#he has laugh lines and fat on his belly and flabby arms or its NO DEAL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pangtasias-atelier · 4 years

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Not Exactly As Planned

This was another commission done for the amazingly wonderful @beepboop260 ~

This one involves Yone and a big, chonky Thresh, both in their spirit blossom variants. I know nothing about league but like, this was still super fun to do cause of all our talks lol. Thanks again for the commission😢

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An eternity, gone in an instant. A second, lasting a millennium, the strange machinations comprising the Spirit Realm never cease to bother Yone.

Still on the search for his brother, a horde of azakana had derailed Yone’s seemingly never-ending journey. Unable to regain the track he had once found, aimless wandering had been the only option. So long without a pause, each step feels like two, the trained warrior weary from his journey.

His white hair a bit more matted from the journey, his parted bangs droop. Sitting atop his head are two blue horns, the protrusions sticking slightly outwards and partially up. The back of his head manages to retain its perfectly tied state. The end of his mane still cascades down to the edges of his hips. Two parts of his hair braided, one on each side, the braids reach halfway down his neck. Two rich blue tassels braided into them, the strands of fabric reaching down to his thighs, the long strands sway with each step. In his usual pristine attire, any sort of weariness shown from his expression is completely absent from the state of his clothes. Still crisp, his white robe remains loose on his trim upper body. His robe lined with black, gold detailing on them, the dark, rich color draws further attention to his revealed skin, his pale chest and abs prominent. The lower portion of his outfit flares out somewhat, his clothes nipped at the waist to reveal his slim yet powerful figure. A slit for his legs, the open area shows off his black leggings. Walking endlessly, the deft yet strong legs are exemplified as the leggings cling to the surface of his thighs and calves.

Currently in a grove, the mangled landscape offers zero notable landmarks, each distorted and crooked tree blending in with the other. The warped trunks are covered with patches of moss. One small clearing after another, even those are indistinguishable, the same scattered crushed rocks in the northern part of the clearing littering the floor, the same perfectly circular patch of dirt crunching under his feet. Even each step feels the same as the one before. Trees looming above, the overbearing fauna seemingly stares at him as the rustling leaves a constant ringing in his ears. Catching his mistake, Yone falters. He closes his eyes. His blades drawn in an instant, he holds them out forward, his arms splayed as he holds the blades securely. The forest entirely silent, any semblance of life has suddenly vanished. Even the wind’s presence feels absent, the air far too stagnant. Listening, the deafening silence remains.

A faint sound coming from behind him, Yone swings without hesitation, his blades cutting whatever would be his attacker cleanly in two.

Except his blades only meet the air, nothing behind him. Opening his eyes, the bright vibrant blue of a river enraptures his vision. Once solid ground, a stream replaces it, an arched wooden bridge leading off to a path. Yone finds himself pondering, wondering what possibly perverse machinations drive the forest, the land reacting to him. Glancing behind him, the ongoing forest is gone. Somehow finding himself in an alcove of trees, the forest of trees forbids any other path. Sheathing his blades, Yone follows the placed path.

The bridge holding, the only noise is the soft thumps of his feet against the wood as he steps on it. On the crest of the bridge, the sight of a shrine pulls into view. Grand in its size, the monumental display fills the entirety of Yone’s vision. By the time he steps off, spirits appear. All of them are off to the side of the trail, each as aimless as the last. Floating in the air, the spirits barely move, flickering like flames. Fixated in the air, the spirits remain in their position even as Yone walks past them. Spirits continue to frame the path as the shrine draws closer.

The tall gates framing the end of the path, the front of the shrine stands proudly in front of Yone. The entire area is well kept. The calm aura radiating from the shrine is enough to put Yone somewhat at ease, but not enough. His hand still rests on the hilt of his blade. Taking a step forward, his skin bristles with magic from the gates. The gates acting as a barrier, the effect wears off as Yone passes through them. He finds the scenery to be exactly the same as before.

The only difference is his blood turning cold, the shrine’s owner making themself known.

Thresh idling on the porch, he happily rests on his side. Currently in his human form, Thresh’s tall form lies parallel to the porch. One leg rests partially on top of the other. Supporting himself with his arm, his other arm rests in front of him.

The demon of obsession in front of him, Yone lightly bends his knees. Adopting a stance, he waits for any possible movement from Thresh. Eyes drawn to Thresh’s moving hand, he stares as it lowers into a plate of... food? Double checking, Yone’s body wracks with new information as he properly takes in Thresh.

Thresh is fat.

The demon of obsession, so feared amongst nearly every inhabitant of the spirit realm, is fat.

A well defined torso with a six pack and riblets is no more. Instead, a sizable belly replaces it; the creamy, doughy flesh pools out, Thresh’s stomach resting on the floor. The small open white coat meant to highlight Thresh’s powerful frame, the coat ending at his bellybutton, now, it highlights his girth. More width to cover now, the coat even ends a tad bit higher, one end resting on the curvature of Thresh’s tummy while the other ends up squashed under Thresh’s stomach. The violet collar, trimmed with gold, no longer draws attention to the powerful chest that lies under it or the bits of his collarbone not hidden under his coat. The collar, now rather snug on the extra tuft of fat on his neck along with the slightly budding second chin, instead brings focus to Thresh’s plush chest. A small helping of fat adorning what used to be a broad chest, Thresh’s chest splays out similarly, the ovular moobs resting on the floor. The half-belt half-tassel adornment is gone, Thresh keeping his pants. The flaring out skirt-like material hides the heft of his legs, the meaty muscular legs now adorned with plush fat like the rest of his body. The voluminous front of hair sweeps down from his position, the bangs cascading to partially cover his face. Long hair messily kept in a flowing ponytail, the bundles of hair rest behind Thresh; the hair pools onto the floor behind him. The long sides of his hair trickle down his collarbone, bits of his flabby chest obstructed by his hair. Atop the mass of violet hair, softer, lighter purple horns rest on opposite ends of the crown of his head. His two slightly curved horns point up into the air, his right horn being half as tall as his other horn.

Yone’s eyes are still drawn to Thresh’s chunky figure. The will to close his eyes is almost enough for him to close them in embarrassment, but since the cause for his embarrassment is Thresh, he keeps his eyes open, unwilling to let his guard down. A huff of noise sounding, Yone shifts his attention, not without a lasting glance at Thresh’s small grabbable love handle. His eyes make contact with Thresh, Thresh huffing once more as the tip of his purple tongue lulls out. Thresh gives his stomach a contented little pat. Yone notes the bit of firmness to it, the stomach a tad bit too circular to be empty, and the plates of food next to Thresh all cleaned out.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” The booming voice sounding out, the echoes of it seem to crawl into Yone’s mind, ringing in his brain. Shifting around, Thresh pushes himself up. His flabby stomach pooling to the side, it swings and shifts as he sits up. It sags a bit down as it slots itself in-between his thighs. His long violet hair drapes around his chunky face, the strands of it landing atop his meaty chest and giving even more sense of dimension to it. His lengthy ponytail pools onto the floor.

Yone refuses to break his composure. He keeps his eyes directed at Thresh’s.

“A helpless little soul wandering my area, I had to draw you in before...” Thresh grins, his fangs plainly visible as he lets out a small laugh. “Before anything unsavory were to happen to you, Yone,” Thresh notes Yone’s lack of usual composure, chuckling to himself. Placing a hand on his side, Thresh grabs a love handle. He nearly howls as Yone attempts to not stare as Thresh holds his own roll in his hand.

“I am far from the helpless being you consider me to be,” Drawing his swords, Yone remains still.

“Now now, no need to be so hostile,” Thresh’s voice no longer the booming echoes that seemed to wish to devour Yone whole, his grip on his swords loosen a fraction. Thresh leans a bit forward, resting his elbows on his legs as he rests his chin on his hand. The extra squish from his chin distracts Yone for a second. “You’ll find me quite agreeable actually,” Thresh snarls. Teeth bared, he tilts his head, his eyes dilating. “Until you provoke me,” The final addition amplified, Yone grits his teeth as Thresh’s voice attempts to worm its way inside him, the reverberating voice coming from all directions despite Thresh sitting in front of him.

“If I may be so inclined to ask a question,” Yone keeps his voice level; the furrow in his eyes allows him to do so. “Why did you bring me here?”

Thresh merely shrugs, as if the question wasn’t laced with annoyance and frustration. “A whim,” His simple statement being the truth, collecting precious spirits is still his priority. Although, a little mix up would be harmless. Harmless to himself.

“A whim?” Yone repeats. His eyes locked onto Thresh’s chubby face, he ignores the sort of cuteness it offers him, instead looking for some kind of tell. Thresh never one to do things simply on a ‘whim’.

“I do love some entertainment every now and then,” Thresh grins as Yone’s frustration simmers a bit more, the bubbles of his frustration rising to his face. “And your expressions were a modicum reprieve,” Thresh snaps his fingers with a smile, his gaze transfixed on Yone’s.

Swords raised in an instant, Yone remains prepared. Thresh suddenly gone, his lack of a presence is more haunting than coming face to face with him. The sounds of the very earth shifting catches his attention. Yone risks a quick glance, finding the path he walked has returned, spirits lining it once more. Offering a look where Thresh once sat, the spot remains vacant. A quick sweep of the area produces the same result. He sighs as he heads back. The spirits guiding him again, Yone remains ever vigilant. Thresh nowhere to be found, the surprisingly docile demon was far from the tales he had heard. His current path the only one, Yone keeps a brisk pace. Walking over the bridge once more, the dreaded forest returns to his vision for only a brief moment, a few steps leading him out of it; the spirits rush back towards what Yone assumes is the shrine the instant he steps out.

Mind racing just as fast as his beating heart, Yone curses himself before cursing Thresh, the accursed demon letting him go. Whether it was an act of benevolence or arrogance, Yone can’t decipher for sure. Neither can he piece his emotions upon spotting the extra heft on Thresh’s form. Shoving that thought further down than the first, Yone sighs. Keeping his pace, he figures that ignoring the whole strange situation would be for the best.

Rejuvenated, unaware of Thresh’s sanctuary providing said energy, Yone returns to his task at hand. Regardless of how long it’ll take, time inconsequential in the Spirit Realm, he devotes himself to speaking to his brother.

Wandering around, the lively Spirit Realm greets him to all sorts of views and discoveries. New sights seemingly found every day, the vivid recollection of each one lasts for only a few years, not that Yone could ever tell time in such a place. Only a few manage to leave lasting imprints: the clearing he had found Yasuo in where numerous waterfalls convened to, the small frozen tundra which few laid claim to, and that haunted demonic forest. Yone reminds himself that the last one has nothing to do with said owner of the forest.

Distracted in his own thoughts, Yone overlooks the commotion of spirits some ways off as he follows the trail into the forest. The atmosphere suddenly becomes much darker. Yone glances up; the same warped trees peer down at him. Each one a near replica of the last, their looming figures continue to blend into one another. The trail behind him suddenly gone, replaced with more trees now, Yone sighs as he treks onward. More annoyance than any sense of caution or worry, his survival instincts still remain ever present as he retains his stance in fear of an ambush.

Nothing of the sort comes his way as the path shifts again and again despite the scenery being exactly the same regardless of the meandering path. Walking upon the bridge once more, the trek upwards is at least a straightforward one. A quarter of the way there, Yone freezes as a sigh echoes throughout the area. Said voice fills him with eager curiosity rather than fear. Yone shoves that thought far away just like the others with a grunt and a shake of his head. Reaching Thresh’s sanctuary, the gates have no effect this time, all of it revealed to Yone already.

Thresh is nowhere to be found. Yone finds the door to his sanctuary closed. Another sigh sounding out, the voice still assaults Yone’s ears from all around. Yet, Yone finds himself tracing the voice to behind the sanctuary. Walking around the perimeter, the humidity suddenly rises as he draws closer to the back. Turning, he finds hot springs to be the reason for said heat and humidity.

A multitude of them litter the entire back area, each placed in some random location rather than any sort of actual planning. Yet, the one that catches Yone’s eyes is the one currently occupied.

Thresh currently relaxing, he leans back as the warm water washes away any sort of fatigue. Sensing his guest, he opens his eyes, a grin adorning his face as he spots his guest.

“So, you’ve returned,”

“As if I had a choice in the matter,” Yone keeps his distance, still a few feet away from Thresh.

“Let’s not get caught up in all the intricacies. It has been a thousand years since we last talked,” Thresh smiles.

Yone remains unemotional at the time frame, unsurprised for such a long span to have passed by so quickly. Instead, his eyes remain focused on Thresh’s face for any sort of slight trick. Yet, his eyes only find the extra heft of Thresh’s cheeks cute, the now actual double chin a welcome addition. His mind comes to the conclusion of Thresh having gained even more weight.

“Well, I’m sure you’d prefer a chat under the comfort of a roof,” Without a pause, Thresh lifts a meaty hand above water.

Yone loses his impassiveness; the extra girth of Thresh’s arms and the draping fat is his main focus as he struggles and fails to hide the blush adorning his face. Thresh’s big arms are twice the width of his own arms. Yone internally screams as he wonders what it must feel like to be embraced in such large arms.

Thresh nearly laughs at the blushing Yone. Slowly stepping out of the hot spring, his eyes remain transfixed on Yone’s face as his blush grows even redder, the red hue enveloping his entire face and ears alike, a wonderful contrast against his snow-white hair.

Yone’s eyes shift slightly to the left as Thresh reveals more of his engorged body. Collarbone having lost all definition, it too looks as squishable and huggable as the rest of Thresh. His chest rising out of the water, the beginning glance at it is a disservice, the meaty pillow like chest continuing as Thresh rises even further. Each breast comparable to the size of Thresh’s head, the pale creamy chest sags and splays out. The sagging moobs are their very own shelf as they rest on the shelf of Thresh’s stomach. His stomach revealing itself, the circular mass of flab seems to have a mind of its own as it jiggles with every step Thresh takes. The soft curves lining the sides shift and bounce just as the center does. His stomach is divided into two with an extra roll formed from the extra fat, the lower half seemingly begging Yone to grab and fondle it. His stomach still wet, the rivulets of water drip down his stomach, each droplet caressing every curve of Thresh’s stomach. The bottom of his stomach sagging, the edges sag down just a bit further, Thresh’s stomach having a slight upside U-shape to his belly as it drapes down to his thighs. Thresh’s thighs alone are larger than Yone’s waistline. The large upper thighs squish together behind the mass of Thresh’s stomach. They rub past one another as Thresh takes a step, the heft of his stomach pressing down on his thighs as he lifts them. Even as he steps out of the hotspring, his meaty thighs shift to walk, the extra fat giving Thresh a decent waddle to his fat frame. His body sways back and forth, his corpulent stomach wobbling as if attempting to walk as well. His breasts jiggle, the walking producing enough shaking to make it seem as if Thresh were running. Thresh positively enjoying the attention, his chubby face grins from Yone’s staring. His violet hair wet from the dip, the overflowing strands of hair stick to Thresh’s back, even reaching down to his ass. Yone staring, his vision being occupied on inspecting every inch of Thresh fails to notice Thresh waddling towards him.

“Well, shall we take this inside?”

Thresh suddenly in front of him, Yone glances slightly up, Thresh somewhat taller than him. Coughing into his hand, he sighs, hoping the heat from his face can be brushed off as from the hot springs alone. Thresh right in front of him, his extra heft seems ripe for grabbing. Thresh’s frame is at least twice as wide as his own. Yone finds a bit of glee from that fact.

“Yes,” Responding without a trace of hesitation, Yone’s brain screams at him, the simple act of responding to Thresh a near insurmountable problem. Another portion of his brain yells at him to get out, Thresh far from trustworthy. He ignores that part of his brain. Another side of him reasons that Thresh would have attacked last time, his weary state from nonstop traveling an easier target than now. Yet, his brain counters arguing that Thresh is merely luring him- Yone stops that back and forth train of thought with a deep breath. He ceases all his thoughts on the situation, instead focusing on Thresh and his girth, those thoughts far more appealing. Like kneading all of Thresh’s fat or feeling the entirety of his weight on top of him.

Thresh raises a brow at Yone’s behavior but offers no response. Instead, he simply tells Yone to follow him with a wag of his finger before turning around.

Yone nearly chokes on his own saliva as he stares at Thresh’s ass. Thresh’s ass clearly as affected by his weight as the rest of his porcine body, the two hefty mounds of fat jut out. Each individual cheek larger than Yone’s head, the pile of pudge for Thresh’s ass sags. The upper heft of his ass retains its spherical shape, the upper curvature swaying as he leads the way. The bottom portion has somewhat less definition, the flab coalescing into a squarish shape from the sagging, bundled fat. His wide, plush back lined with rolls, the cascading flab frames the entirety of his back, his wide arms squishing against the sides with each waddle of his. Plump love handles adorning his sides, they jiggle from the movement that must be rare for Thresh these days.

Yet Yone still keeps a slower pace than Thresh’s already slow waddle, transfixed on committing the outlines of the rolls adorning Thresh’s back and the circular yet squarish ass to memory.

Thresh leads the way, eventually following some sort of normality by having Yone wait in a room while he prepares himself. Sitting on the floor seiza style, Yone keeps his posture rigid. Taking cooling breaths, his chest rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. Waiting for Thresh, any sort of fear is vanished, the images of Thresh’s body replaying in his head. Creaking sounding Thresh’s arrival, Yone regains some composure as he stares stoically as ever.

Thresh coming out with nothing but black leggings on, Yone’s impassiveness fails him again. Having already seen the corpulent Thresh nude, the minimal addition changes nothing. The leggings simply give the appearance of Thresh being even heftier, the tight fabric bunching up and squishing all his fat. His hill of a belly protruding out just as it sags down, the leggings helping outline his gut and the way it folds down, the downward curvature of his gut just as prominent as the outwards heft of his love handles.

Yone’s eyes attempt to stare at the wall instead.

Thresh’s breasts splayed on his chest, the two widened areolas seem to gaze into Yone’s entire soul; he closes his eyes upon spotting Thresh’s nipples again. The entirety of Thresh’s ass unable to securely fit in the leggings, a sliver of his ass protrudes, Yone able to spot the creamy flesh swaying behind Thresh.

“I find it best to forego my usual attire when I’m to feast,” Thresh joins Yone on the floor; he simply splays out his feet as he sits on his rump. Thresh rests a hand on his gut meticulously rubbing and hefting it. His fat quivers as he lifts up any portions of his body, the fat overflowing Thresh’s hand. Yone is treated to an audible slap and visible wobbling as Thresh lets go. With a snap of his fingers, spirits come into the room, each carrying plates lined with food.

“Help yourself,” Thresh picks up a dumpling and plops it into his mouth. “Before I finish it all,” Thresh holds the plate in his hand as he plucks a dumpling one by one. Dumping one into his mouth, he chews it a few times before swallowing. Sighing with relief, Thresh licks his teeth, as if biding his time, before plopping another dumpling in his mouth, a rhythm clearly developed from experience. Thresh goes through the plate in minutes, his eating still faster than normal despite his pauses. “I’ve already eaten, but it’s so hard not to be hungry,”

Yone clenches his fists; Thresh clearly attempting to get a rise out of him, any sort of malice from Thresh seems replaced with trickery. Glancing at Thresh’s face, he’s in the middle of eating noodles. Dangling them above his head, his long purple tongue dangles out as he drops them into his mouth.

Mid chew, Thresh returns his attention to Yone as he stands up. Slurping the rest of his bowl, his expectation of Yone leaving is denied as Yone seats himself right in front of him.

With zero hesitation, as he is used to whenever Thresh isn’t involved, Yone presses a slender hand against the dome of Thresh’s gut. Resting it, the soft tender flesh warms his hand, the warmth crawling up the entirety of his body. Yone presses down, testing the give and heft of it. His hand finds a mixture, the pile of flab sinking under the pressure while still retaining some form from all the food. “Hard to believe one such as yourself could ever go hungry with so much already packed away,” Yone comments, more to himself than to Thresh, his eyes still fixated on the creamy pile of flesh right in front of him even as Thresh grunts and whines with each little push.

The usual overbearing grin no longer plastered on Thresh’s face, he grimaces as Yone continues assaulting his body, one hand turning into two as Yone pokes him as if his girth was a mere illusion. A heavy breakfast followed by an even heavier lunch, that was later followed by a feast of a meal left him full. The contents of a veritable feast contained in his gut, his cramped stomach gurgles as its relaxation is disturbed. Eating again to fluster Yone, Thresh’s stomach is working overtime. His stomach was willing to handle all the extra food without a complaint, but the case is no longer the same with all the movement caused by Yone.

“Watch it,” Thresh lightly threatens. His ears downturned, his downcast eyes don’t bother with making any eye contact, his churning stomach taking all his focus just as it takes Yone’s. Hands suddenly losing contact with his gut, Thresh sighs. He offers a glance towards the next plate, a large heaping of tonkatsu. The crispy smell of the deep fried pork, deep fried food always a favorite of Thresh’s, wafts to his nose. Thresh holds back a whine in the back of his throat.

Still beside Thresh, Yone stares at Thresh’s internal debate. A hint of a frown mars Thresh’s cherubic face, the pout exaggerating the heft of his puffed-out cheeks ever so slightly as he stares forlornly at the plate of food. A menacing demon brought down so pathetically from the mere act of messing with his overburdened gut. Yone finds the differing sight just as adorable. He grabs the plate, skewering a few pieces of the cutlet with the fork and brings it to Thresh’s face. Mouth clamped shut, Thresh glares at Yone.

“Is this not what you wanted? To engorge yourself?” Yone shows his small grin, staring directly at Thresh, the demon now staring back at him with an anger far surpassing Yone’s jovialness.

“Enough,” His voice comes from all directions once more, the swirling tendrils of his voice echoing. His command stated calmly, the finality in it is apparent. “I am not-”

Thresh whimpers as Yone presses a hand into Thresh’s stomach. This one aimed lower, his fingers digging into the swell of fat under Thresh’s deep belly button, the chunk of food seems to kick at Thresh’s stomach from its disturbance. His mouth open a sliver, the opening is all Yone needs, the forkful of fried pork shoved in Thresh’s mouth. The crispy, juicy, pork in his mouth, Thresh voluntarily chews it. His ears perk up as he swallows. A hand placed on his stomach, Thresh holds back his flinch. Yone’s hand rubbing the mass of fat, his hand wanders a bit, caressing the side of the expanse to reach a love handle. He begins to “play” with Thresh’s form; raking his nails over the expanse of Thresh’s thighs that aren’t covered by his gut, patting the side of his arms, or cupping his breasts in his hands. Another forkful brought to him, Thresh opens his mouth. Chomping down on the meat, the resulting explosion of flavor has him opening his mouth again despite the protests of his stomach. The instant the dish is entirely devoured, Yone reaches for another one.

“I shall allow it,” Thresh huffs out, his face flushed as Yone already has another fork in front of his face, this one a croquette, ready for him. “Despite your ridiculous speed,” Thresh places his hands on the crest of his stomach, the fat from his arms squishing into the fat of his sides. “There’s no savoring the food, no-”

Responding to the complaint, Yone shoves the croquette in Thresh’s mouth. He punctuates his response with a choice light jab, Thresh reduced to a whine as he obediently chews. Muffedly breathing through his nose, Thresh continues to huff with each additional fork brought to his face, unable to catch a break from Yone’s insistence. Each fork, each bite, each chew adds to the growing pit of discomfort in his stomach. So used to feasting on whatever, the rapid, insistent pace feels too taxing of a task, Thresh rubbing the surface of his stomach as Yone refuses to relent.

Remaining in his seated spot, Thresh obediently opens his mouth for whatever forkful of food Yone offers him. Eyes lidded, the ever-growing mountain of food in his stomach is beginning to catch up to him, even as his gut is no longer being abused by Yone’s brutal pushing. Finding his breath far more labored than it was at the beginning, Thresh takes a bit of extra time to catch it after being forced to swallow a piece of beef without proper time to savor it. He whimpers as Yone places a hand on his gut, Yone simply resting it there while staring at Thresh. Thresh opens his mouth, holding back a whine as Yone caresses his face and brings another piece of beef to his mouth.

“Last one,” Yone eventually calls out after Thresh eats the last piece of beef, the entire meal lasting what feels like a millennia. His hand cups Thresh’s bloated face. He rubs his thumb against the swell of Thresh’s cheek, Thresh groaning as he catches some respite. But the respite lasts for only a few seconds before Yone holds a manju in front of Thresh’s mouth. “Open wide,” Yone taunts, staring down at Thresh.

Some clarity returns to Thresh, the thought of being finished eating bringing him out of his stupor. With lidded eyes, Thresh glances at the manju. The red bean paste dessert taunts him just like Yone’s soothing voice. Thresh opens his mouth. His hands on his stomach, the gurgling mass seems to angrily react at the thought of more food by increasing the churning. Before Thresh can fully open his mouth, Yone places the treat to his lips, cramming it inside Thresh’s mouth. The manju stays in his mouth for a while, Thresh feeling far too bloated to eat anything else.

“Shall I help you?” Yone rests a hand on the top of Thresh’s dome of a stomach. Thresh keeps his tired expression on his plastered face, slowly willing himself to chew. Testing Thresh, Yone simply adds a bit of pressure with the tip of his fingers alone.

“No…” Thresh drawls out, his voice muffled from food in his mouth. He chews the snack, willing his mouth to go along despite his stuffed state.

“Good,” Yone pats Thresh’s head, moving a tuft of hair out of Thresh's eyes. “Two more to go,”

“You said-” Thresh interrupts himself with a sudden burp, the contents of today’s food sloshing inside his stomach with a vengeance. “You said that was the last one,” Yone’s hand on his horns offers little consolation despite the way he rubs them, no one having ever touched his horns in any sense of intimacy or ever in general. Thresh’s eyes are downcast, refusing to look at Yone’s gleeful expression.

“I meant the last plate. C’mon,” Yone coos, as if Thresh were a dog he was trying to hurry. Though Yone finds the comparison somewhat apt, Thresh nearly reduced to whining like an abandoned pup. Patting Thresh’s cheek, Yone swiftly shoves the second manju inside his mouth. He smiles as Thresh promptly chews. Rather lazily, but Yone finds it acceptable, rubbing the sides of Thresh’s stuffed stomach in meticulous, slow circles.

Thresh exhausted, he sighs with each chew, his overtaxed stomach rising and falling with each breath he struggles to get in. His lips smack with each bite, his sharp fangs getting some of the paste and the dough stuck to his teeth in the process. Swallowing, his suddenly parched throat struggles to keep the dessert down, Thresh grimacing as he stares down at his full gut. Yone already has the last one pressed against his lips.

“N-no more,” Thresh begs, feeling positively mocked and pathetic, unable to even bother to lift his head and glare.

Not bothering to respond to Thresh’s plea, Yone plops the treat in Thresh’s mouth. Waiting, the treat simply remains inside Thresh’s mouth, Thresh unwilling to chew. Lifting up Thresh’s head by his horns, Yone ignores the small prickle of tears at the edge of Thresh’s eyes. Thresh's double chin smushes against the palm of Yone’s hand as he cups Thresh’s chin; his other hand remains on Thresh's head. Yone pulls Thresh's jaw down, Thresh simply unwilling to fight, and pushes his jaw up. Nearly babbling as Yone physically forces him to chew, Thresh tiredly stares at Yone's grinning face, his lips slightly upturned.

"Swallow," Yone commands.

With a sharp intake of breath, Thresh nods. Closing his eyes in painful anticipation, Thresh does as he's told. The manju goes down his throat like molasses, Thresh dreading adding even more food to his gut.

The final dish now in his gut like the rest of his feast, Thresh tries not to think about how four entire meals are resting in his burdened stomach, his tongue lulls out in relief. Huffing, his cheeks puff out as he attempts in regaining some sort of breath. His ears downturned, they gain a bit of flush just as the rest of his face does. Eyes lidded, he glares at Yone. Yone suddenly out of his sight, his eyes widen as a pair of hands grab his shoulders. Before he can swing his hefty arms, the act a lot harder than it used to be with the cumbersome weight adorning them, Thresh finds himself staring at his ceiling, his back on the floor as his hair pools around him. He lets out a pathetic moan, his stomach furious with him for the movement. His stomach kicks and screams at him, Thresh whimpering as he tries to helplessly soothe it.

Yone popping into view, he mirthfully grins at Thresh, as much as his usual stoic face allows him at the least.

“You've finally devoured everything,” The remnant of Thresh’s eating apparent only in the emptied plates left in his wake, the contents of most of his meal is a mystery to him with the rushed eating, each plate cleaned dry.

Unable to retort, Thresh focuses his gaze on the ceiling. Desperately reaching for his stomach, his hands barely reach the upper portion of his stuffed, taut gut. The crammed, overworked, mound of fat churns and groans as it struggles to digest the vast entirety of the day’s meal with another meal having just joined it.

A pair of hands resting on the apex of his gut, Thresh shuts his eyes, expecting the worst. He keeps them closed with a contented sigh as they begin to caress the heft of fat, rubbing his stomach in giant circular motions. Yone keeps his eyes closed as well, simply humming to himself as his hands wander and soothe the aching stomach.

“You did so well today,” Yone praises, his hands never leaving the expanse of Thresh’s stomach. Rubbing the overstuffed gut, he carefully maneuvers his hands. The firm mass of fat lightly quivers under his gentle touch. Only giving the slightest of occasional pushes to help ease it, Yone remains dedicated to his task.

Thresh grunts in response, though his face turns even brighter upon focusing on hearing Yone mention today as if tomorrow will entail the same thing. Thresh finds himself looking forward to it as Yone rubs his love handle, another rubbing his horns while peppering his gut with a kiss.

#My writing #league of fatties #idk I couldn't think of any other name #and I wanna mnake one cuase I still in the mood to write about the sett chonk #commission #fat!yone #fat!thresh #ssbhm #maleweightgain #fat fiction

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pinkletterday · 6 years

Text

Read on AO3

Been thinking about mature Westallen.

Iris is flabby around the middle after her pregnancy and that mid-thirties thickness that settles in. She's completely run off her feet between work deadlines, ferrying the twins, juggling STAR Labs and PTA meetings with Barry, vet appointments and, oh yes, saving the world. Some days she wakes up already exhausted. Her husband's morning energy is more obnoxious than ever, although him taking over the breakfast and kid-dressing duties allows her to take her time getting up. She still doesn't want Barry to let her slack too much because he needs rest too, super-metabolism or not.

Sometimes they go weeks without more than a peck on the lips, rushing to and fro almost zombified, the children's shrieking white noise around them that they only register anymore when it goes silent. Getting them to bed and then getting them to stay there is a team effort. They'll beg for bedtime stories and make Daddy sing for them over and over or Iris read the same story over and over (she's tempted to burn Llama Llama Red Pyjama) before they finally go down. Iris and Barry do a silly (very quiet) little victory dance outside their room when they do, but they have only won the battle, not the war. Dawn somehow manages to sleepily pad downstairs and ask for milk with puppy eyes and Don is eternally seeing monsters in the dark and crawling into bed with them at three am.

Iris loves her children, she really does, but nowadays when she sees herself in the mirror, she doesn't recognize who that is. She always wears sweats at home now, none of her lingerie fit and she hasn't bought anything new in ages. She doesn't feel sexy or even like a complete person sometimes, just a pair of hands to cook and clean and wash and write and direct; life a series of hurdle and hoops, some of them on fire. For a couple one half speedster, there is never enough time for anything. She loves Barry, she really does, but she can barely feel his presence anymore even when he's standing next to her. She wants to be touched and made love to and drown in his eyes the way they used to. But she also doesn't want anyone to touch her until she gathers every single piece she gets to keep for herself and feels her own shape again.

No one told her that being happy would take work. She sort of thought it'd just happen on its own. She married her best friend, the man who is everything she wants, had his babies, has remarkably few financial struggles, a beautiful home, a successful career and leads a superhero team that regularly saves the world. If anyone should be happy and fulfilled, its her.

She kind of wishes she didn't have quite so many things to be happy about. It's an awful thought that that makes her feel crushingly guilty, but there it is. It's all just...so tiring.

One day she has to throw out her favourite pair of pants in the Goodwill box. She's kept them for two years, certain she will be able to drop those last stubborn few pounds and squeeze back into them, but it's time to face facts now.

It feels like giving up. Tears clog the back of her throat which makes her even more irritated because she hates self-pity and its just a stupid pair of pants, Jesus. But she can't help looking sadly at her young and svelte self in her wedding picture. Barry seems like he hasn't aged a day since, thanks to his speedster regeneration. Iris is suddenly struck by the mortal fear that he will remain ever-youthful and virile while she fades into decrepit old age by his side.

Barry finds her crying on their bed, surrounded by a closetful of haphazardly strewn clothes.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he kneels at her feet to search her face, alarmed. Iris so rarely cries. "Are you hurt?"

She makes to sniffle the tears back and wave him off but what bursts out of her is - "I'm fat!"

"Huh?"

It all comes rushing out. "I'm fat, I'm beginning a double chin. I'm a slob, I'm sick of perming my hair, sick of wearing t-shirts with pepperoni stains on them, sick of nothing fitting me anymore! I'm just gonna get fatter and uglier and tireder and you're gonna stay looking stupidly handsome and I really really hate Llama Llama Red Pyjama!!"

There is a bewildered silence.

They look at each other and begin to laugh. She can't stop. There is an edge of hysteria to her giggling.

"Um. Okay," says Barry finally. "First of all, you're not fat."

She looks pointedly at their wedding picture on her lap. "I sure as hell don't look like that anymore."

"No, you don't," he agrees and a despondent hurt stabs her in the chest. "You're much more beautiful."

"That's sweet," she says with a half-hearted smile.

"I'm telling you the truth. Iris," he turns her to look at him, cradling her cheek. Those lovely blue eyes are so earnest. "When I met you in third grade, I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. That never changed. On our wedding day," he draws his thumb over her younger, beaming face, "I wanted to die when I saw you. I thought, okay. This is it, there's no way you could be any more beautiful than this. But you keep proving me wrong."

There is that look that always makes her insides gooshy. God, she's missed it. "I forgot what a charmer you are, Barry Allen."

"It isn't charm," he snakes his hands deliberately under her t-shirt and husks against her ear, "I don't think you understand how much I love this body."

She melts under the possessive hands roaming under her clothes. "You do?"

"This made my children," his hands draw along the curve of her hips and soft rolls of flab at her stomach, "these fed them," one hand kneads her breast, pleasure pooling in her belly. "I felt it change in my arms, under my hands, my mouth," he flicks his tongue against her ear and oh, that is not playing fair at all. "I’ve tasted it. I know every inch of it. Held it against me every night. I've been inside it," his fingers slide under the band of her pants, "I'm the only one who gets to see it naked. I can never get enough of it. You drive me wild, Iris. You always have."

"Barry...," her breath catches as he lays her down on the bed.

He leans over her and all the world is the blue of his eyes, dark with lust and soft with love. "You're still the most beautiful woman in the world, Iris West."

She drowns in his kiss as he presses her down, drawing his hardness flush against the heat between her legs -

"Mooom! Donny won't give back my tablet!"

"It's mine! Daddy said you had to wait your turn!"

"It is my turn!"

"Daaaad!"

Mood officially killed dead.

"Soo. Rain check?," mumbles Iris wryly into Barry's shoulder.

He sighs into her neck. "Tonight. I'm gonna ravish you," he promises, kissing her hard and quick. Then considers. "Right after we burn Llama Llama Red Pyjama."

"My hero," says Iris solemnly.

Late that night, they lie in bed finally sated. Iris traces the planes of Barry's face as he sleeps. She suddenly realizes that he no more resembles the man in their wedding picture than she does. The Speed Force keeps him looking young, but it's overlaid by an undefinable maturity. His shoulders and chest are broader, his arms bigger, his face more filled out. There is the gravitas of a father and superhero in his jawline, the burden of years has pulled a permanent furrow in his brow, weariness and patience lurk around his eyes and the lines of his mouth.

Maybe she's only seeing them because she knows they exist inside him, or maybe the shift in her perception has revealed what she has missed all this time. Either way, the years are as much stamped on him as they are on her.

They're growing older together. It's all Iris has ever wanted.

#myfic #fanfic #the flash #westallen #barry allen x iris west #future fic #plotz #headcanons

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loudlydecadentkryptonite-blog · 7 years

Text

Harold

“What the fuck Harold!” Janey pulled up her garment over her chest as she caught a glimpse of the next door neighbor’s head clearing the window sill. “You have a ton of nerve!”, she spat at him as his finger pushed back the Cheez Whiz snots that came driveling out of a pig-like sobbing snout. “I just wanted to talk . . . alone.”, the fat boy whined in a low monotone. “Just get the Hell out of here before I call the cops!”, she yelled hopping up and down like some preteen little bitch. The ladder scrapped loudly for a long instant then fell into silence for a half of a moment until the sound of a deadened impact on turf accompanied by another louder whine relieved the tension giving the young woman pause to laugh. “Serves you right you big moron!” The whimpering died away as the top of the ladder reappeared bobbing away to the house down the street off the half acre property that engulfed Janey’s abode.

How long would she have to contend with this big ‘lunk’ she wondered to herself. This was the third time this week that he had run into her! But of course this time it had become a little too up close and personal for her liking. The idea that some three-hundred and fifty pound moron was actively stalking her did not sit well. The rat probably got a good clear look at her pussy? Thank God she didn’t believe in shaving down there. She could see those big rubber lips of his slobbering spit as he talked. She trying to stay an arms length the other day on the sidewalk rolling her cart past the old claptrap fleabag apartments that he supposedly played fix-it man and building ‘super’. There was nothing but a bunch of cheap drunks and old ‘down and outer’s’ in the twelve rundown flats. By seven at night everyone must have been blotto each Friday drinking themselves to death. All of course, save for Harold who was always hanging out watching. Peering into neighborhood windows that he shouldn’t have. Janie was surprised he hadn’t been shot by now?

As a rule she’d be going out to the restaurant to work the midnight shift but tonight they only needed her til ten as they were going to shut down early to fix some pipes that were leaking bad. The guy in the bar name Bill always showed up just after midnight had always given her a ride home at the end of her shift without being grabby. She liked that about him. All these other damn cowboys must have had mothers that were octopuses as their hands were always wandering. Too bad she had sworn off men years back? The last customer was politely kicked out by 9:45 PM and the doors locked and lights out some fifteen minutes later. She hated to walk in the dark! But she wasn’t going to blow her measly night’s pay on a taxi. “Fucking bitch!”, she countered to the wind as she felt the first drops of rain upon her face as she was halfway down the first of seven blocks that she head to traverse. Well the good thing about rain is it might keep all the low lives in the pens. She clip clopped away into the darkness the occasional flash of occasional twin headlight beams of car headlamps making up for the absence of proper street lighting.

The seventh of the nine blocks reached she was soaked to the skin and feeling cold and uncomfortable. She thought about the Winter fur that had found its way to the pawn shop when she suffered a dry spell in the work department several months back. This Salvation Army special cloth coat wasn’t worth shit in a light breeze. The light’s were dimmed in the back of the crummy old apartment that Harold hung about. The rest of the windows looked more like carved hollows from a skull. The frequency of her pace picked up as she felt a pair of eyes that she could not see were staring at her. “God damn it!”, she said, “I hate this!” She turned to look over her left shoulder to see if there were any telltale shadows extending from the edge of the building that might be cast by one of the outside entry lights. But there was nothing. She was almost past the opposite end of the long swayback looking ‘cheez box’ when her heel hit a patch of broken cement and she went tumbling down to her knees with a loud screech. “Shit!”, she ranted bent over on both hands, I tore my goddamned stockings!” A big hand grabbed her shoulder and she let out another scream but this time much louder. The next thing she knew all had gone blank.

She woke up feeling sort of groggy wondering why she couldn’t see anything there being no light where ever she was. A rank smell of an old mildewed mattress swirled up into her nostrils. She tried to sit up but a big arm was laying on top of her like a tree trunk. Another odor of unwashed undershorts and rotten eggs hit her as the owner of the trunk moved his bare hairy leg over the two of hers. Harold was laying almost on top of her. A wave of anger hit her like an instantaneous burning fury but was extinguish equally fast when his weight shifted even more on top of her. ‘Hello!’ Harold mewed. “I love being this cozy, don’t you?” Janey felt like retching. This fat oily bastard was basically pinning her on a bare mattress in God knows what part of that decrepit shack of an apartment. His damp flabby abdomen nearly squeezing the air out of her diaphragm. he was wearing what had once been a T-shirt but seemed more like an oily rag three sizes too small and an incredibly rank stained set of briefs. “Let me up, will you!”, she said in a firm but even tone voice. Harold rolled off her a bit and she pulled herself out from under him and rose off the edge of the mattress. The room was not completely dark but dim. As she rose she hit her head and fell back onto her behind. Immediately two big hands swept around her chest and pressed hard around her breasts the fingertips seeking out the vertical fissure of the blouse. “You’ve got nice ‘tata’s”, Harold cooed in a childish tone. “I want to feel them, okay?” With that he pulled her bloused open one set of fingers pulling at her bra yanking that upward.

Before she could protest he had the jumble of the two pulled up to her neck over her face. “Ha ha ha!”, Harold crowed, “Are you ticklish?” And with that started grabbing at her flanks and belly and breasts pinching hard and poking as she tried to roll back and forward and away! As she strained to escape the rumpled clothing still half over her neck and elbow his hand yanked at the fron of her jeans and pulled them almost over her ass. The white of her buttocks subdivided by her crack was the target of the forefinger of the other hand as it joined the first pulling her panties along with her pants down past her knees. “My your so white and pretty!”, Harold sighed in a breathy exhale. “I just want to touch you in places that I never touched before. A shiver came over Jainey now as having no other alternative to quickly break free she had to toss off her top garments to completely untangle her arms from their grip. “No!”, she spat firmly back, “I don’t want you to touch me anywhere!” “You don’t have the right to!” She twisted around almost out of his grip now with her ankles fouled in the folded over scrunch of her jeans and panties. His hands tightly gripped upon her ankle and one calf. She could see that a malevolent petulant frown was quickly forming on his face. “But I want to!”, he snarled.

She could feel his eyes upon her. Sweeping across her pointy little breasts to her abdomen quickly pumping air in and out like a small bellows. She felt them widen when they stopped at he crotch. “I wanta do it!”, he spat back” “Let’s do it, I never have!” Janey was at that point where escape was at best improbable. But the thought of this dirty foul smelling pig on top of her pushing his greasy dick inside her was unthinkable. She looked quickly from side to side carefully trying to see if there was something in arms reach that she could use to defend herself. His frustration at a boiling point he rolled forward and released the calf leaning hard over her thigh to grab at one of her arms to pull her to him. Her right hand darted back towards him her fingers cupped cat-like exposing her nails as she instinctively clawed at his bare arm. “Owww!” he hollered like some five year old! “You hurt me!” Her eyes opened wide startled by the fact that he had now taken a better grip upon her. They sat for a moment both frozen looking at each other. “I don’t want you to hurt me anymore!”, he blubbered. “So now I am going to have to tie you up!” With that he began to wind some clothes line around her captured wrist and then violently flipping her around in the opposite direction capturing her other wrist and tying the two tightly behind her. She tried to shake him off pulling and struggling as mightily as she could but he managed in a short while to have her laying face down on the stinking mattress with legs tied apart on its corners as her arms strained trying to break the bonds behind her back.

She kept rolling and struggled as much as was humanly possible until he felt his palm ram down hard on her lower back. “Pussie!”, he drooled as his other hand jammed down between her sweaty ass cheeks skipping into her anus for an instant then finding the back passage of her vagina opening. She grunted hard in pain as he tried to stuff her with a couple of his stubby fingers. “Tight!” he proclaimed with a leer. All she could think about in the instant was where was some unexpected hero with a gun like in a movie that could blow this asshole’s head off! The dirty motherfucker was trying to rip her opening apart with his thick fingers to stick his weasel into her. She could feel the tip of it bobbling around between her own asshole and her crotch trying to find purchase to find it’s way in. The room seemed to fill with a rotten smell of fishy foul breath as he began to grunt a harder and harder. The full weight of his whale-like blubber upon her. “Help!”, she began to scream at the top of her lungs mindlessly, “Help, someone!” “Please help me!” There was a smashing sound from somewhere close and the crash of a door being violently knocked open. Janey felt the weight of her rapist shift to his arms as he rose upward startled by the intervention. A loud bang followed by the immediate spray of something hit her like a blast of wind from a monsoon. The full weight of her aggressor fell flat upon her and then slid over to the side of the mattress with a bloody tangled stump of gore where there had been a head. She looked up into the blinding glare of a bright light.

“Are you alright maam?”, a male voice drawled? A figure came around into view on the opposite side of her and set about untying the ropes. The flashlight turned away revealing a police officer with his gun still drawn gripped in his right hand and his flashlight in the left. “Thank God that your friend Bill called the station and told us he hadn’t seen you tonight and that he thought that you might be in some danger!”, the other voice now disembodied said. Yeah, she said silently to herself. “Thank god! for Bill!”

#stalking #molestation #rape #good #guys #peril #female #wierdo

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