around in his underwear with the TV playing in the background, never having to sit in traffic or make awkward small talk again, seemed like a great reason to expand his extremely average build.
It took a bit of searching, but he found a PDF of the employee handbook and searched it for “BMI”. It didn’t take long to find a very interesting section.
Employees who struggle with significant weight gain as a result of their work-related sedentary lifestyle may benefit from a range of modifications. These include, but are not limited to, a modified workspace (e.g. a standing desk or other modified equipment), accessibility aids, and, in certain circumstances, a voluntary work from home program.
Bingo. Finn read on:
While there is no “one-size-fits-all” solution, employees with a BMI of 60 or greater will generally qualify for the voluntary work from home program, particularly where this is medically recommended.
Jackpot. So Gina the receptionist was right. If he got fat enough, Finn would never have to go into the office again. He opened a new tab and found an online BMI calculator. 
Finn’s eyes widened as he plugged in the numbers. He was 5’10”, and weighed around 205 pounds these days. That put his BMI at just shy of 30—already embarrassingly close to the “obese” range, although he didn’t think he looked that big. But to get to a BMI of 60, he’d need to soar up to 418 pounds….
Finn exhaled. His weight had been steadily increasing for years without him even trying, so it wasn’t like he’d be fighting nature. But to gain over 200 pounds? That wouldn’t be easy. It would take time, money, and, worst of all, effort.
He got back to work, but the thought stuck in his brain for the rest of the day. He sat in his uncomfortable office chair, in a small cubicle he shared with another customer service rep named Ron. Ron was a couple of years older than Finn, with a slim build, a plain face, and thinning hair. He often talked to himself, hummed out of tune, clicked his pen constantly, and never turned off his phone notifications. Their workspace was small and slightly messy, with files scattered around and stacked on top of a metal filing cabinet that hadn’t been replaced in decades. The only “decoration” was a potted plant, half-dead from a lack of natural light.
Finn made his decision by lunchtime. If it meant putting office life behind him, he was going to go for it. He was going to get fat. Really, really fat.
He felt an unfamiliar sensation as he stepped out of the elevator onto the building’s main floor: determination. The lobby included a small food court, with a selection of fast food restaurants to choose from. He ate lunch there most days, but today, he was going to truly feast.
The cashier at the burger place was a middle-aged woman who seemed unfazed by Finn’s massive order: three burgers, two large fries, a large Coke, a large chocolate milkshake, and an apple flip. His tray heavy with food, he walked towards an empty table.
Slumping into a chair, Finn stared at the mountain of fast food in front of him. It was as much as two of his regular meals, maybe more. Was he really going to do this? Was it worth it? But the idea of working from home, of never again having to get dressed up to go into the office, beckoned him onward like an irresistible siren call. Sure, he’d be huge—but he’d be free.
So he unwrapped the first burger and dove in. He ate like a starving man, taking huge bites of burger, stuffing his face with a handful of fries, and washing it down with a gulp of thick, chocolatey shake. It all tasted amazing, the sugar and grease flooding his brain with pleasure. He’d already finished two of the burgers and half the fries before his stomach clued into how full he was.
But he couldn’t stop. He had a goal to achieve. So he unwrapped the last burger and took a bite, absentmindedly rubbing his small starter belly as he ate. With mechanical motions, he loaded his mouth with fries, forcing the food down with long slurps of his soft drink. By the time he pushed the last bite of pastry through his lips, he was uncomfortably bloated, his stomach looking larger than usual. He leaned back in his chair—he felt sick, but he also felt good. Like he’d accomplished something.
His stomach ached and gurgled as he rode the elevator back up to the third floor, ignoring the signs that recommended taking the stairs. Lethargy set in by the time he reached his desk, and he spent the whole afternoon stifling burps, covertly massaging his overfull stomach, and wishing he could take a nap.
His appetite picked up again a few hours after he got off work. He’d been watching TV on the couch since returning home, picking away at a bag of chips. By 8 o’clock, he felt ready for a proper dinner. He was craving pizza, so he picked up his cellphone and plugged his choice into his favourite app. Seeing a 2-for-1 special in the discount section, Finn knew what he had to do.
He went to bed that night with a painfully full stomach, a feeling that would become increasingly familiar in the days that followed. For the rest of the week, he picked up a large fast food breakfast before settling in at his desk, and followed it up with lunches that were as vast as they were greasy. Then, he dragged himself back to his office for a series of semi-comatose afternoons. At home, he would order as much as he wanted from his preferred takeout spots, washed down with soda or beer, sometimes both. At night, as he lay in bed cradling his bloated gut, it was like he could feel his stomach stretching, expanding to accommodate his escalating portion sizes, his body and brain working to adapt to whatever he was doing to himself.
The first comment about his developing gluttony came that weekend. It was subtle, but enough to let Finn know that people had noticed him making a pig of himself.
Finn’s best friend, Damian, wore a look of concern mixed with curiosity as he looked over from across the table. Their families had lived next door since before either was born, and they had been friends for as long as Finn could remember. Unlike Finn, Damian was high-strung, always striving to be the best. It was Damian’s tests Finn had always copied from in school. And while Finn did the bare minimum to get his degree, Damian made the dean’s list every year, graduating with highest honours and a job offer from a prestigious engineering firm.
Damian had a slender build, toned during his years as a swimmer and track and field champion and maintained by a rigorous diet and daily workout regimen. His straight, dark hair was always tightly coiffed and gelled, his narrow face clean-shaven, his dark eyes probing and analytical. His eight-part beauty regimen overwhelmed Finn, who got by with some cold water splashed on his face.
Finn couldn’t deny some attraction to Damian, but they’d never hooked up, except for one drunken teenage makeout session that neither ever mentioned again. Finn was more interested in hookups and flings, while Damian always claimed to be looking for The One. That was too much pressure for Finn, who wanted to be “the one” who fucked around and had a good time.
They were still best friends, though, and they met up for drinks every weekend. This week, however, Finn suggested they meet earlier and get dinner instead, an offer Damian accepted. When their meals arrived, Damian was still nursing his first vodka soda of the night, while Finn was already on his third pint of beer.
“You, uh, hungry?” Damian asked, sizing up the huge pile of food in front of his friend.
Finn felt Damian’s eyes linger on his already-enlarged gut, before snapping back up to his face. “I must be,” Finn lied, resting a hand on his belly. “I skipped lunch,” he lied again. He’d actually eaten two lunches—a burger combo, and then a heaping plate of Chinese food. Then, he’d spent the afternoon snacking on the bags of chips and chocolate covered peanuts he now kept in his desk drawer.
“Right,” Damian said, rolling a cherry tomato around his bowl of garden salad. “Oh, I have to tell you about this guy I met at the gym today. Major daddy bear energy. He gave me a ton of tips about weight training. I’m like, 90% sure he wants to take me out.”
Finn chuckled, rolling his eyes. When it came to men, Damian was fairly predictable—they were all burly, dominant, and (most importantly of all) emotionally unavailable. It dawned on Finn years ago that Damian was looking for some version of his father, a stern, plump Catholic with a well-groomed beard and impossible expectations. Damian’s endless string of brief, ill-fated relationships made for some interesting stories, at least.
Finn was in good spirits (and a little drunk) by the time they left the bar. After Damian caught his bus, Finn groaned and rubbed his overfull stomach. As usual, he’d overdone it; the two-block walk to his apartment was torture. That night, he leapt into bed, holding his packed, round stomach like he was posing for a pregnancy photoshoot. He was asleep a few moments later.
And so, Finn settled into a routine. On weekdays, he’d eat a few pieces of toast at home, before grabbing breakfast sandwiches and hashbrowns at the food court in the lobby of his office building. Then, by lunchtime, his appetite would have recovered enough for another feast. He rotated through the various options over the course of the week, sometimes eating a second lunch, often picking up donuts or other pastries to snack on during the afternoon. He’d even struck up a rapport with the 20-something cashier at the donut shop and the young hunk at the Chinese takeout counter. Then, after work, he would drive home and collapse onto the couch to watch TV or play video games until he decided where to get dinner. After ordering yet another ridiculous spread, he’d eat it on the couch, washed down with a beer or five. Then, he grazed on his favourite snacks until it was time to roll into bed, thoroughly and completely stuffed. And on Saturday, he would shock Damian by polishing off massive servings of pub grub and an ocean of cheap, high calorie beer.
As the days turned to weeks, the effects were getting harder to ignore. The consequences of eating thousands of extra calories a day started to pile up on Finn’s frame, and they piled up fast and furious.
He noticed it everywhere. His work shirts, once loose, grew tighter, until they started to cling to his distended belly and puffy chest; on cold days, when his office was chilly, his nipples poked obscenely against the cotton. His love handles swelled and expanded, deposits of side fat that enfolded his torso and merged into widening back rolls. His hips widened, too, thickening with fat as it settled around his thighs and ass. Big hips ran in Finn’s family, especially the women, but Finn was starting to put some of them to shame. Packing his growing thighs into his dress pants had been getting more difficult lately, and they swaddled his porky butt like plastic wrap, accentuating every curve. The outline of his boxer-briefs (which were also tight) was clearly visible, cutting into his ass fat. He was definitely developing a bit of a pear shape. Standing in front of his hallway mirror before work, he made a mental note to upgrade his wardrobe before he popped a button or busted a seam.
He was starting to raise some eyebrows at the office, too: it seemed that every day Finn managed to come to work fatter, wearing worse-fitting clothes, and eating more at his desk than he had the day before. Ron, his office mate, never mentioned it, but Finn caught him staring once as he leaned over to pick up a bag of chips he’d dropped, his thick rump aimed in Ron’s direction. He looked away quickly, but Finn was pretty sure Ron spent the rest of the afternoon humming “Fat Bottomed Girls” by Queen.
Eating the way he did was fun, but it was also a challenge. Finn imagined himself as a pro-athlete, always trying to beat his personal best and take his game to the next level. How many burgers could he eat without making himself nauseated? How many milkshakes could he drink? How many calories could he stuff into his face during the afternoon without making himself too full to enjoy a Chinese feast or a family-size portion of Mexican food for dinner? Sometimes as he pushed his bloated stomach beyond all limits, he thought of Rocky and his “Eye of the Tiger” training montage. Rising up straight to the top… Had the guts, got the glory.
So his weight climbed. He checked the scales periodically, feeling a perverse sense of accomplishment as he ticked past 250, 260… When he saw 282 flash across the scale, he felt almost giddy. He was really doing it. His life of leisure was getting closer by the day.
Six months into his journey, he did discover one downside.
He’d been so focused on turning himself into a fat boy that he’d mostly put his social life on the back burner, except for his weekly gossip sessions with Damian. So when he got a message on a hookup app from an old fling looking to reconnect, Finn jumped at the opportunity. He invited the guy—James—over to his place for “drinks” that Friday night.
Finn wasn’t much of a cleaner, but he did manage to throw out the mountains of empty food containers and bottles of beer and soda that cluttered his apartment. Satisfied that the place looked at least decent, he focused on making himself look decent.
The problem was, he’d only upgraded his work clothes. When he was at home, he mostly lounged around in his boxers, and if his sweats and t-shirt were too small, no one was around to see. But with James on the way, he had to at least find something to wear; even for Finn, answering the door in nothing but his undies was a little too forward. 
He fished a pair of jeans out of the closet, realizing how much smaller they looked than his work pants. He looked at the tag: 36”, the size he’d worn before he started his daily pig-outs. He frowned. His dress pants were 44”, roomy when he bought them but increasingly fitted. Even allowing for the difference in fabric, 36” would be a very tight squeeze.
Still, he gave it a shot. They were supposed to be a loose fit, so even if they were too tight, maybe he could still get them on.
His thunder thighs completely shattered that illusion. Getting them up to his knees had been okay, but then the resistance started to increase. His legs were just too big; there wasn’t near enough denim to get the waistband up over his massive buttocks. His blubber butt was an unconquerable challenge that those poor jeans had no hope of surmounting. They were half way over his booty when he gave up, his thighs crammed in like sausage casings, putting the seams to the test.
It would have to be sweatpants. Those were tight, too, wrapping every inch of added flesh without a stitch to spare. And his stomach… that was its own problem. He tugged at his shirt, desperately trying to get it down past his deepening navel, but his gut put up fierce resistance. Inches of chub sprung out under the hem, bulging over the waistband of his sweats.
Finn felt a surge of panic as he looked in the mirror. A fat man stared back at him, completely overflowing his clothes. He thought about changing into some dressier work clothes, but the doorbell rang before he had the chance.
He would just have to roll the dice. His rolls jiggled as he made his way to the door, forcing his shirt even further up his exposed gut, and his sweatpants further down over his behind, a swathe of plumber’s crack on full display.
He tried to play it cool when he opened the door, smiling at the twink in front of him. “Hey, James,” he said, realizing that the combination of stuffing himself into undersized clothes and rushing to the door had left him breathless. He tried to slow his panting as he leaned against the doorframe.
A look of shock and disgust crossed James’s slim face. The svelte young man stared back at him, mouth agape, eyes roaming up and down Finn’s heavily fattened body. “Uh, what the hell, Finn? You never told me you got so fucking fat.”
“I thought you liked dadbods. And anyway, it’s just a couple pounds,” he said, tugging fruitlessly at the hem of his t-shirt. He knew that was a lie.
“Yeah, a couple dozen. Look, I’m not into chubs. Call me when you lose some weight,” he said. “And update your damn photo, I feel like I just got catfished.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and walked down the hall, tiny hips swinging. Finn stood in the doorway. He was humiliated, but he felt something else, too. His dick was starting to get hard, tenting the front of his overloaded sweats. He tried not to overthink it, assuming it was just the expectation of sex. He shook his head and closed the door. At least there was a carton of ice cream in the freezer with his name on it. Ice cream never criticized his weight. Ice cream was the best boyfriend a guy could ask for.
He told Damian about his failed hookup when they went out to dinner that weekend, portraying himself as the innocent victim of a shallow tease. “Can you believe that?” he said, through a mouthful of cheeseburger. He took a swig of beer. “He literally said I catfished him. Over a couple pounds.”
Damian frowned, fiddling with his glasses. Finn couldn’t help but notice how powerful Damian’s biceps looked, the way his pecs stretched his t-shirt. While Finn had been packing on fat, Damian was layering rock-hard muscle onto his narrow frame, building his body from slim and twinkish to something approaching Achilles or Adonis.
“Right. Listen, I don’t want to be rude, but…” Damian glanced away, rubbing his sharp jaw. He wouldn’t meet Finn’s gaze. “Is everything okay? Y’know, you kind of have been gaining a lot of weight recently.”
Finn’s stomach fluttered. For some reason, getting called out like that by muscular Damian, athletic Damian, perfect Damian, made Finn feel… well, a little turned-on. He couldn’t figure it out—it was embarrassing, but it was the sort of embarrassment that started in his crotch and radiated outwards, sitting like a lustful pit in his stomach. Why did this keep happening? He decided to explore a little further. “Really? Is it super noticeable?”
Damian still couldn’t look Finn in the eyes. He pushed some wild rice around his plate, before spluttering: “It’s—well, I don’t know, that’s… I just wanted to make sure nothing was going on with you.”
Unlike Finn, Damian was a terrible liar. That’s why Finn always did the talking when they were up to no good as kids. Damian hadn’t even answered his question, which made the answer obvious: it was extremely noticeable. Eighty pounds on a 5’10” frame would be noticeable to anyone with eyes.
“Too many good meals, I guess,” Finn said, dragging a hand along the outline of his gut, framed by a too-small button-down, and letting it rest on the underside of his expansive belly. “You must think I’m turning into a real pig, huh?”
Damian reddened slightly, and ran a hand through his thick hair. He kept fiddling with his glasses, eyes flicking from Finn’s belly to finally meet his gaze. “No, of course not. I was just checking in. And I wanted to offer to train you if you wanted any help losing weight. At the gym.”
Finn cracked a smirk. “Actually, can I let you in on a little secret?” he asked, his voice low.
Damian nodded, leaning forward slightly. His expression was intense, the sort of look Finn recognized as deep interest. He rested his hand on his chin, slender fingers covering his pink lips.
“I’m doing it on purpose. I figured out that I get to work from home if I get fat enough. So I’m trying to gain even more. I've packed on eighty already.”
Damian’s jaw dropped, but he closed it again, quickly. “Wait, really?” he asked, arching his brows. “Finn, don’t you think that’s a little… reckless? Dangerous, even?”
Finn took a long slurp of his soda; he liked to have something to wash down the beer. His smirk widened. “Well, you know I live for a little danger.”
Damian’s mouth opened slightly, and he closed it again, his eyes searching his plate. He seemed to be trying to comprehend the information that had just been dropped on him. He gave a slow nod as Finn shovelled a mouthful of nachos into his eager maw.
“Do you think that’s stupid?” Finn asked, after the silence had gone on for a little too long.
“No,” Damian said, quickly. He sighed, looking down at his own plate. “I mean, it’s the sort of stunt that only you’d come up with. But it kind of reminds me of myself, in a way. Setting a goal and pushing yourself until you get there, no matter the cost… It’s just… Well, I don’t want you to get hurt, Finn. Don’t want anything to happen to you.” His chocolatey brown eyes searched Finn’s face. “I care about you.”
Finn’s smirk turned into a genuine smile, at that, a big, toothy grin. “Aw, shucks, you’re gonna make me blush.” He gave his friend a playful punch in the arm. “Anyway, I’ll be fine. As soon as I get permission to work from home, I’ll drop it all. I’ll look like you in no time.”
Damian nodded again. He looked away from Finn, back to the steamed vegetables and wild rice on his plate. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sure you will.”
Finn frowned. Damian really was a terrible liar.
After that night, something in Finn changed. It wasn’t just about the job anymore. Now, there was something inside of him that wanted to get fatter, a part of his libido that pushed him to expand his stomach and add even more fat to his obese body.
Finn had always been lazy, but the added pounds made him even lazier. Even the most basic tasks started to seem like a chore, if not a workout. He loathed standing in front of the sink to wash dishes, or picking up the garbage that accumulated around his apartment. Hauling a load of laundry down the stairs might as well have been a marathon. He didn’t mind showers, since they gave him a chance to size up his expanding body, but the amount of time it took to wash all that added flesh was getting to be a headache.
And he abandoned any pretense of keeping his office clean. Was he supposed to get up and walk over to the recycling bin, like some sort of olympic athlete? Not fucking likely. Ron glared at him, staring at the empty soda bottles and takeout boxes that littered his desk. Finn knew that Ron was the one who ended up disposing of the absurd amount of waste he produced in the run of a day. His disgust was like an aphrodisiac to Finn, who relished the judgmental stares of skinny people, the way they watched, uncomprehendingly, as he treated his ballooning body like a dumpster for a repulsive array of junk food.
Other than Damian. His reaction had been a complete shock to Finn. Damian didn’t judge him, or push him to work out. In a strange way, Damian seemed to appreciate the effort that he was putting into his body, to admire his dedication to this new lifestyle of laziness and voracious greed. Damian sometimes showed up at Finn’s door with a heavy bag of takeout, tidying up Finn’s living room as he devoured whatever offerings his friend delivered. And it wasn’t just takeout: sometimes Damian brought a six pack of beer, a pan of homemade brownies, or a freshly-baked cheesecake. Finn hadn’t realized his friend was such a talented baker until he tasted his delicious food.
Finn was becoming a lazy, slovenly eating machine, a paragon of ever-expanding gluttony. Hardly a moment passed when he wasn’t stuffing his face with something. There was no denying that he was getting seriously fat: he had gotten into a rhythm, a routine of pushing himself and then pushing himself further. Being full just didn’t cut it anymore; he had to be stuffed. Once, eating 5,000 calories in a day was exceptional; now, it was the norm. He was downright cranky when he didn’t have something to snack on, his mood brightening as soon as he got his pudgy fingers on a bar of chocolate or a greasy slice of pizza. 
Blake, his friend at the donut shop, seemed astonished at how much food Finn consumed, even as Finn noticed the cashier’s polo shirt fitting tighter around his growing beer belly and love handles. And he loved teasing Sam, the skinny cashier at Imperial Wok. He’d sidle up to the counter, letting his belly lead the way. “You know the drill,” he’d say, with a wry smile, the slight cashier’s dark eyes boggling at the massive slab of all-American beef parked in front of him. He always made eyes at the dark-haired cutie as he loaded up boxes with a banquet’s worth of egg rolls, fried rice, noodles and sweet-and-sour pork. Sam really did know the drill: dish out enough food to fill Finn’s monstrous belly.
He ballooned up to 300 pounds, and rocketed past 310, more than twice what he weighed six years ago as a trim 18-year-old, and a hundred pounds fatter than the chubby guy he’d been less than a year before. 310 gave way to 320, and then 330. He realized with glee that he was closer to his target than his starting weight.
His new lifestyle was putting a strain on his savings. In addition to blowing money on groceries and takeout, keeping himself clothed was starting to cost a fortune. He tried to plan ahead, but it was only a matter of time before 48” pants went from roomy to cozy to uncomfortable, and then they stopped buttoning altogether, his widening waist overwhelming them, his fat butt consuming every scrap of material.
The contrast between his body and Damian’s was marked as they sat at their usual bar. They had given up on booths, which were starting to become a bit of a squeeze for Finn. Damian looked totally built in a Sun’s Out, Guns Out tank top. And boy were his guns out.
“I deadlifted 350 today,” Damian said, as he speared a piece of lettuce with his fork. His tone was totally casual, like it was the sort of thing he talked about all the time. 
Finn didn’t really know what he was talking about. “Huh,” he said, through a mouthful of pizza. “Is that good?” It certainly sounded like a big number.
Damian shrugged. “New personal best. I’m pretty happy about it. I’m almost as strong as Richard now.”
Finn nodded. Richard was the “daddy bear” that had inspired Damian’s ongoing transformation into a muscular jock. Finn didn’t have the heart to tell Damian that no amount of muscle gains would convince Richard to leave his wife, so he just nodded along.
“So you could still lift me,” Finn said, as he grabbed a handful of fries. He grinned. “For now.”
Damian chuckled. “Seriously? How big are you gonna get?” He was trying to sound casual, but there was an edge in his voice. Was it… eagerness?
“420’s the goal,” Finn said, feeling his cock start to stiffen at the thought. “I’ll have to get high to celebrate.”
Damian whistled. “That is… wow, that’s big,” he said, brows arching as he surveyed Finn’s gigantic form.
“Only 75 pounds to go,” he said, slapping his hand against the side of his belly and making it jiggle. “So close I can almost taste it. It kinda tastes like butter.”
Damian laughed. After that, he seemed to show up at Finn’s house practically every day, carrying boxes of snacks and plates loaded down with homemade goodies. Finn always accepted them appreciatively, happy to fill his gut for free—Damian had that engineer money, anyway. And he wouldn’t admit it to his oldest friend, but there was something a little erotic about lazing around on the couch, greedily stuffing his gut, as a muscly hunk picked up his trash and cleaned up his apartment. He’d popped a boner more than a few times watching Damian wash the dishes, firm glutes shifting back and forth as he scrubbed pots and pans.
God, I’m weird, Finn thought to himself. But if it was wrong to get aroused by a gorgeous guy playing housemaid while he gorged himself, Finn didn’t want to be right. Even if that guy was just a friend.
Finn didn’t realize just how many extra calories Damian had been pumping into him until a few weeks later, when he was getting dressed for work. He was used to a bit of a struggle, but this was worse than usual. His pants were skin-tight against his tree trunk thighs, booty fat spilling out over the top like bread dough overfilling its pan. He gave another tug and managed to get his ass covered, but getting them buttoned was an entirely different matter. He pulled as hard as he could, to no avail. He inhaled—still nothing.
He fell backwards onto his bed and sucked in with all his might—a pointless exercise for a man of his impressive size. His stomach was so huge, so laden with fat, that it barely made a difference at this point. But with a little wriggling, he managed to get them to button. His shirt was untucked, but there was no way in hell he was going to try to fix that. With the way his waistband dug into his blubber, he had no prayer of stuffing anything else in there.
He spent the morning in his usual way—feasting on donuts from the shop downstairs. Blake was looking very overfed himself, but his obvious weight gain didn’t even come close to Finn’s astronomical expansion. Finn was annoyed when he had to retrieve something from the printer, but he still hauled himself out of his creaking desk chair and walked over to get it.
But as he lowered his behind back into the chair, he heard a rip. His heart sank: his pants had breathed their last. He peered down at his side, pushing his love handle out of the way so he could size up the damage. He examined the popped seam, realizing that his colossal thighs had completely wrecked his dress pants.
And worst of all, it turned him on. Ron was looking over at him; the ripping sound was loud enough to carry through their narrow office. “Uh, wardrobe malfunction?” he asked.
Finn flushed. “Little bit,” he said. He rested a hand on his oversized gut, giving it a little rub. “Hitting the snacks a little hard I guess.”
Ron raised an eyebrow, and then turned back to his computer without comment. Finn’s boner strained against the front of his ruined pants, and he grabbed a handful of chips from the bag on his desk.
Eating five large meals a day used to be a struggle. Then it became the norm. Now, if Finn didn’t load up on lunch from at least two places, he was left crabby, his vastly overstretched stomach howling for more. But today, he used his lunch hour to waddle over to the mall next door, where he crammed himself into a pair of dress pants from a big and tall store. Seeing the way they cradled every bulge and roll, he faced facts and went a full two sizes up, hoping to accommodate his sprawling lower half for at least a little longer.
He only had time to grab a tray of burgers and fries from the mall food court, and he spent the rest of the afternoon feeling cranky and ill-at-ease, trying to get full from the horde of snacks he kept in his desk drawer. His constant chewing and burping clearly drove Ron insane, but Finn didn’t care—he was fucking hungry.
Finn’s expansion continued at its usual breakneck speed. Egged on by Damian, he packed more and more junk food into his gut, which turned into more and more lard padding his frame. He was blowing up like a balloon, and it drove him crazy with lust.
He’d invested in a scale that read the number out loud, since seeing past his voluminous gut had become impossible. It wasn’t like he missed looking at his chubby feet, and as long as he could still reach his cock, he was happy. When he heaved himself onto the scale and heard that he’d crossed the 400-pound mark, his heart soared. He was so tantalizingly close, now. At this rate, he was only a couple of months away from his target.
He stepped off the scale and ordered three pizzas to celebrate, washed down with a whole case of lager.
The looks he was getting at work ranged from curious to hostile to simply awestruck. His colleagues must have remembered just a few years earlier when his build had been fairly average; now, he was morbidly obese, left red-faced and sweating from the constant exertion of moving so much lard around. He took up so much space, stuffed his face constantly, chairs creaked and bowed under his heft—even his reinforced desk chair, a relatively recent addition to his office, was starting to show signs of wear. Hearing the indiscreet whispers as he left the breakroom carrying a handful of donuts made him insanely horny—what’s going on with him? He used to be kind of cute, now look at him! He’s as fat as a house!
Finn booked a doctor’s appointment, knowing that was the next step to make his dreams a reality. As soon as the date was set, he upped his intake even more, devouring thousands upon thousands of calories a day. Damian never seemed uncomfortable with the uneasy looks on the server’s faces when Finn ordered multiple appetizers and entrees at their weekly bar night; if anything, he encouraged Finn to order even more.
He got his bloodwork done in preparation for his doctor’s appointment, noting the shocked look on the nurse’s face when he showed up in a shirt that clung to his gut and moobs, framing it like the world’s fattest painting.
Finally, the day arrived. That morning, he realized he’d actually overshot the mark when he weighed in at 428 pounds. His thighs rubbed together as he waddled down the driveway, and he squeezed himself into the driver’s seat of his car, which dipped to the side under his bulk. He stopped for a bag of burgers on the way to the clinic.
Sitting under the fluorescent lights of the doctor’s office, Finn shifted his giant bulk, which ballooned over the sides of the chair like an avalanche of flab. He squirmed uncomfortably as Dr. Hendricks looked over a piece of paper, his handsome face grim. The fact that he was something of a silver fox—with an athletic build, chiselled features, salt-and-pepper hair, and short stubble—deepened Finn’s embarrassment about the whole situation, as well as his arousal. The doctor looked up, removing his glasses.
“Well, it’s not good, Finn,” he said, finally. “Your thyroid levels are normal, so it’s not hormonal. But your cholesterol is high, blood pressure is high, blood sugar is almost dangerous… young man, this is serious. You’ve gained over 230 pounds since our last appointment two years ago. If 230 pounds was your entire body weight, it would still be about 50 pounds too high.”
Finn nodded along. Hearing it put in those terms made his cheeks flush. He shifted again, aware of the way his giant ass bulged and spilled over his seat, the chair’s arms cutting into his expansive love handles. He was grateful for the way his gut monopolized his lap, disguising his boner.
“So, what’s going on with you, Finn?” Dr. Hendricks asked. “In my whole career, I’ve never seen anything like this. Not so much weight, so quickly, in a patient so young, without a hormonal component. Has there been… some trauma, maybe, that’s made you turn to food as a coping mechanism?” The doctor was clearly looking for some explanation that didn’t involve Finn using his body as a garbage can for every type of fast food that had the misfortune of crossing his ever-widening path.
Finn shook his head. He rubbed the rolls on the back of his neck with his pudgy fingers, a move which caused his undersized t-shirt to ride up, exposing a thick expanse of belly fat. Dr. Hendricks glanced at it, wide-eyed. Finn tugged it down, but the hem still couldn’t contain it all. “It’s—it’s nothing like that, doctor. Honestly. I guess I just like my food a little too much.”
Dr. Hendricks frowned, and made a note in Finn’s chart. He wondered what the doctor was writing. Fat fuck, maybe? Giant pig? Finn inhaled: it was showtime.
“But… I think I have one idea, at least about part of the problem,” he said. “At my job, I’m just sitting around on my computer all day…. When I was in school I used to bike to campus sometimes, but now I sit in my car, ride the elevator to my office, and then I just sit and snack all day….”
The doctor nodded along, jotting down a quick note. “Remind me what you do, Finn?”
“Customer service. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a decent job, but I share an office with, well, a pretty big guy,” Finn lied. “He’s always bringing in unhealthy snacks, and I guess it’s rubbed off on me. It’s like, when I’m at my desk, I’m always eating. And there’s a food court on the ground floor of our building, it’s so tempting that I end up eating three meals a day there, sometimes. Sometimes more. Big meals.”
The truth was the opposite: Finn was the big guy in the office, and Ron was the one who was picking up his bad habits. And he didn’t just eat three meals a day in the food court; it was almost always more.
Dr. Hendricks nodded. “And you haven’t had success with portion control, or exercise?”
Finn reached across his blubbery breasts, running a hand along his flabby upper arm. “I keep trying to cut back, but I’m just too tempted. And in terms of exercise, I feel so tired by the time I get home from work that I just can’t make myself go to the gym.”
That part was mostly true, at least. Except for attempting to cut back.
“Have you considered seeing a therapist?” Dr. Hendricks’ voice was gentle. “What you’re describing sounds like it could be food addiction.”
Finn swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He was fully clothed, but sitting under the fluorescent lights, he felt exposed—an enormous, naked blob of a man. A small part of his brain knew that maybe the doctor was right, maybe he was getting hooked on the high of fat, salt, and sugar… assuming he wasn’t hooked already. It was more than a little erotic. But he pushed those thoughts aside and pressed ahead with his performance. “Maybe I should see someone, yeah. But I really think the biggest problem is my job.”
Ten minutes later, Finn left Dr. Hendricks’ office with a note recommending that work from home would be helpful to Finn’s weight loss plan. He’d also sworn up and down that he would change his diet, start exercising, and see a therapist—promises he had no intention of keeping. He’d gotten what he wanted, and he didn’t plan on going back to see his doctor anytime soon.
Finn was glowing as he made his way home. The next day, he handed the doctor’s note to his boss, who looked it over. The slim man’s exasperation was obvious, but he managed to keep it contained, no doubt conscious of the union rep staring at him with a serious look on her face.
And then, it was done. His plan was complete. He boxed up his office at the end of the day, and headed home, hoping never to return. Except, perhaps, to flirt with Sam and keep tabs on Blake’s steady and seemingly inexorable transformation from cub to chub.
Okay, now that I’ve got what I want, I can start to shift some of this weight, Finn thought when he woke up the next morning. He’d celebrated pretty hard the night before—pizzas, fried chicken, cake, pie, with beer and soda to drink… a true feast. It was supposed to be a last hurrah. But now, he had to start cutting back. Time to put Damian to shame, he thought, grinning.
His diet plans didn’t exactly pan out.
Before settling into his couch to work, Finn had two pieces of toast with peanut butter for breakfast. In the old days, that would have been enough to carry him through the whole morning. But he was hungry again within a half hour, distractingly hungry. He kept zoning out when he was supposed to be answering emails, conscious of how empty his stomach felt.
Well, I can’t exactly change overnight, Finn thought, as he punched in a mobile order for a couple of breakfast sandwiches and a few hasbrowns. Not realizing what he was doing, he finished off a box of cookies before they even arrived.
The rest of the day went similarly: he thought about cutting back, and then his stomach and his brain conspired against any attempt to actually do it. By the end of his workday, his stomach was achingly full, packed with more donuts, pizza, and Chinese food than he ever ate at the office.
Okay, I’m really gonna do it today, Finn would think each morning. I’m actually going to lose some weight now. But after years of stuffing and overstuffing his gut, stretching it to new and obscene proportions, it took a lot to make him feel full. If anything, any attempts to cut back left him feeling so miserable and hungry that he invariably ended up overdoing it, eating more than he needed to compensate for his few hours of attempted restraint. So he kept eating, and his portions kept escalating, and he didn’t lose any weight. 
In fact, as he tried to button up his shirt before a video call one morning, he came to the uncomfortable conclusion that he’d piled on even more. The shirt wouldn’t even button over his fat gut. He managed to close it over his tits, though, and got away with it by keeping the camera pointed at his chubby face and soft shoulders.
He confessed his struggles to Damian one night, when his muscular friend showed up with a bag brimming with takeout. Finn had told him to stop bringing snacks, and then immediately changed his mind, telling Damian to keep that good food coming. Damian was a little reluctant, at first, but it didn’t take him long until he was back to his old habits: filling his car with family-sized meals and bulging bags of snack foods to ply on his ever-greedier, continuously-expanding best friend.
“I don’t think I’ve lost any weight,” Finn said, frowning as he took another heaping forkful of fried rice.
Damian looked him up and down, seeming to take in the sheer vastness of Finn’s enormous body as it dominated the couch. “Well, have you tried cutting out snacks?”
Finn frowned. “Not exactly.”
“What about exercise? You could come to the gym with me.”
“Definitely not,” Finn said. The idea of stuffing his hundreds of pounds of blubber into workout clothes and putting on a humiliating show for the muscle-heads at Damian’s gym sounded like an exercise in humiliation, besides being utterly exhausting.
Damian sighed. “I was kind of hoping you’d say yes. I need a new workout buddy.”
“What about Richard?” Finn asked, through a mouthful of General’s chicken. “You were just saying last week that you finally benched more than him.”
Damian looked like he was about to cry. He bit his lower lip and looked away. “Richard told his wife about us. He confessed everything and begged her to forgive him. He told me he joined another gym, so I doubt I’ll be seeing him again.”
Finn frowned, and rested a hand on Damian’s steely shoulder. He knew this was coming, even if Damian was blindsided. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Sounds like you need a drink.”
Damian hesitated. He was always going on about liquid calories, but Finn watched him leap off the couch and stride into the kitchen, where he pulled out a couple of beers.
A few hours later, Finn was buzzed and Damian was plastered. He’d spent the evening pouring his heart out about how he’d never find love, how he’d never heard a guy say “I love you”, how there must have been something wrong with him.
Finn swallowed a mouthful of cheesecake. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Finn said. He meant it. In Finn’s eyes, Damian was totally perfect. Hardworking, honest, funny, kind… not to mention stunningly attractive and with a great job. “You’re the whole package.”
Damian scoffed. “You’re just saying that. You have to say that, you’re my best friend.”
Finn looked him in the eyes. “No, I really mean that. I think any guy would be lucky to have you.”
“Not any guy,” Damian mumbled. His voice was bitter. He took another sip of beer.
“What do you mean?”
Damian’s eyes searched Finn’s round face. “Well, the only guy I’ve ever wanted sees me as a friend. No matter how hard I throw myself at him, he never makes a move.”
Finn was floored. “You mean…”
Damian nodded. An embarrassed look crossed his handsome face. “Yeah. You. I still think about that night we kissed, how much I wanted it. How much I want to do it again.”
“I think about it, too,” Finn admitted. He’d never stopped thinking about the feeling of Damian’s soft lips against his, their slender bodies pressed together. “All the time.”
“I’ve loved you since we were 12 years old, Finn. Looking at you through our bedroom windows, across our yards… God, I would have done anything for you. Why do you think I let you copy my homework, my tests? Or took the fall for you when your parents found that weed in your backpack, even though I got grounded for a month? Because I’ve always been fucking crazy about you.”
Finn’s heart was pounding in his chest, and not only from the mountain of dessert he’d just devoured. “What, even now? Now that I look like this?”
“Especially now,” Damian answered. His expression was so serious, his eyes so honest… “God, it’s like… the bigger you get, the crazier you drive me.”
Finn smiled. “What, you mean you’ve liked blowing me up like a balloon?”
Damian grinned shyly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever done. Some days after I bring you snacks, I have to rush home to, uh, relieve myself.”
Finn laughed at that. “Wow. And here I thought you were just being friendly.”
Damian looked across the room, not meeting Finn’s gaze. He took another swig of beer. “A real friend would’ve told you what a blimp you were turning into. A real friend wouldn’t get off on seeing how many calories he could pile into your gut in a single sitting.”
Finn shook his head. His cock ached at the thought of Damian feeding him, getting off on his fattening body. “Well I guess I don’t want a ‘real’ friend. I want a friend like you.”
Damian blushed. Finn leaned forward, straining to reach over his beach ball-sized gut, and set his beer on the table. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Damian’s face.
“So many times when I’ve been with Richard, I’ve been thinking about you. Thinking about how big your butt is, how badly I want to grab it and squeeze it and make your whole body shake. Thinking about how you used to be even smaller than me when we were younger, and how now you could bury me under all your weight and still have plenty to spare. Thinking about—”
Finn leaned in and pressed his lips against Damian’s, shutting him up. Damian melted into the kiss immediately, his body slackening as he collapsed into Finn’s bulk.
And suddenly, they were 18 again, drunk on fireball shots and lying on Damian’s bed after Lindsay Decker’s house party, giggling like fools until their lips met and the whole world disappeared around them. It was just the two of them, just Finn and Damian, their shared past and future collapsing into one breathless kiss.
Damian exhaled, and then kissed Finn even more forcefully, his arm draping around Finn’s neck, his free hand reaching out to cup one of his soft, bulging breasts, nipple poking against his slender fingers. Finn kissed him back, one hand on Damian’s narrow waist, the other cupping his angular face, the tips of his fingers brushing through Damian’s soft hair. He’d been waiting so long for this moment, always afraid that he’d misread some signal or that he couldn’t be the man his best friend deserved. But he’d waited long enough. They both had. He was ready.
They laughed when their lips pulled apart, the tension vanishing behind them. “Are you gonna regret this in the morning?” Finn asked.
Damian’s expression turned serious, almost defiant. “The only thing I regret is taking so long.”
Finn couldn’t keep himself from smiling.
“So…” Damian said. He fixed Finn with a lusty gaze, eyes lidded with pleasure, and licked his lips. “How about we take the rest of this cheesecake and head to the bedroom?”
Finn raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You’re not just saying that because you’re drunk?”
Damian shook his head. “I’m not that drunk,” he said. He trailed his fingers along the endless curve of Finn’s palatial belly, caressing the naked flesh that erupted out from under the hem of his shirt. “I’ve just spent so long fantasizing about feeding you properly, and… well, why settle for off-brand diet cola when you can have classic Coke?”
Now Damian was speaking his language.
~
Finn’s ears perked up at the sound of the key turning in the front door. He shifted in the love seat, briefly considering getting up to greet Damian at the door, but decided against it. It would take a couple of minutes to build up enough momentum to haul himself to a stand.
“I’m home!” Damian called from the kitchen.
“Perfect timing,” Finn called back. “I’m so frickin’ hungry. Starving, even.”
“Hold your horses, big fella, let me get my coat off first.”
“Hurry,” Finn whined, trailing his hand across his gut to soothe it. He’d polished off two pizzas for lunch, followed by two family-size bags of chips and a package of twinkies, but he hadn’t eaten in almost an hour. He knew he wasn’t actually hungry, but when he wasn’t eating, he started to get antsy. He chugged some soda, squirming in anticipation.
A moment later, Damian appeared in the living room doorway, muscular arms flexing as he carried two heaping grocery bags. Damian had to make grocery runs on a daily basis to keep up with the demands of Finn’s relentless appetite.
He must have encountered quite a scene in the living room: just like he always wanted, Finn was seated on the couch in his underwear, TV playing in the background. Except, he’d never imagined just how truly, colossally, unbelievably fat he would be. He was so wide that his bulging flanks brushed against the sides of the loveseat, which bowed in the middle under his immense, crushing weight. His laptop balanced on top of his belly, which was more a table than a shelf, which plowed outwards in front of him as far as his knees. His thighs were like industrial drainage tubes, his melon-sized manboobs pouring off his chest and sticking out to the sides. When he leaned back, the combined weight of his breasts and mountain of belly fat compressed his lungs.
“So, how are those weight loss plans coming along?” Damian asked, with a wry smirk.
“Very funny,” Finn said. He still maintained that he would lose some weight, but that was starting to seem more like fantasy than an actual, tangible possibility. Just halting his astronomical weight gain would be a challenge at this point, given how hopelessly addicted he was to stuffing his face. He had an appointment with Dr. Hendricks in a few weeks, and he could only imagine the look of horror on the gorgeous doctor’s face when he showed up so fat that he could barely fit through the doorway, not to say into an office chair. “Are you just gonna stand there and watch me slowly starve to death, or are you gonna bring those snacks over?”
Damian rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Yeah, I can tell you’re really famished. My first clue was all the garbage scattered around.” He did as he was told, bringing the grocery bags over to Damian, who immediately tore open a package of donuts. Relief flooded across his brain as soon as the taste of powdered sugar touched his tongue.
Damian had a point: there was garbage everywhere. In addition to Finn’s gluttonous afternoon, there were also pastry boxes and fast food wrappers scattered around from his two breakfasts and morning snacks. He’d asked Damian to start leaving the door unlocked so delivery drivers could let themselves in and bring the food straight to the couch; getting up was too much effort. Finn enjoyed watching them squirm uncomfortably at the sight of such an enormously obese blob of man sprawled out across an entire sofa, too fat and lazy to even reach his front door; he wondered if they ever felt morally conflicted about their role in his escalating obesity. He hoped they didn’t, given how much he was enjoying it. Sam and Blake certainly didn’t seem to mind, when he’d made his way to the office to get a new work computer a few weeks earlier. Blake had to have crossed the 300 pound mark—big enough to catch Sam’s attention, judging by the looks they were swapping across the food court.
“How was work?” Finn asked, through a mouthful of donuts. “And the gym?”
“Work was lame, gym was good,” Damian said. He reached for a donut but Finn slapped his hand away.
“It’s not—braaaaawp—cheat day,” he said; a window-rattling burp interrupted him mid-sentence.
Damian sighed, “You’re right.”
“Can’t—urp—have you getting chubby on me,” Finn joked. He honestly didn’t care how much Damian weighed; if his boyfriend thickened up a little, he wouldn’t mind one bit. But there was something deeply erotic about being so incredibly fat and still forcing a complete beefcake like Damian to submit and obey. It wasn’t about food or weight—it was about power.
“No, we can’t have that. Nothing but whitefish and flaxseed and creatine for your live-in manservant,” Damian joked back. Finn made it clear early on that he loved Damian’s body no matter what; his jockish boyfriend knew that any teasing was all in good fun. He clearly liked his submissive role in their flirty back-and-forth. “How was your day?”
Finn belched again; that second bottle of soda was really wreaking some havoc. “Good. I had to put a shirt on for a Zoom meeting, so I guess it was a gym day for me, too. Oh, Tony from IT is back in the office, apparently. Lost a bunch of weight. So I’m officially the fattest guy at work by a long shot.”
“Congratulations,” Damian said. The fact that Finn considered putting on a shirt to be a workout clearly had him hot and bothered, judging by the bulge in his pants; he hooked his thumbs into his waistband, sliding them down a little to reveal his Adonis belt. “How do you wanna celebrate?”
“With cake,” Finn said. When he saw Damian’s frown, he smiled: “Only kidding. Well, half kidding. Cake, but also a nice game of ‘find my dick’, if you’re up for it.”
“Oh, I’m always up for it,” Damian said, smiling devilishly as he ran a hand through his hair.
“But, uh, wanna grab me some ice cream first? To go with the donuts?”
Damian nodded, “Of course, big boy,” he said. He disappeared into the kitchen, the picture of obedience.
Finn smiled as Damian returned, cartons of ice cream clutched in each hand. Finn had found the ultimate life hack: as long as Damian was around, he could get away with doing absolutely nothing.
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underburningstars · 9 months
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darlin', i'm falling 13
for @jegulus-microfic prompt snow cone, wc 154
Regulus is eating a snow cone. Which is…fine. Perfectly. There is nothing wrong with eating a snow cone. In fact, James likes snow cones and he is the one who brought Regulus out to have some. 
But the way Regulus is licking his spoon should not be allowed. Nor should the way ice is clinging to Regulus’ bottom lip and melting there or the way Regulus dips his tongue out to lick the droplets. 
James is suffering and he has no one to blame but himself.
Regulus, the little shit, definitely knows what he’s doing to James. There is no other reason for him to suck on that damn spoon like that. He is proven right when Regulus glances at him and smirks. The smirk is pure evil. There is not a single decent thought behind a smirk like that. 
Just wait until they get home. James is so going to make him pay.
<previous work | next work>
taglist: @yourgalgremlin @kit-kat744 @heartsoncover (send me an ask to be added)
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the-cypress-grove · 5 months
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Prompt: 154
In her aunts house all the mirrors were kept covered with veils of black lace.
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whump prompt 154
A Whumpee whose entire purpose is to have healing magic ( / science / powers) tested on them.
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moonlight-stalker · 4 months
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Masterlist DcxDp prompt and stories 151 - 200
Dcu x Dp # 151
Dcu x Dp # 152
Dcu x Dp # 153
Dcu x Dp # 154
Dcu x Dp # 155
Dcu x Dp # 156
Dcu x Dp # 157
Dcu x Dp # 158
Dcu x Dp # 159 Christmas prompt
Dcu x Dp # 160
Dcu x Dp # 161
Dcu x Dp # 162
Dcu x Dp # 163
Dcu x Dp # 164
Dcu x Dp # 165
Dcu x Dp # 166
Dcu x Dp # 167
Dcu x Dp # 168
Dcu x Dp # 169
Dcu x Dp # 170
Dcu x Dp # 171
Dcu x Dp # 172
Dcu x Dp # 173
Dcu x Dp # 174
Dcu x Dp # 175
Dcu x Dp # 176
Dcu x Dp # 177
Dcu x Dp # 178
Dcu x Dp # 179
Dcu x Dp # 180
Dcu x Dp # 181
Dcu x Dp # 182
Dcu x Dp # 183
Dcu x Dp # 184
Dcu x Dp # 185
Dcu x Dp # 186
Dcu x Dp # 187
Dcu x Dp # 188
Dcu x Dp # 189
Dcu x Dp # 190
Dcu x Dp # 191
Dcu x Dp # 192
Dcu x Dp # 193
Dcu x Dp # 194
Dcu x Dp # 195
Dcu x Dp # 196
Dcu x Dp # 197
Dcu x Dp # 198
Dcu x Dp # 199
Dcu x Dp # 200
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redd956 · 27 days
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Mini Whump Prompt 154
Whumpee has no choice but to work together with a foreign enemy, a fellow whumpee, to escape from whumper. Only problem is they don't speak the same language, second whumpee hates their guts, and has already tried killing whumpee once.
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