chubbyheroesworthyheroes

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Aww laios ...

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manifesting the fattened fertility idol treatment. the more fattened up i get as tribute, the better our village's crops will yield in harvest time

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okay even tho i think the answer is no does anyone care about canon compliance in kink fic because i have an indulgent idea but man does it just spit in the face of everything uwu

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damn guess who finally played through shadows of valentia & has a new obsession

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hope its alright if i make more than one suggestion after i suggested the sothe wg one, it'd be a fun one too if nailah meets volug later after hes been hanging with the dawn brigade and she sees that he has gotten fat as hell off daein cuisine.

I absolutely love Volug and I fucking adore how ridiculous he is when you translate his text absjnsjbdns. Also, Volug definitely is someone who'd get fat as and not give a about how big he is which hot

I hope you enjoy it cause I went a little crazy writing about his size since I felt was kind of lacking it recently lol

Warning: This is a fetish story!

“I know the rest of the way there,” Her words leave little room for argument. Not when dealing with the queen of Hatari, the wolf’s words and actions far more blunt than the honeyed words of beorc leaders. She neither bothers to stop or to look back at her former beorc guide as she walks deeper into what should be the complex building that is Daein Keep. 

As she walks further into the massive building, the scent that Nailah follows only grows stronger. Her target not bothering to run away, or come towards her as she’d expect from her loyal subordinate, she pays little attention to her trail. The other strange change besides his seeming eagerness to avoid her is the difference in scent. A simple trail that she could follow even with her eye closed, the scent is far more fragrant; the smell carries with it an abundance of other flavors and tastes. The aromatic trail also changes often. However, the main scent of her target is always at the very center of it all. But with the base unceasingly constant, actually following it is a triviality. So she instead focuses her one good eye on her surroundings. 

All manner of beorc walk throughout the keep. Each and every one of them with their own task, the individual laguz that passes by them is nothing more than a look of surprise or poorly hidden gasp by a few beorc. Yet, none even bother to stop or harass her. A hurried pace is the most action said few beorc take. “Their queen taught them better manners. Good for Micaiah,” Whispering to herself, her stoic face breaks into a small smile, the queen unable to help but feel proud of Micaiah becoming a capable leader despite her fears. 

It doesn’t take long for Nailah to reach her destination, the stop a surprise to herself with her target always on the move.

“Unfortunately it seems you lost your manners, Volug,” The only thing between Nailah and her subordinate now is the door to his room. Any other possible reason for him avoiding her is completely irrelevant when she can simply fight them. Before opening the door, she cracks her knuckles. And her neck. And every other limb she can, her face hardening as she shoves open the unlocked door and nearly tears it off its hinges. 

The round, portly face that stares at her with driblets of meat juice drizzling down his mouth quickly changes Nailah’s whole demeanor. 

Her subject right in front of her, Nailah gets an eyeful of just how fat Volug has become.

All of Volug’s lean musculature is completely gone. His once well cared for body is blanketed by a soft, pliable mound of lard that would make any stranger unable to accept that the pile of fat eating away could ever be so fit. Volug’s abs are no more; the shown off six pack is replaced by a distended gut, so big and flabby to the point where the mass of flab sags past Volug’s knees when standing. His gut is easily the largest aspect of Volug’s obese self. The tanned mound of flab is too big for him to even reach all around with his wide, flabby arms. Always going shirtless, showing off his gut is nothing new to Volug, the laguz used to stares at glances back when he weighed 500 pounds less than he currently does. Despite having already eaten his second serving of lunch, and currently snacking away on an entree sized platter of food, his stomach still rumbles. His gut is divided into sections now, so much fat framing his stomach that his love handle juts out far enough to be noticeably wider than his upper roll of stomach fat. Volug gut has little definition to it, the mass of flab only wishing to sag and take up the room it needs. His stomach presses against his thighs and sags dangerously close to the floor—Volug only around a hundred extra pounds away from accomplishing the feat—even as Volug sits in his cushiony couch made of velvet; the couch is unfortunately broken with the sturdy furniture not made with such a fat laguz in mind, or anyone with such an obscene weight at all. The legs of the couch still manage to withstand, but the very center of the couch is cracked, the wood split into two right where Volug’s hefty poundage sits and gorges. Volug’s thighs are forced to the side by his gut that spills forward; well, they’re forced as far as they can, his legs lacking much in the way of flexibility and mobility like the rest of his large self. Even Volug’s calves are much larger from his extra weight; the girthy limbs even make his feet seem smaller, the fat squishing down and practically encasing his ankles when Volug waddles around in search of more food. His thighs ooze out on both sides of him. 

Volug’s original attire already minimal in terms of fabric, he now needs far more to cover up his girth. The beige gray fabric of his fifth set of pants —all others torn apart as Volug simply grew as his gorging did—is incredibly thin. Daein well known for its more insulated materials, Volug’s clothes are made of thinner bolts of fabric to allow his massive thighs that are too wide for regular doorways some ability to breathe with Volug now being so fat that the country’s chillier climate still oftentimes leaves him warm from having to lug and carry around so much soft, warm lard. His chair crushing thighs are usually ovular from the amount of fat encasing each thick limb, but the two large thighs are pressed down like dough with him sitting. Volug’s ass suffers a similar issue as his legs. Unfortunately, his large rear is cramped against the backrest of the couch. Volug’s ass is now large enough to completely obscure an entire chair, not that any chair meant for a single person can handle his weight. His jutting backside presses against the couch. Every bit of Volug’s hefty ass is covered up by his pants. The red tarp of fabric shredded fabric that he has around his waist only barely comes past his ass with how much space it takes up now. His tail is much less fortunate, Volug’s long wolf tail is wedged in between each curvaceous cheek, the very base of it practically squished by so much lard. With how wide and how much room he occupies, the extra feature on Volug seems miniscule to the rest of him, especially with it barely being visible unless standing behind him. His ass is squished up against almost the entire width of the backrest with his ass and thighs taking up most of the room on the couch. A three seater can only comfortably fit one fat ass laguz on it. There is still a sliver of empty space on both sides of Volug, but the amount of space available is only enough for one person on each side to get stuck between the armrest and Volug’s thighs and then get smothered by the splaying flab of Volug’s gut and breasts. Volug endowed in his chest, it still holds true even as a superchub. His chest manages to hold a surprising amount of shape to them despite the amount of lard crammed into them. Both of his tits are larger than his head, the bottom curve of his two breasts grazing his sagging gut. His breasts still struggle from limited space with the rest of his body. Especially with how absolutely massive Volug’s arms are with so much fat surprisingly piling onto them. His biceps alone are larger than a beorc’s waist; the flabby barrels for arms are even comparable to the thick, sturdy frames of the larger beast laguz. The tattoos that line Volug’s arms are distended from the extra surface area that didn’t used to be there, each curve and straight line slightly bent with having to work with a larger canvas. Much like his legs’ knees, the flab of Volug’s arms sag onto his elbows, the limb far from flexible enough to do anything requiring precision. Even Volug’s forearm is large enough to be wider than even the strongest of laguz’s biceps, his arms well endowed when it comes to his girth. His wrists sink into the plush fat of his forearms. And attached to that are fat, lard filled hands that only focus on satisfying his cravings and hunger. At the very top of Volug’s corpulence is his fat, round face. Volug’s necklace easy to upsize, only extra string needed to widen it enough to fit around his circular tube for a neck. The jewelry makes it down far enough to where it rests in between his chest, the claws making up his necklace nestled in between his tits. Volug’s face is framed by his thick locks of black hair, the deeply colored, silky strands making his jowls for cheeks seem even larger as the tips of his hair brushes against the squirrel-like cheeks. And Volug’s ears rest atop his head; though the sign of his full blooded laguz self seems insignificant compared to how massively fat he’s become. 

“Do you need something, Your Majesty? I’m kind of busy,” Speaking in the ancient tongue, Volug only allows himself to momentarily interrupt his gorging to speak. Though a grin smears his face along with the bit of sauces from his binging. 

Nailah only continues to stare at the mound of fat in front of her. The scent clearly Volug’s, despite the addition of what she now understands is buffet amounts of food, the figure clearly Volug’s, even if his corpulence is now a far different look, and the voice clearly Volug’s, regardless of the even deeper voice that comes from such a large, hefty laguz, Nailah still digests the new information at the sight in front of her. 

It takes a massive belch from Volug to break her train of thoughts; her retainer is rather content with himself—his porcine face still adorned with a grin—as he does his best to look at her despite his own massive breasts in the way along with his table crushing stomach.

“You’re lucky I keep you for your abilities and not your manners,” Nailah smiles at him, her demeanor much less scary than when she expected insubordination. “Still, what’s your excuse for avoiding me for so long?” She stretches her hands, the sharp nails briefly transition between transformed claws as she awaits her answer.

For his part, Volug’s face betrays no fear or worry at Nailah’s tone. His fat face puts on the biggest frown that he can muster—and failing at that with so much flab in the way with his puffed out jowls—and responds. “I haven’t been. Do you think I could escape you if I were trying to run away?” He pats the lowest part of his gut that he can reach, the upper bit of flab that is his throw pillow sized love handle, as if to make his point.

And it does. Nailah stares at the way Volug’s corpulence wobbles from his own actions while still seated, the thought of him even moving with some amount of haste seems ridiculous. But it does give her some ideas that she saves for further thought later on. “Every time I get close to your scent, you move around because you smell my scent. And with how fat you are now, it feels deliberate,” Nailah stands a couple feet away from Volug’s face, which is right in front of his gut, and places her foot on the very bottom folds of flab of his gut. 

At the mention of her scent, Volug blushes. Surprisingly bashful, he considers his words for a few moments. “I couldn’t smell your scent. So much food around,”

Nailah whiffs the air and all she gets are the savory scentful of all the eaten meat and still remaining bits of food left. So close to everything now, the earthen, sandy scent that is Volug’s is completely unrecognizable, the distinct trail of her vassal muddled by an array of gourmet food assaulting her senses. The notion of her loyal subject intentionally avoiding her at such an obscene size becomes apparently ridiculous to Nailah. “Fine then. I’ll allow it. Besides, I only came to check up on you before I went to Serenes for Rafiel. Now tell me, how did you get so obese?” She asks the question without any sort of tact. Nailah glances at the littered plates of food, searching for any possible vegetarian dish in Volug’s immense diet.

“Good food,”

Nailah scoffs. “You’ve always been a glutton but you at least balanced how much you ate,”

The answer to Nailah’s question comes right through the door without a single knock or pause. “I brou-” Zihark shuts up as he sees himself interrupting the two. The lithe swordsman carries a tray filled with nothing but large entrees centered around meat for the obese, beef loving laguz. 

Volug still greedily devours the last chunks of turkey leg despite the sudden silence. "Hu-hungry… I want…," Volug still struggles to articulate himself in the Tellius language despite spending so long in Daein now. Though the laguz puts the bare minimum of effort into practicing the language when he devotes so much of his time eating whatever he pleases. And the bit that he does learn all centers around food like the rest of his life now, Volug able to name almost all the ingredients and dishes he eats. 

Zihark looks at Nailah before doing anything, able to still follow some decorum. "Forgive me, Queen Nailah, I didn't mean for Volug to get so…,"

"Fat," Nailah Finishes for Zihark. She smirks at the beorc's suddenly embarrassed demeanor, so many of the physically frailer species on such eggshells when confronted with more personal desires compared to Nailah and her laguz brethren. "Go feed him already. It's not like he has much ability to do so himself now. And your entire demeanor shows how much you want to,"

"With your permission then,"

"I'll see how much fatter you are next time I visit Daein," Nilah grabs Volug's right breast and inspects it; the meaty tit is larger than her own head as it envelops her hand.

"Goodbye, Your Majesty," Volug watches his queen leave. "Bring Rafiel with you next time," He allows himself a small chuckle before digging back into the pork ribs they Zihark gives him. The poor swordsman is unable to follow the conversation between the two laguz.

Nailah walks out with a simple wave of the back of her hand. Walking out the door, she gives a brief greeting to Nolan and Aran who also carry their own trays of food. "That explains Kisca and all the traveling," Nailah's curiosity sated, she heads over to her next destination, Serenes, to start practicing some ideas that her wonderfully obese subject has given her. 

"I'll make sure you and Rafiel are surprised when you see each other next," She muses to herself as she transforms into her wolf form and rushes to go see her far too thin husband.

[chubbyheroesworthyheroes]

Laios and gang barely made it out alive from their encounter with the Orcs, what if they didn't have as much luck and were kept as a trophy pet to fatten up instead?

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who up dungeoning their mungeons

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If your gainer advice is "stop eating vegetables even if you like them" you're an idiot.

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Eikþyrnir is really big huh...

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two morph brothers? for me? maybe this will kickstart my motivation to write something horny

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I like to think he'd be pretty hefty in a modern setting

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I still have to watch Dungeon Meshi

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Assu~!

Tried doing a limited palette but it got away from me so…

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meant to post this around thanksgiving whoops

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An Askran Gift

Just like wrote this with no brain power, only desire and came out with 2k words out of nowhere lmao. And also because after saving 1.5k orbs, I only got 1 Askr besides spark so was fucking pissed and still am! But oh well! So here's him getting fat as fuck lol

Warning: This is a fetish story!

“I must admit,” Walking down the Order’s numerous halls with the summoner by his side, Askr puts the two’s slow, leisurely stroll on pause. Askr also takes deep breaths and wheezes while he speaks. “In all my expectations upon summoning you, I never imagined such a thing quite like this,” Despite his confession, Askr maintains an agreeable, cheerful smile. He also rests a large, flabby hand on his belly, the tight, form fitting clothes he once wore still as ever form fitting despite the accommodations for his larger size due to how much he fills out the outfit.

Askr’s gut is a rather respectable ball of fat that reaches past his waistband and down to his knees; the upper bit of fabric from the tied robe on his lower half is pushed down from his sagging belly and tucked, hidden away underneath his stomach fat. Likewise, his once defined washboard abs and riblets are hidden under all his extra weight; all his musculature is smothered with hundreds of extra pounds from Askr’s recruitment to the Order upon being summoned a few months back. Those few months certainly have done wonders to the rest of Askr’s girth. His stomach by far the least impacted from copious upon copious amounts of lard added to his figure, the Dragon God of Askr has a rather defined hourglass shaped fitting of his bull characteristics. 

Askr’s two dark, over swollen tits rest heavily atop his gurgling gut—still digesting the multiple pounds of food for a snack. His large chest spills out the plunging neckline of his shirt; the inner portions of his breasts which are larger than his own head pressing up against one another at the same time as they dig against his rotund arms. Askr’s chest nearly adds up to be the weight of his own gut, the two massive tits almost three fourths the size of his stomach. His thighs make even slowly waddling extremely difficult with how massive the two pillars for legs obstruct each other, and every other person who needs to get past Askr’s width in the Order’s wide—but still narrow with every man’s rising weight—hallways. Askr’s loosely tied robe, able to function as a bedsheet from the sheer width of the fabric, clings to his massive, cumbersome thighs. Askr’s pants dig into his enormous legs. The material is particularly stretched around the upper bit of his thighs. Especially with his large shapeless ass, Askr’s rear spilling out his pants unlike the well behaved dragon he usually portrays himself as. The flowing cape behind him thankfully covers up Askr’s wobbling, shapeless exposed shame. His cape manages to make its way down to Askr’s fat filled calves, the lard from them smothering his ankles as the two in turn press down on his tired, overburdened feet from his crushing weight. Even with his own abilities—moving at a tremendous weight only possible from Askr’s strength and magic—the 900 pound bull can barely muster enough energy to maintain the movement, especially when he finds himself much more willing to laze and graze, Askr finding Kiran’s changes to the Order all too agreeable despite his initial dismay and misgivings.

“But you don’t mind it, right?” Kiran responds. Having walked in front of Askr, the wide, spacious hallways still inapt in handling over a third of a ton of fat side by side, he turns around to face Askr. Kiran’s own large gut which struggles to stay contained underneath the navy blue button up, buttons holding on for dear life as the fabric strains enough to leave gaps large enough to show off Kiran’s large, blubbery gut in between the taut buttons smushes against Askr’s own still larger gut. “Because I have a special little gift for you,” Kiran smiles down at Askr, the lofty summoner still managing to stand over Askr’s tall, respectable stature. Askr's gut wobbles from the eager slap Kiran gives it, and Kiran turns back around, giving him a grin as he leads him ever on, the two waddling far past morbidly obese men a normal sight. 

The two eventually manage to reach their destination after a strenuous few minutes of walking which seem to drag on for ages for Askr—both of them wheezing and heaving at the end of their short yet sluggish walk. “And may I ask what this special gift entails?” Askr's ass presses against the wall as he uses it as a resting spot, the blubber from his wide, doughy backside and large rear spreading across the surface. He tilts his head back with his mouth wide open. His rotund figure falls and rises with each deep gulp of air he takes. Askr even jiggles, his gurgling hungry stomach demanding food once more.

The two in one of the Orders’ plethora of hallways, the plain, regular area manages to still feel off to Askr. Glancing around, both visually and magically—using his abilities to feel the energy—he hides his frown upon the strange aura, as if the hallway feels like every other one yet feels just as comfortable and welcoming as the residential wings. The extra bit of adornments in the hall with the addition of plush blue rug used solely in the residential wings only strengthen his feelings. 

Kiran smiles at Askr, the same eager, sincere smile he first presented himself with upon meeting him. “It's just a little snack I used to give all my supports before,” Kiran lies.

“Before they all got too fat to even walk,” Askr thinks to himself, finishing the rest of Kiran’s response. Though, the thought of becoming so big that walking would be nothing but a thing of the past doesn't sound disagreeable to him. Not with the abundance of magic to still aid the smaller immobile blobs, nor when the sight of such a tremendously large man is a rather common sight. Askr's stomach helps fill in the last few wavering walls of resistance Askr might have had, the deep trembling growl in his gut needing—no, demanding—food right away. “Then I will gladly accept a gift from such a fine friend,” Askr laughs, now at ease.

“Perfect! I'm sure you'll love it,” Kiran says as he finally unlocks the door and enters inside, the door usually left unlocked with the room meant to be discovered, Askr's painfully unaware self inept at taking Kiran's hints like the beast laguz before him. He stumbles into the darkness like everyone else who's entered before, but unlike them, Kiran knows exactly where he's going. “Ugh, lemme reach a window for some light,” he leads Askr inside, still pretending to fumble around. Kiran takes careful steps—even more careful than his already slow waddle.

Askr follows behind him; his already sluggish steps are even more laughably slow with the poor visibility. The sound of the door clicking behind him makes his ears twitch, his eyes also widening. “I’m sure you enjoy pranks with how insistent you are on tapping people but I hope-” Askr can’t even finish his sentence when he has to close his eyes shut at the sudden burst of light that floods the room. It takes him a few moments for Askr to regain his bearings, eyes fluttering open. And his mouth hangs wide open upon the sight that awaits him.

The room is absolutely massive. Even larger than the Order’s numerous training areas—all but one renovated into massive mess halls filled with an abundance of feasts and heroes to eat it all—Askr can barely grasp the size of the room. The room even rivals the sheer size of the throne rooms or ballrooms in the largest castle’s home to Askr or Embla. Even with his and Kiran’s already rotund size, the two morbidly obese, near immobile men take up only a handful grains of sand’s worth of space in the sprawling room. The other inhabitants take up a much more sizable, ridiculous portion of the room, not much space now left for the two large men.

Askr can’t even tell apart the enormous, massively fattened blobs in the room, much less identify which heroes they are. Askr can barely assume that it’s only three other men from the feeding tubes attached to portals above their obscenely fat bodies that make even him seem like a twig next to them. And their feeding tubes loudly whir from the waves of food forcibly gushing down into their mouth; though the muffled moans show that all three men gladly enjoy themselves. Two of them are much more comparable to one another in size. They look almost exactly the same, the main difference being one’s slightly paler shade of skin. Said blob, also known as Keaton, is also much more top heavy compared to the other. Keaton’s gut and breasts surge forward in front of him, the mountain of fat cascading in front of him and smothering his immobilized thousands of pounds ago legs. His lard rises high up from so much stacked on top of itself that it hides his sunken face that sports numerous neck and chin folds. Or else Askr would be able to see the twitching wolfskin ears. Keaton’s breasts lack any discernible shape to them much like the rest of his corpulence. And the other similarly sized blob, Kaden, is shaped practically opposite to Keaton. Kaden’s extremely bottom heavy barely able to be described as a body leaves his thighs billowing out on both sides of him. The two carriage crushing thighs manage to spread out wider than his own gut. Though the ends of his legs are still covered up by the sheer expanse of how far out his stomach surges forward. Kaden’s ass completely smothers his bushy orange tail, the two mass asscheeks billowing out behind him. And yet the two massive men still pale in comparison to the titanic wall of blubber behind them. So large, the enormous third man’s monumentality is slowly beginning to push away Kaden and Keaton. The two of them lacking much of a shape to begin with, the third man’s figure is simply fat all around. Yarne’s enormity spreads out in all directions, the obscenely several tonnage of bunny requiring two feeding tubes to keep himself satisfied. Yarne’s breasts cascade down his waterfall of a gut, the two crushing breasts going so far as to touch the rising mound of fat known as his thighs. His long taguel ears are hidden behind the mountain of a gut and also blend in with the pale tons of blubbery they rest on, Yarne’s immensity only broken up by the deep patches of black body hair he has all over his body.

Askr still wide eyed as he stares at the three men, he only realizes that Kiran is right in front of him until it’s too late. A perfectly inconspicuous piece of chocolate is right in front of his face. The delicacy looking like any other one, the overbearing aroma that wafts to his nostrils grapples with his mind, the cloyingly sweet scent the only thing he can think about, even with three enormously fat blobs right in front of him. “Hnngh w-wait!” Askr shouts as he raises a meaty hand to his forehead. Beads of sweat trickle down his portly face, the rivulets of water pooling down on his hefty rack for breasts. Askr takes deep, heavy breaths. He does his best to try and clear his mind, thoughts of anything but what he already craves in his deepest desires taking hold of him. Askr moans as he feels his body warming up. His clothes begin to tear as his body swells fatter. Even standing begins to become more and more difficult than the already taxing chore it was. His limbs become even more useless, the last vestiges of flexibility deteriorating away to make room for more lard. “Wh-what did hnhh did you do,,,”

“I’m giving you what you wanted,” Kiran pats Askr’s head, playing with his blue hair before moving onto caressing his bull horns, watching him continue to blow up with more and more flab.

Askr moans upon the contact. And soon afterwards, he finds himself falling to the ground. But he thankfully has all his extra cushioning to soften the fall. “You’re turning me… making me into them,,,”

“No,” Kiran whispers into his ear, using Askr’s expanding blubbery body as a mattress. “You’re going to be even better,” Kiran continues playing with Askr’s extra appendages, his hands rubbing his bull ears now. 

Askr takes a better look at the three blobs in front of him. Thinking he was just expanding so rapidly, he realizes that the other three men are also rapidly losing weight. It doesn’t take long for Askr to reach the same size as Keaton and Kaden, Askr completely immobilized long ago with even his fingers and toes unable to be moved. It only takes him a little while longer before he even realizes that it is the wolfskin and kitsune, the two just barely immobile blobs. And yet they still continue to lose weight, both of them ending up just a few hundred pounds shy of Askr’s weight before this, both of them able to now waddle at a sizable 600 pounds. Meanwhile Askr is still growing, still not at Yarne’s size, he just barely manages to surpass the also slimming down Yarne by the time Kaden and Keaton begin to slowly waddle and test their regained mobility. Askr continues to say nothing; he simply continues to moan, his eyes almost shut tight in the pleasure of feeling himself fill out the expanse of the room, more and more of his vast body taking up and demanding space like the god he is. Even as he passes Yarne’s initial blob of a size, Askr continues to grow, barely able to reach the bare minimum of coherence by greedily demanding more in between tired, exhausted moans. He doesn’t even pay attention to Yarne as his weight loss slows down, basking in his enjoyment so much he doesn’t even notice his now visible taguel ears. Askr doesn’t even feel the three six hundred pounders that scale his monumental body, the god of the country now taking on the entirety of the weight the three beasts just lost. He does focus on the fact that he’s stopped growing. His high of enjoyment now diminished, he simply basks in his own enormity.

Not that Askr can truly look upon his own splendor, his vision mostly taken up by his rotund distended cheeks that each alone now weigh more than several men combined. Askr’s hourglass figure still manages to somehow withstand the several couple of tons added to his body in such a short time frame. His two monumental breasts graze the stone floor itself, the bit of lard that rests on the tile pooling in front of his still enormous gut. Askr’s ass spreads out behind him, the large rear unable to even be identified as his rear with how shapeless it is. And his tail is now completely swallowed in between the lakes of fat for an ass. His thighs spread out on both sides, his width alone about three fourths of the room’s width. Askr still a moaning mess, he only pays attention upon the arrival of the nearly a tired, sweaty ton of combined lard for three beasts that managed to climb his enormity. 

“I wahhnt moore,” Askr demands, his speech even slurred and exhausted from the sheer girth of his size. 

Kiran pats his head, gleefully overseeing the entire process. “Don’t you worry. These three are going to take care of you for a bit. So just let yourself be praised and pampered like you want to, fatass,” Kiran transports himself out with a portal, saying goodbye with a final ruffling of Askr’s hair and a large spread of food conjuring itself out from a portal he left as one final treat. 

“Lord Askr,”

“You’re so fat,”

“You must be so hungry,”

“Feed Lord Askr,”

“Lord Askr needs to be bigger,”

The three beasts rub and fondle Askr’s enormity—the minuscule amount of his enormity that they can reach of him—all of them shocked upon his size. Their jealousy of no longer being the fattest still evident, they reason that it doesn’t mean they can’t make Askr even larger, all three also glad for the sudden mobility, no matter how slow their still morbidly obese selves are.

And Askr happily allows the three loyal subjects to feed him, the overfed cow voraciously demanding more in between hurried bites crammed into his mouth. He can’t allow himself to remain upstaged.

Not when even he knows that his current throne room filling size can’t even hold a candle to the castle crushing blobs that are Kiran’s supports.

[chubbyheroesworthyheroes]

Summoner's Sedentary Supports: Corrin

After taking time and struggling to write smaller sizes without going crazy, so going back to writing absurd fat fuck sizes was easy though I still crave to embellish like blob sized dialogue without stretching it so much lol. Hopefully enjoy cause had fun just blurring this out.

Warning: This is a fetish story!

In the very distant, most remote wing of the Order of Heroes brick white castle—the area originally physically remodeled a couple of years back before being magically reinforced another year afterwards—the entire wing is only occupied by the Order's summoner and all of the men he's supported. The area would appear vacant from the lack of activity in the expansive hallways, if not for the loud whirring of machines sounding out from every room alongside the small yet incessant tremors that ring out from varying unknown gurgling sources, said sources all ones that Kiran intimately knows and takes care of. The only room that currently displays some different sort of sound is Corrin’s.

“Oh come on, no need to be shy,” Kiran lays down on Corrin’s corpulence, using the widespread flabby shoulder fat that’s coalesced with his numerous neck rolls as well as his plump, overly swollen breasts. So unused to being allowed to whatever he wishes, Corrin indulges himself and Kiran, gladly allowing himself to be fattened up as he craves to be, no longer having to adhere to a strict schedule. Corrin’s lard near his face is practically indistinguishable from the rest of his landscape of fat. The main distinguishing feature showing Corrin’s head is his silvery mop of hair. Not that it helps all the time with how much his face sinks into his blubbery tonnage. Kiran caresses Corrin’s face. His bloated cheeks spread out on both sides of his face with all the flab stored into them, each ponderously sized jowl far too fat for Kiran to handle just one with both of his hands. 

Corrin merely whimpers. His eyes focus on anything but Kiran. Unfortunately, everything else besides Kiran is either the walls in the distance or the lard of his own enormity, nothing else in the room besides the two men, and Corrin takes up almost the entire space on his own even with a spell meant to infinitely expand the room to accommodate for Corrin’s immense, ever growing weight. Corrin's size leaves him more of a blubbery blob than a man. All of Corrin's weight is well spread out, every single inch of his immobilized figure pumped up with fat, fat, and more fat. So much of Corrin to go around, even his tail has gotten much wider; the large, extra limb which once used to be nearly as big as him back when he used to not weigh several multiple tons of lard is now fat enough to smother an entire mattress from its width alone, and yet even his fattened up tail manages to look small compared to the rest of his enormity, his tail wedged in between the insurmountable cascading hills of fat for an ass.

The portal leading to Corrin’s mouth—a portal linked to a location supplying him an endless torrent of buttery laden, fattening Hoshidan and Nohrian food that only Kiran knows about—now sealed off, Corrin’s faint blush from Kiran’s remark slowly evolves into a darker, more vibrant hue, the light dusting of pink of his jowls turning a much more noticeable red; partially from Kiran’s remark, but mostly from the bit of peckish hunger he feels in his room crushing belly quickly growing into an empty starving pit that begins to demand food in mere minutes of going without even so much as a little snack to satisfy himself. 

And do so loudly, a thunderous growl of a tremor resounding from his tremendous gut, enough shaking caused to leave Corrin a wobbling mess, his numerous, countless rolls of flab sloshing against each other for quite an extended period of time. “Hnnngh,,,” Corrin whines. So unbearably hungry, he looks at Kiran, the summoner’s own prodigious 600 pound figure surrounded by Corrin’s own. “I waaghnnnt…moooore -wheeze- fooohhd…” Corrin’s eyes droop. His energy nearly depleted, he gets just what he needs to recover the recently spent calories—calories wasted to both Corrin and Kiran.

And Corrin’s body does desperately need the food with his body requiring such an absurd amount of calories simply to keep his weight stagnant. Not that either man intends to maintain such a goal, Corrin stuffed with more and more each and every single day to keep him growing. At such an excessively high weight, Corrin’s gut is large enough to cover up his sizable room back in the Northern Fortress, twice as much in fact, and his entire body spreads out far enough to take up as much space as he was allowed to roam in the moderately sized abandoned fortress he grew up in. Corrin's large immensity manages to remain somewhat dressed. All thanks to Kiran’s magic. Likewise, his room is enchanted with the same expandable magic to grow and contain all of him. Corrin’s simple attire highlights nearly every inch of flab on his figure. Not all of his corpulence is clothed despite the enchantment on the clothes. Corrin’s stretchable black workout attire he always used to wear underneath his armor—back when he could actually lift and swing a sword unlike now where talking is the most strenuous thing he does in a day—is now all he wears. The top black tank barely fails in fulfilling its job of covering up his immense, rotund belly, instead doing its new job of showing off the lurching mass of adipose that makes up the lowest roll of many on his stomach. And despite making it past his cavernous belly button, the fabric clings to his navel, the outline of it showed off just like the rest of him. Corrin’s stomach resembles a nearly toppling massive stack of hotcakes, each roll on top of the other just ever so slightly coming close to oozing far enough to sag and overtake its lower roll. Unlike Corrin’s gut, his breasts are practically exposed in their entirety, the sides of his massive tits spilling out the sides of his sleeveless top. Corrin’s own breasts are large enough to come close to rivaling his transformed state. The crevice of space from where his chest presses up against each other seems to suck in the fabric of his top, the upper portions of his rack also visible. Only around half the width of each breast is covered up, his wide, puffy tits ever so slightly pressing up against the edge of fabric with the rest poking out. And they press up against Corrin’s useless arms. Corrin is completely incapable of moving his arms with how wide and heavy they are, multiple men required to lift up just a single one of Corrin’s engorged biceps the size of tables. Corrin’s wrists are in the same situation, the flabby wrists swallowed up by his bloated forearms much like his biceps do to it, Corrin’s elbows completely unbendable as a result. His hands fare no better; the bloated digits can only just barely be wiggled much like his toes. Corrin’s pants manage to cover the expansive hillside for legs. The patterning on them is so stretched out from his blubber so as to leave it completely unrecognizable, the meant to be solid shapes bloated out into massively rounded out spheres much like his actual body. Corrin’s thighs are partially trapped underneath the expanse of his gut that extends far past his feet. And Corrin’s ass juts out far out behind him, the black mass of stretched out fabric only broken up by the smidge of visible white from the underside of his engorged tail which doesn’t go as far out as his enormous, shapeless rear. 

“Coming right on up. Like I’d let such a big, handsome dragon waste away,” he says with a quick snap of his fingers, a portal summoned back up just for Corrin. Food immediately begins to pour out the portal within seconds, carb laden noodle dishes of ramen and pasta magically rushing their way to Corrin’s face. The magic practically ends there, Corrin’s greedy and noisy guzzling all his own doing as he opens his mouth wide and tears into every mouthful of food flung his way.

Corrin goes on for quite some time, his eating only slightly slowing down as he begins to huff and pant. But Corrin says nothing, a slight pathetic little whimper occasionally sounding out in between the entire dishes he devours like appetizers.

Simply enjoying the peace and comfort from resting atop Corrin’s overflowing bed for a bed, Kiran grins up hearing him. He opens up an eye, glancing at his sunken face. “If you want something, you gotta tell me,” he pats and rubs Corrin’s flab, not even sure of what exactly he grabs with so much of him to grab. “Remember, I’m here to please you,

“I  crahveh…-uhhhrrgh- ishhee -nggnhh- creahmm…” Corrin demands while diligently stuffing himself with everyhitng given to him. “-huff- Pleasshe,,,,” Corrin throws in after a massive belch, another whine coming from him in between all the food happily allows to be shoveled down.

Kiran closes and opens a portal, instantly replacing the food upon Corrin’s request. “You keep enjoying yourself and I’ll make sure to keep you well fed,”

“Hnnnghh mmmhmmm,” Corrin lazily replies with his eyes closed in contentment. Corrin’s moans grow louder as the warm pasta becomes replaced with a cold deluge of strawberry ice cream mixed with chocolate fudge slushing down his gullet. 

Kiran speeds up the volume of ice cream pouring into Corrin’s mouth, his moans growing more muffled despite his increased enjoyment. “Extremely well fed,”

[chubbyheroesworthyheroes]

Well Deserved Rest And Snacks

I wanted something involving smaller sizes so have this short little drabble on Shan-nan and Oif-ey cause I love em. Was gonna have like angst but then that would've taken over everything so that was scrapped lmao

Warning: This is a fetish story!

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in…

Shannan doesn't bother to so much as even think about a single motion of his sword; the stationary dummy is the perfect recipient of his training. The plain wooden sword that he swings and thrusts with such fervor proves more potent in his hand than even the finest blades in his enemies’. Shannan’s flowing mass of long black hair is tied into a loose ponytail, the thick bundle of hair swishing behind him, following his motions. The noticeable amount of flab also follows Shannan's movement, his newfound breasts jiggling with each swing of his sword while his stomach—now at the onset of an actual gut that just ever so slightly creeps down past where his belt rests on his hips—wobbles after ever resounding thwack that sounds out each time his sword strikes the dummy. Shannan pays no attention to his larger, heftier size, nor does he tire himself out despite the extra weight he sports. He simply continues to take deep breaths as he trains and works out.

“Hmph, I guess you're just as focused as ever,” Oifey announces his presence, entering the extremely private training room meant solely for Isaach’s king—for those lucky enough to inherit the blood of Od.

Shannan continues his practice for a little while longer, easing himself down from more involved movement into much less intensive swings that only involve his flabby biceps before stopping all together. “I noticed you when you first stepped in. I simply needed to continue my practice,” 

Despite finishing his training, Shannan still refuses to turn around and greet Oifey; even with him being well aware of Oifey’s visit well in advance. His face shows a faint trace of red. Not from exhaustion, but from his dismay at being seen at his plumper size. Shannan's clothes still fit him; the stretchable material of his underclothes able to cover up his body in return for showing off his extra girth, the light lilac of his draped robe snug as well but not as tight. His 350 pound body has an hourglass shape to it. Shannan's thighs are outlined by the elastic pants, the curvature of squished, blubbery upper rolls of his legs that overhang visible. The same is true for his even more shapely and filled out bubble butt from the extra poundage. The fabric of his robe drapes over it to show off some of its width despite being covered up. The small strip of fabric of his robe that drapes in between his legs seems smaller with his extra weight, the clothing lightly caught in-between his thighs. Shannan's little belly presses against his as loose as possible belt—the thick belt nowhere near as large looking with the way it strains against his new gut. Shannan's chest is far plumper than it used to be. His broad, defined pecs that strained his outfit before still do the exact same as a hefty pair of breasts. In fact, they do an even better job of it as they splay out to strain the stark black material and splay over the gold inner trim of his robes. Shannan's arms not as affected as the rest of his figure, the bulkier, flabbier arms still need the straps of leather on his arms to be loosened a tad bit more to accommodate the extra heft on them. 

“But to train when I'm visiting?” says Oifey, reaching an arm around Shannan's shoulder. “You are dedicated, but even you know when to relax,” Oifey's other arm is looped around Shannan's torso. He cups Shannan's belly with his hand, rubbing the bundle of flesh flab with his thumb. 

“I’ve been relaxing too much,” But Shannan remains in Oifey's embrace. His arms are crossed, his arms squishing into his plump chest. 

Oifey chuckles, throaty laughter escaping without a second thought. “Then I've also been relaxing rather well lately,” Oifey only sports a small additional 20 pounds on his still built frame unlike Shannan's extra hundred and some pounds. The extra weight gives Oifey the slightest bit of softness around him, his abs now sporting a hint of a pooch. “Especially when I'm not as busy as a certain king,”

Shannan grumbles, head leaning forward tilting back to rest in the crook of Oifey's neck. “You rule over Chalphy now. And regardless, you deserve it,” 

“And so do you,” Oifey counters. His hand lets go of Shannan's belly roll, instead going to rub his stomach. “I didn’t cross the Aed Desert to not give you your gift,” 

Shannan unwraps the carefully preserved basket of gifts to reveal a handful of different types of bread. Some warmth is still preserved in the variety of treats, the sugary and sweet breads wrapped in their own clothes to keep them warm. Inside the basket as well are a few jars of preserves, the more climate fruits not available to Issach’s colder, harsher climate in the North East.  “This can’t all be from Chalphy, much less anywhere in Grannvale,” Shannan grabs one of the treats, the muffin far from the hard texture he expected it to be from such a long distance of travel. The dense yet just airy enough mouthful of buttery bread goes down easily in Shannan’s mouth; he only stops himself from going for a second bite with Oifey expectantly staring at him. 

“I went to Tirnanog. A few bakeries picked up on Grannvalian bread after how long we stayed there. And you always enjoyed the bread back then,”

“Perhaps I did,” Shannan holds back both his flush and his glare. “Isaachian bread is too airy for my preferences,” he says as he bites another mouthful of bread, crumbs dusting his lips before Oifey wipes at them. Shannan ignores the glance Oifey gives his portly stomach that he now refuses to suck in, his belly pushing against the strip of lilac fabric that barely covers his doughy stomach.

Oifey leans down despite the minimal few inches of height between them, whispering in Shannan’s ear with one hand on his shoulder. “And perhaps I enjoyed watching you eat them,” Oifey places a kiss on Shannan’s cheek just like the two once did so many years ago. 

“I actually prefer seeing you enjoy such treats,” he whispers as he plops a chunk of bread into Oifey’s mouth, only a speckle of crumbs landing in his mustache. “So then perhaps we can do this in a more private location,” Shannan leads Oifey back to his private chambers, the respectively fat and pudgy men walking hand in hand.

It takes minimal time for them to head back to Shannan's room, the door locked behind them and the basket of bread on his table.

It takes even less time for Shannan's hands to quickly find their way onto Oifey's clothes. In turn, the thinner man's clothing find their way on the floor, the fabric tossed aside. “Perfect,” Shannan gazes at Oifey's near naked state, his once sculpted abs now faded out from a slight bit of adipose from the years of leisure after fighting for so long. Body hair adorns Oifey's small bit of belly flab, the forest of hair most noticeable by the trail of it leading from his navel to his groin, and his ever so softened up chest is also covered in dark brown hair. His tight underclothes is all Oifey has to cover himself up. His drawers are snug all around, but Oifey's slightly widened thighs aren't too unbearably tight beyond showing off his bit of heft and curves.

Shannan's hands roam across Oifey's body, one hand caressing his slightly softened bicep while the other gropes his rear. It doesn't take long for Shannan to try and push Oifey down onto the lounge, except he's met with some resistance, Oifey's hands testing and feeling Shannan's added heft.

“It's only fair I return the favor,” Oifey whispers to the defiant Shannan who struggles against Oifey's insistence on disrobing him as well. Shannan's robe comes off easily enough, the plump swordmaster’s figure shown off close to its entirety by how much his black skin tight clothes show off every single extra pound he now sports on his 350 pound body, Shannan's gut lurching out forward. Oifey grabs a hold of it, his fingers holding the underside of his gut with his thumb rubbing the top of it. “There's no need to be embarrassed, we've both seen each other in more compromising situations,”

“Fine then,” he says curtly with a glare. Shannan pushes Oifey down onto the couch, smirking down at his seated frame while Oifey continues to work on removing his snug underclothes. As he cooperates by lifting up his arms—Shannan showing off his belly with only a minimal amount of body hair for a happy trail dusting it—Oifey takes a moment to pause and grope Shannan's gut, his hands fondling and lightly smacking his fat before fully removing his shirt.

“See how much better this is?” Oifey grins as he looks up at the shirtless Shannan who's now only clothed by sheer black leggings.

Shannan rolls his eyes but relents upon seeing Oifey's enjoyment. “I know what will make this even better,” He joins Oifey on the couch. Except he uses Oifey's lap as his own chair, resting all of his weight on his thighs. Reaching over to the side—one hand using Oifey's shoulders to steady himself while Oifey steadies him by keeping his hands on Shannan's plump torso—and grabbing another pastry just to cram in Oifey's mouth, the delicacy filled with a strawberry filling.

The slightly older man allows it, slowly chewing through the large treat. His cheeks are stuffed full from the food alone, his face comparable to a squirrel’s. He gives Shannan a sly grin before he reciprocates the action and shoves a cloyingly sweet pastry into Shannan's mouth, his other hand pinching and caressing Shannan's breasts.

Oifey has his arms lifted up, allowing Shannan to explore his body. The groping and caressing doesn't help him from keeping his squirms and moans to a minimum. Shannan's ass on his disk certainly also doesn't help, Shannan's larger, flabbier ass definitely putting a large, hefty weight on his chubbing up tool.

“I'm glad to see that I'm not the only one enjoying this,” Shannan leans into Oifey, pressing his gut into Oifey's bit of belly pudge. And the instant Oifey finishes his treat, he hands him another one—handing it to him by forcefully kissing him, nails practically digging into his skin, and shoving a pastry into his mouth right after.

And for Oifey's part, he reciprocates the motion by feeding Shannan the instant the heftier man even thinks about speaking, his left hand permanently focused on tending to Shannan's ass with it snaking underneath his tight leggings, the two men enjoying their shared rest in each other's company.