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shrubberylogistic · 3 years

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Eat Me

You can’t wait. You tear into the package the moment it arrives. Your knees weaken in anticipation, hands shaking, your wispy body a blur as you carry it up the stairs, unable to rein in your smile. You slide the bolt shut on the bathroom door behind you, staring in silence. Alone at last, with heaven waiting at your fingertips.

It came in a flowery tin. You peel off the tape, then open the lid. Ten little cakes look up at your greedy, glimmering eyes, pink and white, iced top to bottom, like little French fancies. All marked with the same two words, in radiant black.

‘Eat Me’

You lick your lips. You spy a tiny silvery bottle, rattling in between. You check the label.

‘Drink Me’

Carefully, you slip it to the corner, safe for later. Your mind is fixed on the main event. The instructions lie folded at the bottom of the tin, but you already know them off by heart – long nights reading, re-reading the product description on the dark corners of the web, touching yourself to a frenzy, all in anticipation of what’s about to happen next.

You’re about to take a little journey to Wonderland.

The first cake enters your mouth. The taste is curious, exquisite. You look at yourself in the mirror, scrutinising your scrawny figure. Your skinny arms. The angles of your face. Your slender chest, chained by a lightning metabolism. They’re all about to change. In a big way. You wink at your reflection, then swallow.

In a twinkling, twenty-five pounds appear on your frame. You stare, breathing out, breathing in, expecting your body to follow, watching your stomach’s swell linger. A wry smirk crosses your face when you realize – the finger’s width of soft fat, lingering over your belly, there to stay. There’s a subtle change in your cheeks too – a little fuller, a little more colour. And your chin; a little fluffier. A little less pronounced.

But it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.

You open wide and let the second cake follow the first. Sensual sugars slip down your throat. Your eyes open wider. Now you’re looking thicker. You feel pressure along your jeans, ratcheting through the waistband, tensing in the seat. Another twenty-five pounds settle on your ass, your thighs, your face. A fleshy crease forms under your grin. You’re looking rounder, healthier. More of a presence, as your folks would say – though God only knows what they’d think if they could see what was happening to you now. You’ve put on noticeable weight. That curve of your belly. That flourish from your hips. That...that wasn’t there before...

Another lick of the lips. Another squeeze of ecstasy. Another cake.

Tension turns to pain, then to pleasure. In a heartbeat, your pants grow uncomfortably tight. Fresh fat laps over the beltline, burgeoning from your love handles – a rubbery ring, morphing out from your middle. Your shirt rides up a smidgeon, the flesh doughy and wobbly beneath. You give the hem a pull, touching, feeling where the weight has graced you. It’s seventy-five pounds worth by now. No small number. And you’re not such a small person any more, either. You blink, warmth reddening your chubbier complexion. You already know a trip to the scale would tell you that for a person of your (average) height, you’re become overweight.

That word sends a shiver down your spine. You run your fingers through your hair, shifting your feet. A tiny twitch buzzes up from your knees, unused to carrying the excess heaped on your torso. Overweight. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Quick as a flash, the fourth piece of cake finds its way down your throat. It’s met with a moan, a searing squeeze – then a burst, of threads, of pleasure as your button gives way, inches of adipose rolling down the zipper of your jeans. Your shirt has zipped up another inch, gripping the flab under your arms, tightening under your shoulders. You need to change – fast. You fight the cotton off your tender skin, hoisting it over your head, unhitching your thick wrists from the sleeves. Squirming and stretching, you strip down to your strained underclothes, kicking aside your outgrown shirt and jeans, running fingers through your sweaty hair. You take pause, gazing at your bloated body, enraptured. Months upon months of stuffing wouldn't have a patch on what you’ve done. You try and make sense of the curves of your face, the dip in your double chin, the warm droplets of sweat on your wobbly chest while you take your dressing gown off the rack and sling it round yourself. A hundred pounds, fatter. You hardly recognise the person underneath.

You unlock the door. It’s time for a little house tour. You trot out the bathroom, swaying, hiccuping, heavier and clumsier than the person who walked in. Tin in hand, you feel the fat shift with your stride, your thighs brushing, your belly drifting and dipping, an inch of pleasurably hanging flab, creaming over your pants.

Obese. It hits you as you jostle down the stairs, flab jiggling in places you’d never dreamed you’d find it before. You throw out your hips and totter to the kitchen, loading your arms with a raft of goodies from the fridge. You came prepared for this day – the microwave oven waits by your bedside, a stash of snacks calls your name from the drawer. You’re almost walking on clouds while you rush back upstairs, your body quivering, your eyes glazing over before you set down the tin of cakes, propped atop a towering stack of meaty fast food.

The rhythmic ping of the microwave is the tune to your afternoon. You tuck into your feast, filling up your engorged stomach in a haze of breathless gluttony. Slice after slice of pizza pumps you out, topped with swig after swig of bubbling soda. Fries follow, then popcorn, chocolates and sugary doughnuts, before you branch back into savory, ploughing through and lasagna. Waves of trash spread around your spongy sides, falling to the floor while make a pig of yourself, grunting and munching. The last tray spins on the glowing dish, as your mind leads you astray.

A hundred pounds of fat. Only for today. You think of when you’ll get your next shot at letting your fantasies swallow you whole. You free the lasagna, set it down on the floor, and peer longingly at the flower-covered tin. Four gone... but still, six left...

You reach out and count them, once, twice, the tin perched on your stuffed paunch. You told yourself four was the limit. You said you’d save the rest for another time. They’re so expensive, after all. But that was then. And now, you can no longer resist...

Two cakes. One in each hand. You cram them into your face.

Your eyes bulge. In an instant your belly blows into the drawstring of your bathrobe, yanking the knot tight, losing its firmness, then flopping over the space between your legs. You feel the rush from your groin as your hips widen, and your bottom broadens. Squishy folds deepen under your ribs. Your arms form rolls on your biceps, and you ease them out from your sides, your hands probing and squeezing swathes of fresh softness. Another fifty pounds fatter. You gasp, joy mushrooming on your face. You can almost feel your fitness fading into sloth, laziness, greediness, gleefulness. You can’t fathom what those stairs would do to you now.

What would more cake do?

You dread to think. Your tubby toes curl. The tension in your nipples makes you bite your lip. You can’t possibly imagine life at such a size. You’d be formless. Helpless. Weaker. Ruled by the nuzzle of your belly, pressed on your private parts. But your hand’s back in the tin. You’ve stripped three cakes from their casings, collecting them in your cupped grasp. You’re already fat. You’ve packed a hundred and fifty pounds. You’re obese. Morbidly obese.

Just a lick. Just one luscious crumb...

You lose control. A gooey mass of fluff and cream shunts past your lips. They plumpen. You swirl the mixture in your cheeks. They blossom and expand. You swallow the cake in three heavenly gulps. Your chins thicken. Your chest pads out. Fresh fat swells you from your shoulders to your stomach in an orgasmic supernova. Your underwear shrinks to a dampening string before it snaps under the crease of your jelly roll. More mass sweeps through your pillar-like thighs, your calves – tensing, then relaxing, growing and flourishing, fattening up all over. Pooling on the mattress, you slip out of your gown and simply lie back, warm and woozy, letting yourself grow and grow. You strain your smile, eyelids fluttering, exhausted under all your new weight, watching your cushioned chest softly rise and fall. Your drum-tight belly blocks your view of your feet. Even breathing leaves you tired, and weak. Three hundred and seventy-five pounds – an exasperating three fifths of it gained in a matter of seconds. There’s not a muscle you feel like moving. Any more mouthfuls of cake, and you’re not sure there’d be a muscle you could move.

But it’s gone, nearly. And thank god you’ve your glassy ticket back to reality. ‘Drink Me’, you read again, giving the contents a shake with your sausage fingers. Only ten drops – but it’s enough to melt off all the cake you quaffed, changing you back to normal, leaving you with just split seams and the memories. And maybe a crack in the supports – you're not sure the bed’s built to hold so much extra weight. You smile, wallowing a little while longer, a boat in the current, bobbing in an ocean of euphoria. You give your belly a big slap, and sigh, watching it wave, wondering when you’ll get a chance to do this all again.

Your alarm goes off. You groan, twisting toward the desk, slapping your phone to mute with a pudgy palm. Time’s up. Your family's due home any minute. Easing your body up on the pillows, you pick out the tiny bottle, and pinch the miniature wooden cork. It pops free with a pungent fizz. You give the contents a sniff, wrinkling your nose. It’s chalky, bland and pasty. Yuck.

You reach over for some soda to wash it down with, switching hands, before it suddenly slips out of your grasp, plopping onto your stomach.

You jerk your neck. The bottle slides off your rolls, hitting the bed, bouncing and spinning to the floor. You lift, turning, thrusting your body into motion. It’s tipped over on the lasagna tray. And it’s leaking.

Cold, naked fear races through your bloodstream. You kick the covers away, bucking your hips, tumbling awkwardly to one fat hand, one thick leg on the carpet. Losing control of your momentum, you feel your other leg lifting, your wrist folding, your bottom half rippling as you fall, quaking as you make impact with a giant thud. Warm pasta and cheese sploshes along your love handle. The lasagna. You part your thighs, struggling to sit up over your blubbery stomach.

Crinkles and cracks pierce your ears. You shudder, realizing you’ve landed right on top of the tray. You roll to one side and scrape the flattened foil off your butt. The bottle peels off your sweat misted haunch. You seize it and snatch it to your lips.

Nothing. Not a drop. You flick the bottom. You give it a shake. It’s empty. Panic grips your pounding heart. You push up to your knees, your belly button brushing the floor whilst you paw around the trash, searching for the slightest glint of moisture. A whimper escapes your lips. You pick past plastic, cans, more boxes and paper bags. Still nothing. The liquid’s gone.

Sweat travels in thick drops down your soft sides when it dawns on you. You’re trapped in this body. You’re stuck under layers of useless, undulating flesh. Your whimper becomes a moan. Squirming, shivering, you fight your way up to your feet, clinging to your last hope in the crushed aluminum packaging as you steady yourself. Widening your stance, you unpick the squashed foil, then lift and tip the contents down into your mouth.

Your tongue laps up rich ragu and cheese. You close your eyes in silent prayer, chewing, devouring, inhaling the meaty feast. The formula must have seeped in there somewhere. You fill your cheeks, careful not to let a morsel spill, gulping and gorging up the microwave meal. You lick and slurp, until a metallic tang is all you can taste. Finished. You open your eyes, wishing, yearning.

Every last bite of the lasagna’s gone. You look down at your stomach.

No. No. No. Fuck.

You see yourself. Still a huge, feeble blob. You haven’t lost a single ounce.

It’s too much. Your voice breaks as you cry out, only to be cut off by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Someone’s home. You’re not waiting to find out who. Your thighs smack, your belly wobbles, your face pales as you take the tin and barrel for the bathroom, hurriedly waddling your way down the corridor. You feel your girth crashing and jostling before you hitch a shaky right, nearly toppling over before you belay through the door, slamming it shut behind you. Your knuckles are white on the handle, sunken in a coating of excess flesh. You whip around, squishing your fat ass on the woodwork.

You freeze, sucking in air, taking in the sight of your heaving, pillowy form in the mirror, condensing under the heat of your rapid breaths. There’s no hiding how massive you’ve made yourself. God – nothing in your wardrobe’s gonna fit! You hear the front door open. Gently, you edge the lock shut.

Safe, if only for a couple more minutes. Alone. Just you, and... all the rest of you. The new you. You’re about to drop a lot of jaws. Whatever happens, you know you’ll need a cold shower. This is going to take some serious explaining.

You peer into the corner of the room. A long, cold shower. If the cubicle’s big enough to fit you in, that is...

You turn. The flowers catch your glance in the mirror. You twist your feet. The tin finds its way into your hands. You open it. No more bottles – no. But, one more cake.

It lies heavy in your fingers. You quiver at what’s it’s done to you. But it’s there. The heat’s building up between your legs. It’s waiting. The sugary sweetness. The dripping icing. It’s waiting for you.

Footsteps. Someone’s at the bottom of the stairs. You take in your reflection.

Another millstone. Another coating of delicate mass. Another few more months of draining diets and exercise, to have any hope of returning to the size you used to be.

And what’s the use? They’ll wither just as much when they see you. You’d still have to live with the stares. You’d still get as many whispers behind your back, grunting, groaning, heaving while you waddle away, eking all that pleasure from their pity...

You hear someone calling your name.

Your mind is made. Fingers sticky, crumbs tumbling, lungs sobbing as the pounds pile on, while your other hand rocks you down below, cresting on a wave of bliss...

#wg story #wg fic #wg kink #wg text #weightgain #weight gain fiction #weightgainstory #weightgainfetish #gettingfatter #fatfetish #fatfiction #fatfeedee #make me fatter #getfat #fatweightgain

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pangtasias-atelier · 3 years

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Dragalia Digest

Well, I come after several months with a story for a game that I’m sure none of y’all play lmao but I am not immune to stoic green dragon man that got me desperately playing Dragalia for a few weeks lol

This was originally meant to be a short story but it just kinda got longer and longer so here’s a 4.8k story about a really, really, really big Midgardsormr. Though the fat content isn’t like the entire story cause I just do that for some damn reason lol

WARNING: This story is a fat kink story. So like, if some rando finds this and you still click on this, that’s on you~

“Uhh, were we expecting any visitors?” Careful to shield his eyes from the blazing gaze of the sun, Ranzal peers up at the sky. Looming over his much thinner and shorter companion, the built mercenary stands besides Luca.

“None whatsoever,” The blue haired bunny archer stares at the small shadowy speck in the distance. His arms remain crossed as his line of vision follows his partner’s. “And it’s just the two of us guarding today,” A grin spawns across the width of his face from his thoughts. He reaches for his quiver and delft slots an arrow into his bow. “So, we’ll shoot now, ask questions later!” His shit eating grin plastered onto his face, his tongue sticks out a fraction of an inch.

“We ain’t doing that,” Ranzal swings his open palm down onto Luca’s head.

Luca’s bow and arrow immediately plop onto the floor as he nurses his aching head. “That hurt!” Gritting his teeth, his eyes return to the ever-encroaching shadow in the sky. He continues to grumble under his breath about his pain all the while he watches.

Ranzal ignores all of Luca’s comments, his mind more concerned with the vaguely familiar approaching figure. The encroaching figure’s speed far faster than either could ever hope to achieve running, it only takes a mere extra few seconds for Ranzal’s brain to process the figure. “You almost shot at one of the Greatwyrms, you idiot!” The crisis averted regardless, Ranzal still picks a fight with Luca for his recklessness.

“You’re the idiot who doesn’t know his own strength! It would’ve all worked out regardless!” The two facing each other, Luca on his tip toes in a poor attempt of sizing himself up to somewhat compare to Ranzal, a feat that Luca has no hopes in achieving, they completely fail to ignore the complete disappearance of the day’s calm weather. Light breezes of winds pick up, the blades of grass and other fauna swaying in the sun’s light. Their shouting match more important, their focus only returns to their original issue upon the two almost losing their footing from a particularly strong torrent of wind.

Their eyes widen as the wind Greatwyrm Midgardsormr flies above them by only a few feet; their eyes only widen further as a figure jumps off said Greatwyrm.

“Looks like I finally reached my favorite descendant’s humble abode,” Alberius outstretches his arms with a cheery grin. His eyes roam across the expansive open field only to find nothing but interspaced buildings.

“Euden ain’t here right now,” Ranzal decides to clear up Alberius apparent confusion.

“They all left for some training along with all the dragons, so it’s just good ol’ Ranzal and me here guarding the place,” Luca’s chest puffs out in pride.

“A fine duo for guards indeed. Then I will gladly help defend the castle grounds. It is the least I can do during such an impromptu visit,” The sun seemingly shines directly behind Alberius, his entire radiant figure gleaming in the light as his hair flutters in the wind behind him. However, he suddenly clears his throat. “Though my partner here is in need of-” The ground trembles upon Midgardsormr’s descent. Though a crash landing is more apt, a sizable indent in the ground where he let himself fall. “Mids just needs some rest, so a room would be much appreciated,” His voice picks up in speed and pitch. Midgardsormr glares at Alberius for using his nickname.

“The place where dragons usually hang out is all empty so I can show Mids over there while Ranzal shows you to a room in the castle,” Midgardsormr’s glare towards Alberius intensifies.

“No need,” Alberius raises an open palm in the air. A small chuckle escapes him with a small grin. “If I wish to foster better relationships between dragons and humans, then what better way to show those ideals than cohabitation? I shall rest and watch over Mids,”

“If you could point us to a building that would be much appreciated,” A light strain mars Midgardsormr’s voice yet he keeps a straight face throughout his fatigue.

“It’s that group of buildings over there,” Ranzal points behind himself, large similar looking buildings not too far off in the distance.

“Thanks,” With a quick wave of goodbye, Alberius takes a quick pace ahead of the trotting Midgardsormr, the Greatwyrm keeping a speedy pace as well.

“They sure are in a hurry,” Luca huffs to himself. His brows furrow.

“They’re probably just tired from all the flying, that’s all,” Ranzal smacks Luca in the lower back. “Now, back to patrolling,”

Luca dutifully marches beside Ranzal. The duo once again all alone with their unexpected visitors resting, the two joke back and forth amongst each other, Luca regaling about possible new tricks to use on their teammates upon their return. Their patrolling turns out to be more formality than anything. Soon, the sun begins its slow descent and the two call it quits. Upon their return to their rooms, the two pause in their tracks as a quick clang rings out.

"Questions first, shooting later," Ranzal stresses with a whisper, his eyes staring daggers at Luca. Luca simply sticks his tongue out. The svelte archer nimbly makes his way towards where the noise came from as Ranzal follows behind him.

Luca immediately stops upon turning another corner. He makes no noise when Ranzal bumps into him from behind from the unexpected stop. Listening in on their intruder, Luca's ears twitch. A clear lack of concern from their intruder is evident from the turned-on lights and humming, Luca remains still. The sound of rolling wheels adding to the noise, the intruder finally steps out.

Alberius pushes out a cart chock-full of varying plates of food. With a quick flick, he turns off the lights before bustling on down the hall with a pep in his step.

"Must have company over or something," Ranzal scratches the side of his head.

"Regardless, we're following him," Luca announces, his shoulders tense.

"Luca," Ranzal outstretches his hand, the limb hanging in the air above Luca's shoulder, Ranzal not used to hearing the archer sound so serious.

"I was saving that carrot cake for a rainy day," Luca cries out, wrapping his arms around Ranzal's waist as he buries his head in Ranzal's chest. "It's not fair,"

"Dumbass," Luca clinging to him for his dear life, Ranzal simply carries Luca by his ass. Following Alberius from a distance, he follows him all the way back to the buildings the dragons sometimes reside in.

Alberius none the wiser, he even leaves the door open.

"Quit your moping. It's not that serious," Ranzal pries Luca off of him and puts him back on the ground. "They were tired when they got here, so they were probably also low on supplies,"

"But so much food? Including my carrot cake," Luca dejectedly stares at the floor.

"Well, Midgardsormr is a dragon so he probably needs to eat a lot. I'll go and buy you a carrot cake at the market another day, my treat,"

"Deal!" Luca immediately cheered up figure perks up. "I've never seen a dragon eat before, so I'm not passing up this chance," Luca drags a willing Ranzal behind him. Though the two immediately stop at the scene that awaits them.

Midgardormr’s true form no longer in sight, he currently takes advantage of his human form. The change between forms is of no shock to Ranzal or Luca, Midgardsormr having elected to use his human appearance often, his new figure is the kicker.

Dwarfing even the size of his towering, built draconic form, Midgardsormr’s human form is, for a lack of better words, fat. The rooms constructed with dragons’ large frames in mind, Midgardsormr’s lard happily occupies every available inch. So many engorged, heavy rolls make up the entirety of his bloated body. A decent sense of proportions is somehow maintained despite Midgardsormr’s elephantine figure. His stomach large enough to smother a trio of beds pushed together, the pale oceanic blubber oozes on down onto the floor. An overwhelmingly large amount of fat swaddling his body, the lower roll making up a portion of his stomach is smothered by the upper tube of fat right above it and even smothers and obscures his navel. The middle roll of fat is wider to the point that one would find it easier to grab someone by the waist than to grab its love handle. The roll of fat right above it not as massively wide, it instead rests comfortably atop the roll below it. Still rather wide as well, the extreme width of said roll’s love handle is comparable to that of Ranzal’s bicep. His chest impacted from his new size just like his crushing gut, two bulbous sagging mounds of fat reside where a chest once was. Each breast alone is larger than a person’s head. Each one larger than even Midgardsormr’s bloated face. Both tits splay out to the side, the uppermost roll of his stomach making a fine bed for his pillowy breasts as they noticeably sink into his billowing fat. Connected to his great doughy chest is his numerous amounts of neck folds and extra chins, each smooshed up against one another and the lowest one even spilling onto the upper crests of his breasts. Connected to that is his face, most of the space taken up by his blubbery over bloated cheeks sagging with fat. His face hard to make out in the vastness of his corpulence, the main indicator of his face lies with his vibrant long mop of rich green hair that cascades down in between the crevices and folds of fat lining his back. His hair flowing onto his tail, his tail is completely invisible from the front with so much fat blocking the view. Two horns stick out on top of his head, though those are no longer as prominent as they once were with fat pooling around it in all directions. Midgardsormr’s arms bulge out on both sides of his face, the two pillar-like appendages forced at an angle from the bunched-up fat from the sides of his stomach. His arms are completely useless with both being unable to budge a fraction of an inch. The upper portions of his arms surpass the width of a tire. His elbow basically absorbed in his own arm fat, his forearm is far less as wide as his arm yet is still equally swaddled in so much fat so as to be incapable of movement. His wrist follows suit, the doughy circular mass of fat affixed to his forearm while also nearly swallowing his fingers. So bloated, the sausagey fingers are basically the only portion of his body that Midgardsormr can move, albeit for short periods of time. The entirety of his arms billowing in lard, his shoulders are practically nonexistent from being buried under so much flab. His back is covered in a litany of rolls just like the rest of his body; the flabby landscape is akin to a rolling field with the numerous mountains and valleys for folds of fat. Each fold cascading and jutting out alike, none of them compare to his couch sized ass cheeks. The shapeless lard stuffed ass pools out onto the floor behind him. His tail runs down the middle of his ass, the once large tail absurdly small in comparison to the extreme width of his ass. It rises into the air like the rest of his figure, so much bad placed on top of more fat to give the appearance of rising dough. His ass jutting behind him, his immovable elephantine legs jut out on both sides of his body. His great stomach takes up as much space as needed, his legs splaying out at somewhat of an angle as a result. Bits of what could be described as his inner thighs seep underneath his stomach however, most of his legs press against the doughy sides of his gut, rolls on his thighs and rolls on his stomach intersecting to create new folds of fat that seemingly mesh together. The entire length of his barrel shaped legs presses against his stomach with his fat having nowhere else to go. His thighs caked in vast amounts of fat, the width of one thigh alone surpasses that of even the largest of doorways. His shins sink into the mass of fat that is his thighs. His feet are in the same predicament, most of them swallowed by the quicksand of fat. Every single inch of Midgardsormr packed with copious, overly exaggerated piles of fat, Midgardsormr’s mammontine body is a caricature of a caricature.

“I brought you some food Mids,” Alberius is ignorant of his two guests. Unable to wheel an entire cart up the rolling hills of fat comprising Midgardsormr’s body, he instead carries the serving platters in his hands. He carefully navigates the oceanic pile of blubber that is Midgardsormr’s body, obviously used to doing so numerous times. Trekking upwards, he perches himself atop Midgardsormr’s breast, nestling his back directly in between the folds of fat where his arm and necks and cheek meet. Alberius rests the extra serving platter on Midgardsormr’s free breast. “This’ll help you get back your energy,” Alberius pats his round chipmunk cheeks with a smile. Alberius pauses as he notices his silence and the bright red blush adorning his face. “What’s wrong? You’re usually begging for-”

“We-” Midgardsormr wheezes out in response. “have guests, “He averts his gaze away from the dumbstruck Luca and Ranzal.

Alberius whips his head around. His eyes go wide. “I’ll be right back,” Patting Midgardsormr’s arm, he climbs down. Luca and Ranzal still outside, Alberius first closes the door as he steps outside. Or at least tries to, Midgardormr’s blubbery stomach wedged in the middle of the doorway. “Hello,” Alberius starts off rather meekly, the smile on his face only half formed. “I’m sure this isn’t something you expected to see,” He gives a weak chuckle before letting out a sigh. “Look, please keep this to yourselves. Mids is rather embarrassed about the whole thing,”

“How soft is he?” Piping up, Luca completely ignores Alberius as he stares behind him.

“Huh? Well, he’s pretty soft, I guess?” Alberius fumbles his words.

“I doubt he’s more than just ‘pretty soft’,” Luca walks past Alberius, his eyes purely focused on the soft, fleshy pile of lard in front of him. His grubby little hands press down into Midgardsormr’s stomach, his entire wrist and more sinking into it. “This is way better than soft! Hey Ranzal, you gotta try this!”

“What do you think you’re doing!” Voice rising in intensity, Midgardsormr panics as Luca lets himself fall into his stomach. “Stop your ridiculousness,” Midgardsormr attempts to squirm, however he only succeeds in wobbling the entirety of his fat around, rolls of lard sloshing into one another.

“He’s even got a vibrate function,” Luca teases with a content sigh.

Ranzal still with Alberius, he merely sighs. “So, curse got him or something?” He gestures towards Midgardsormr.

“Not exactly,” Alberius hesitates, focusing on using all his brainpower for what to respond with. “He, just kinda really enjoys human food,” Alberius shrugs, awkwardly laughing.

“Oh,” Ranzal stares at Midgardsormr who is struggling against an eager Luca.

“Yeahhhhh,”

“So, you’ve been feeding him so much he got this big?” Ranzal raises a brow.

“W-well we both enjoyed it so it just kinda happened! Only his human form is affected from all his eating so we kinda reasoned it’d be fine, and it is. He looks rather dashing like this if I do say so myself,” Beginning to regain his gushing nature over Midgardsormr, Alberius gives a confident grin. His teeth gleaming, his eyes are closed as he speaks next. “So, I’d be grateful if you don’t say a word to anyone about this,” A response not given, Alberius opens his eyes. The spot in front of him devoid of another person, Alberius turns around.

“You sure do like to eat huh? Well, lucky for you, I’ve got plenty of recommendations for good stuff,” Ranzal in front of Midgardsormr’s oozing stomach, he grabs a serving platter full of meat. “Looks like you probably know way more about food than me at this point,”

“Great idea, Ranzal!” Carefully navigating himself off Midgardsormr’s overly plush and soft, cushiony stomach, Luca joins Ranzal in fetching him food. He focuses more on grabbing sweets and treats rather than the hearty filling of meat like Ranzal.

Alberius stands with his mouth slightly agape. Not expecting such a rather positive reaction from the two, his confused eyes gaze up towards Midgardsormr. His eyes gaze back down at Alberius and instead of confusion plastered all over his face, embarrassment mars the wide, doughy landscape of his cheeks.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” A bit of panic seeps into his voice as he stares wide eyed at the two overeager men. Encumbered by the mountainous pile of flab making up his body, his only hope for assistance is Alberius, the man too surprised to help him out.

“Giving you a helping hand,” Ranzal plops himself down where Alberius once was. Holding his tray with a shocking amount of delicacy, the overflowing tray manages to avoid a single spill as its holder makes itself comfortable in between the crevice of where Midgardsormr’s chins, arms and chest meet.

“Yeah! Hafta make sure you’re nice and full; you’re our guest afterall,” With an abundance of cheer and pep in his voice, Luca gladly takes a seat on the other side of Midgardsormr akin to Ranzal’s position. “Your partner sure brought you a ton of food. It must take him forever to feed it all to you. We're just speeding up the process,”

“I do not mind the time it takes for Mids’ appetite to be sated. His stomach rivals the depths of the hungry sea and I have placed it upon myself to aid him,” Alberius gloats to himself, proud of his nonsensical statement. “Though on the other hand...” Alberius turns his attention even further away from Midgardsormr’s predicament as he finds himself increasingly lost in his own thoughts.

“Alberius!” Midgardsormr shouts, a slight huff to his voice from the mere effort. “Do so-” The rest of his sentence becomes muffled nonsense as Luca shoves a forkful of his carrot cake into his mouth.

“See, he’s fine with it. Just relax already, big guy,” The serving tray resting on his lap, uca pats Midgardsormr’s tube of fat for an arm.

A generous portion of cake placed into his mouth, zero words are needed to coax the embarrassed, reluctant dragon. His hunger always creeping up on the back of his mind, he obediently chews on the mildly sweet and moist dessert. Despite the heaping helping of cake, it only takes him a few moments for it to all go down his greedy gullet. A slight chill escapes his voice as he speaks next, a clear, obvious contentment to his bashful face. “I am not-” His sentence once again ends up rendered pointless with another serving of food offered right to his mouth, this time by Ranzal.

“If ya got time to complain, then ya got time to eat,” Ranzal grins and watches Midgardsormr chew through the half portion of steak, his bulbous cheeks wobbling to and fro from the simple act of eating. Ranzal leans back into the comfort of Midgardsormr’s arms and cheeks, his bulk sinking into a fair amount of his plush body.

“I,,,,” Quickly finishing the second offering, Midgardsormr struggles to get a coherent thought out, his stomach doing most of the thinking for him. His half-lidded eyes switch between Ranzal and Luca. Even that movement is groggy and sluggish, as if any sort of movement is foreign to him. “I’m hungry,” Huffing out the words, the last portions of his embarrassment scream at him, yet his stomach thanks him as more food finds its way into his cavernous mouth.

“Happy to help, big guy,”

“All you had to do was say something,”

Midgardsormr finds himself unable to even come up with a retort to either of them, his mind simply focusing on the delectable dishes offered to him as he gobbles them all down. A generous portion of food enters his mouth only for another to be promptly stuffed inside the instant he finishes the former. Ranzal and Luca offering the barest of times in between each offering, Midgardsormr finds zero complaint in such a speedy stuffing. His oceanic gut churns as it craves more and more food, the numerous servings of food already stuffed inside him merely a start meant to whet his appetite. Human food having such an effect on him since his very first taste of the cuisine, he simply found himself unable to get enough of the food. Alberius far too eager to feed him, Midgardsormr’s appetite directly grew alongside his waistline. With two people eager to stuff him full of such delicious food, his stomach yearns for more. As when Luca finds his tray devoid of any food, Midgardsormr mentally whines at the minimal break in pace, Ranzal’s speedy stuffing still not enough. Or when Ranzal goes to fetch him more food as well upon Luca’s return, the two planning their switches to keep a steady pace of food going into his mouth at all times. And he eats it all willingly. Far too willingly, his body basically begging for every morsel they toss his way. Until the food ends up all gone, an entire cart’s worth of food able to serve as a veritable feast stuffed inside the expanse of his stomach. A bit of a huff escapes past his lips, his flushed rounded cheeks huffing and puffing for air.

Alberius remains completely ignorant to the current ongoing events. The rather loud huffs coming from Mids and the increasingly loud churning in his stomach falls on deaf ears. He merely paces around a bit as he continues to mutter to himself. “It does take me a rather long time to feed him,” He paces around a bit. “And that’s just for one feeding,” Alberius’ concentration only breaks upon hearing Midgardsormr’s needy voice.

“Alberius,” Mids whines. He breathes heavily, the entire mass of food sitting comfortably in his stomach. A tiny spackle of food smears his lips and cheeks.

“Yes,,,” Alberius stares wide eyed at Mids. He instinctively steps forward a few paces before he ends up right in front of Mids’ stomach and places a gentle hand on the upper lip of one of his many rolls.

“I’m hungry,” The statement leaves his lips as plainly as he thought of it, his aching stomach craving and wanting for me.

“No problem! I’ll serve you,,,,” Turning to the cart, he freezes mid step. His mind races as he comprehends that the entirety of the cart has been devoured.

“Don’t tell me you thought that was enough to fill him up,” Luca chides as he cheerfully lies on top of Midgardsormr.

“He’s been practically begging all this time. Seems like he’s been holding back quite some time,”

Hearing the implication, Midgardsormr goes to speak only for him to find no words, his face flushing a bright vibrant red.

“Mids,,,” Alberius elects to speak instead. His own face matches the intensity of Mids’ blush. “I’ll bring you all the food I can!” Storming off in a rush, a fervent intensity in his step.

The overall rather silent atmosphere of the night ends up disturbed a few minutes later as Alberius’ soft grunts sound out. His figure approaching, he comes with two carts this time alongside a bundle full of an assortment of bread. “This was,” Alberius takes a pause to catch his breath, his chest heaving as he takes in several gulps of air. “This was everything I could find,” A radiant smile illuminates his face before he goes to place as much food as he can on a serving tray. Upon grabbing as much as possible, he climbs up the roll ridden hill that is Midgardsormr’s body. He gently moves aside Midgardsormr’s mane of green hair before sitting on the plush rolls of back fat. Able to get a better view of Mids’ face, he peers down at him with a gentle smile. He brings a bread roll to his mouth, Mids’ devouring it whole. “You should’ve told me you haven’t been feeling full as of late. You always brushed me off when I asked about you being so tired often,”

“I’ve been eating way too much lately,” Mids takes another bread roll. “You’ve been spending so much on food just for me,”

“That’s it?” A small snicker escapes past Alberius. “Seriously?” His snickering erupts into laughter. “Mids, it’s more likely that you’ll eat everything before I run out of money,”

“You don’t have to be so blunt,” Mids murmurs.

“I’m sorry but it’s true. And if you’re worried about me spending too much, just know that your happiness is worth more than anything else,” Bubbling laughter still escaping him, Alberius reaches for more food with a renewed vigor. “Now, to make sure you actually end up full tonight,”

His fear turning out to be completely mundane, Mids holds back his remark at Alberius’ placating yet loving remarks. Both from embarrassment and from having his mouth being stuffed with food. The two’s conversation over, Ranzal and Luca get off Midgardsormr to grab some more food as well. Not having been used to two people feeding him yet adjusting to that quite well, he finds no issue in adjusting to three people impatient to stuff him. His cheeks caked in fat, the jutting mounds of flab hide the ridiculous amounts of food stuffed inside his hungry maw at all times. Barely able to keep up with the supply of food, his mouth sluggishly gives each dish a few chews before swallowing it to make room for the next batch of food coming his way. So much food packed inside, the individual flavors and textures jumble together. Yet his addiction to human food is all the same, Midgardsormr greedily devouring it all while still wanting for more. His stomach is so vastly bloated that even as he slowly begins to feel his aching hunger subside, the hill of fat appears no different than before, zero tautness in the blubbery expanse of his gut. However, before he can fully claim himself as full, Alberius’ loving face peers down at his.

“Sorry to say, but we’re fully out of food,” Both hands gripping the tip of Mids’ horns, Alberius leans down for a quick peck, his face neatly slotting itself between all of Mids’ fat. “Did you end up full at least?” Both Ranzal and Luca gone, the two having left after confirming there was no more food in the entire castle, Alberius goes to make himself comfortable. He lies down in between the jutting crevice of Mids’ chest where each moob juts out to the side. He rests his head right on Mids’ multiple folds where his chins and necks mold together.

“Almost,” Mids admits, a slight bit of sadness sounding in his voice.

“Wait, seriously!?” Alberius’ face turns a violent tinge of red. “That’s kinda hot,” He admits as his hands rub at as much of Mids’ expanse as they can reach. “Then next time I’ll make sure to get you enough food to where you’re begging me to stop feeding you,” A small yawn makes it past Alberius’ lips. The infectious yawn worms its way into Mids’ mouth before he lets one out too; the entire expanse of his body jostles and jiggles from the action, Alberius taken along for the ride as the human bed shakes beneath him.

“You better,” Mids merely replies, the overtaxing churning of his gut making him rather drowsy.

“Once we make it to Hinomoto I will,” Alberius lazily pats whatever fold of fat his hand rests on. “If we leave first thing in the morning, we should make it in a few days,”

“Deal,” Letting out one final prolonged yawn, Mids begins to snooze off, his entire body rising and falling with each breath he takes.

Come morning, the two guards find zero trace of their visitors besides a completely barren kitchen and a hefty bag of gold.

“So, what’re we gonna say happened?” Luca scratches the side of his head as he stares at the vacant room where Alberius and Midgardsormr once were.

“We go out for drinks, then we replenish the pantry,” Ranzal happily holds up the bag of gold in his hand. “Then we split the rest that’s left,”

“Deal!” The two head off on their merry way to enjoy their day, yesterday knight a pleasant experience decided to be kept as their little secret.

#dragalia fats #i dont know what to tag this lmao #my writing #fat!Midgardsormr #ssbhm #maleweightgain #fatfiction #weightgainstory #fatkink

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