#im quite proud of this actually

[didhewinkback]

good morning

a something old blurb !

---

He’s been walking for over an hour, meandering down cobblestone streets while sipping on the cafecito he got from the local bakery, relishing in the early morning quiet of the city. Feeling like one of a million as opposed to one in a million, blending in with the other early risers gently reacquainting themselves with the world. How nice to feel so human, to get to live in this paradox of a day that starts this gentle and ends with him on stage in front of a stadium full of people. 

There’s only three shows left, which is just mental when he thinks about it. When he thinks about the man he was at the start of this tour versus the man he is now - more like the man he was trying to be at the start of this tour versus the man he is now, feeling like he’s lived a thousand lifetimes since he first stepped foot on that stage in Las Vegas two years ago. 

It’ll never be this way again, which has a certain comfort to it despite how utterly devastating a thought it is. A certain comfort to how ever changing life can be, how you can’t hold on to anything before time pulls it from your tight grasp. How all you can do is just be present and be grateful and take it all in. 

And he is. And he does. 

He’s quite proud of himself, if he’s honest. The way he’s been able to manage this whirlwind by surrounding himself with the greatest people to travel the world with - talented, respectful, on top of their shit. How he’s let himself celebrate the wins - and some of them have been massive - while not letting his head get too far up his own arse. How he’s abandoned his former all-or- nothing lifestyle, the way he used to let all of his relationships fall to the side when he was focused on work and touring. Instead, he has seen those relationships flourish and thrive, making him feel more complete and whole and loved than he has in ages and full of pride that he’s once again someone people go to when they need a friend, someone his friends trust will answer the phone, will be there to listen, to care, to help, to love. 

He’s feeling quite sentimental as he heads back up to the rental, pausing at the gate to lean up into the sunshine one more time, taking a deep breath before slipping inside and shutting it tight behind him. He’s careful to be quiet as he slips inside the door, silently toeing his shoes off and taking off his hat, running his fingers through his hair before he hears a small clatter and a muffled curse coming from the kitchen. 

He smiles, softly chuckling to himself. You’re up, then. 

He follows the noise, pausing in his tracks when he finds you in the kitchen, standing there in nothing but an old t-shirt of his, sleepily frowning at the fancy tea kettle, the beams of the morning sun just beginning to peek through the windows. It’s the type of view men write songs about and he can already hear the opening notes of a fresh melody playing in his head as you tinker with the kettle, your distaste for mornings rendering the activity useless. 

He creeps up behind you, placing his cup down on the counter before gently pulling the kettle out of your hands. He slides a hand along your shoulders, squeezing and kneading at the muscles while he plays with the kettle, finding the two connectors on the lid to get it to seal shut properly. 

“Hmm, the magic touch.” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his waist and nuzzling your face into his chest. 

“Think you’d know about that more than anyone,” he says, giggling when you groan. He squeezes your shoulders once before hugging you close, using his other hand to put the kettle on the burner and turn it on.

He leans back against the counter, pulling you into him as he spreads his legs slightly to let you settle in between, rubbing your back up and down when you melt into the embrace. 

“Sleep okay?” he asks softly, smiling when you nod. 

“Yeah, just slooow to wake up this morning.” you say, blinking up at him, the soft look on your face making his heart clench. 

He loves you at all times of day, but there is something about the quiet intimacy of your mornings together that make them his favorite. The way you’re never a morning person but always try to be for him, where he can jump out of bed first thing, a habit formed from years of work based necessity, you take your time, sleepy pliancy making your more malleable to his touch, clinging onto him more than you usually do. Where he is more physically affectionate than not, always needing his hands on you in some capacity, you are usually more selective, except for the mornings. In the mornings, you’re all over him and he lives for it. 

“Still have some of this left, if you want.” he says, handing the cup over to you. “Couldn’t finish it.” 

You arch your brow knowingly at him as you take the cup from his hands.

“Oh? You just couldn’t finish it?” you gently mock. 

“Mhmm,” he says back, a light flush blooming on his cheeks, knowing he has been rightfully called out. You’ve had this conversation many times, you never want a full coffee but always end up wanting a little bit of his, never wanting to order a whole cup to just take a few sips but also not wanting to steal any of his much needed caffeine. So, he’s taken to ordering a slightly bigger size than usual and not finishing it, always sure to leave some for you. 

“Thank you,” you say softly, eyes aglow with affection as you smile up at him before taking a sip, humming when he tightens his arms around you and plants a kiss on your head. “How was your walk?”

“Was good, yeah.” he says, your rapt attention warming him to his toes. “Got quite emotional at parts of it. ‘S a big week.” 

“Big week.” you agree, corner of your lip twitching up. “Can’t believe after Saturday, I’m going to be the breadwinner of the family.”

That shocks a laugh out of him, a full belly, head tilting back kind of laugh, relishing in the way he can feel you giggle against him, clearly proud of your own joke. You’re saved from his squirming hands poised for retaliation by the whistle of the kettle, dodging out of his hold to turn off the burner, heading over to the large selection of teas you packed, thoroughly studying your options while you finish off his coffee.

He leans back against the counter and watches you in action, mulling over your last words in his head. He knows it was mostly for the joke but it’s not the first time you’ve referred to him as your family, a slip of the tongue slowly becoming routine for you, second nature. 

Words fail whenever he tries to articulate how it makes him feel. It surpasses any of the many accolades he’s been lauded with over the last decade or so of his life, the stadiums full of people chanting his name, the critics praising his work. It’s different than that, it’s somehow more than that, the feeling of someone knowing you entirely and still choosing you anyway. It’s like how it feels when he finally gets the lyrics right to a long elusive chorus, the pieces fitting right into place, impossible and inevitable all at once. 

All he knows is he will do everything he can to make sure he is worthy of the title, being your family, of building one with you. 

He’s closing the distance between you two before he can think about it, gently spinning you away from the counter as his hands come up to frame your face before bringing your mouth to meet his. It’s a hell of a kiss, your hands clutching at his biceps as he drags his lips against yours. It’s an “I love you,” a “thank you,” a “you’re my family too and I’m going to ask you to marry me in a few weeks” kind of kiss, doing his best to convey everything he’s feeling with each slide of his tongue against yours. 

He pulls away slowly, both of you catching your breath as he kisses along your cheekbone, resting his lips on your temple before pulling back to look at you, eyes grazing across your features, his favorite face he’s ever seen. 

“Bloody hell. What was that for?” you ask, laughing when he does. Being able to see the effect he has on you stoking the fire burning in his belly. The simmering look in your eyes, the way you’re biting at your swollen lips. 

“Thinking about what you said,” he says, sliding his thumb along your cheekbone before trailing his hands down your body, wrapping his arms around your waist and ducking down to drag his lips across the skin of your neck. “About y’ being the breadwinner of our family -” 

Your nails dig into his shoulders ever so slightly, breath hitching. So you had realized you said it, then. He pulls back from your neck to kiss you, your hand sliding up into his hair as you kiss him back, the phrase “our family” rattling around both of your heads. 

“And was just thinking…” he continues, pulling back slowly to kiss along your jawline. “y’ know, with me out of work next week, ‘m gonna have to start really pulling my weight in other areas.” 

He emphasizes his point by sliding a hand down to squeeze at your arse, living for the way you gasp in his ear. 

“Been told ‘m a good interview,” he says, “‘nd I’ve got a list of special skills I’d think you’d really enjoy -” 

“You are such an idiot,” you say, as he giggles into your neck, pulling back to stare at you, living for the way you’re softly laughing at him, his favorite sound. “But you do make some good points. Think you’re gonna have to take me to bed to be sure you’re a good fit for the job.”

“Hmm, ‘s that so?”

“Gonna be a tough one, innit?” you say, a soft smile growing on your face as you rake your hands through the hair on the nape of his neck. “My very own stay at home boyfriend.”

“”S my dream job. ‘S the dream -” he’s mumbling nonsense, praise and ramblings about his dreams against your lips,  something snapping in him as he crashes his mouth to yours. He slides his hands down your thighs, encouraging you to jump into his hold as he starts to carry you back towards the bedroom, biting down on the urge to correct you, to make you say fiancé or husband, the title boyfriend not feeling like enough for him anymore. 

The calm energy of the morning has given way to something electric, something that makes sparks shoot up his spine every time you moan into his mouth when he kisses you just the way you like it, a type of chemistry only the two of you create. 

He wants to spend the rest of his life just like this, just right here, he thinks, as he lays you down on the bed, hastily pulling off his clothes when he watches you do the same. The morning sun making you somehow more luminous than usual. You’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and you’re all his and he’s all yours and in the early morning hours, you’re not beholden to anything but each other. No interruptions from the outside world, nothing but the two of you right here. He wants to live in this forever. 

A lifetime of mornings with his girl. What could be better than that?

---

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[emmygoat]

Baby boy, baby

[briarlovesclara]

is this anything? (details/analysis under cut)

(closeups have more extensive ids)

Sam and Evan: need no explanation. Neither of them have confessed to each other but COME ON. whether or not you think they Should be together, there is no way at this point that danielle and brennan are unaware of what their characters are doing which is falling in love. on screen in front of us.

Sam and K: this is where it gets less obvious-- I can't remember exactly why but K in the last episode just felt so down bad to me. Even before last ep, I was starting to see a future where Evan and Sam got together and K was really fond of Sam "totally by proxy" (see K and Evan later).

Evan and Jammer: this one I struggle with if I'm being so honest, so I decided to make them struggle with it too. If you think either of them would ever know what was happening you'd be wrong in my personal opinion.

K and Evan: they're in love. I'm sorry. Not saying they're in a healthy or stable relationship but they are in fact in love. I'm part of the theory that Evan broke up with K and if you've seen his face this season he's dead in the water for them.

Jammer and Sam: he has no idea what's in his brain about Sam. I didn't put an arrow back because I don't know what she feels about him in my head so I didn't even want to make her confused.

Similarly, Jammer and K: I have no read on them. I can however see K being at least platonically into Jammer (they seemed a little too into the Weugan thing). But that's just a thought. A film thought.

That's it! This is all in good fun :) lmk your thoughts if you'd like!

[the-raindeer-king]

The 141 and having kids with them :) This was fueled by a random thought I had at work, and it was written at like 3am. Pls be kind.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Due to his personal experiences, I think he probably would be against having kids in the beginning. Like he's seen and been through so much, and I think his main fear would be ending up like his dad. So he always just wrote it off as something he never wanted to experience

UNTIL YOU COME IN 

And at some point, maybe after Johnny starts having kids, Simon sees you interacting with one of the babies. And something about seeing you with a baby on your hip flips a switch in his brain. 

He wants a kid and he wants one now.

Anyway y'all definitely don't stop at just one kid. I like the idea of Simon with 3 kids, all girls of course. He just exudes girl dad energy. 

He's a great dad too btw. Retires from field work after the second girl is born, and absolutely adores them. Encourages them to engage in extracurricular activities. Would coach their sports team if any of them join. Never misses a recital (totally doesn't try to get the other task force members to show up. 🙄 They just happened to be free lmao)

If any of the girls enlisted, he'd probably try to talk them out of it at first. War is brutal, and the idea of any of them going through what he did makes him sick with worry. But he comes around to the idea, and in the end, is so proud of them. 

He's proud of them regardless. All three are firecrackers with big personalities, and he loves them so much. 

John Price

I think, when he was younger, Price wanted kids. Liked the idea of a wife/husband, a house with a yard, and a couple kids. And it just… never happened. Life got in the way, and how could he bring a child into this world, with all the things he's seen? He made his peace with it, and moved on. 

And then he meets YOU. And suddenly he finds himself hoping for these things again. Especially kids. 

Give this man a baby, please! He exudes fatherly energy (in more ways than one ;p) 

After y'all have the first kid, he retires from the military all together. He's paid his dues, and he's got something far more important now: you, and your sweet baby boy :)

I could see Price either only having one, or having a handful of kids. Probably no more than 3 (two boys and a girl) 

A good dad. Maybe gets a little too invested in their sports games, probably ends up as a coach after correcting the old one too many times lmao 

Would be so proud if any of your kids followed in his footsteps. If none of them do, I think he'd be quietly disappointed but proud of them nonetheless. The two of you raised some wonderful kids. 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably never really gave it much thought. Like having kids would be cool. Not having them is fine too. Kyle definitely wasn't stressing it, he's got bigger things to worry about.

I mean that is until YOU come along. And now he's thinking about getting married and having babies. 

Definitely talks with you about it in detail. He wants your opinion on it, what method to go about it, if you think you're ready for that. A very lengthy conversation that ends in a mutual agreement. 

I think Kyle wouldn't want more than 2. Like you could convince him, if you want more. But he's fine with a small family. 

2 boys. Twins. Absolutely a handful, and Kyle's there to help when he can. I don't think he'd leave the military until the boys are older, maybe 10/11. But he steps up when he is home, giving you a well deserved break from parenting. 

Loves your boys. Play wrestles with them when they're little, brings them trinkets back from his deployments, takes note of their interests and different personalities. 

Wouldn't mind either way if they enlisted or not. Kyle would be proud of them regardless. You've raised two fine boys, what's not to be proud of?

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish 

Oh, Johnny boy here wants a big family. He's dead set on having kids. It absolutely is a deal breaker for him. His partner has to want kids too.

So when he meets you. And you want kids too, he's over the moon. 

If you've got a uterus, the first kid definitely happens unintentionally. Y'all weren't actively trying, Johnny just can't keep it in his pants lmao. 

If not, then it's all planned out and everything goes smoothly, whether that's surrogate or adoption. 

Like I said, BIG family. I'm talking like 5 kids at the least. You cannot talk him out of it.

Also gives big girl dad energy. Probably ends up with 4 girls and 1 boy. And he's fine with it! Loves getting his nails painted and throwing tea parties, just as much as he loves playing soccer and wrestling 

Like Kyle, Johnny doesn't immediately retire. Sometime after the girl 4 and the baby boy, he'd retire from field work. But he's always facetiming with the kids and bringing them stuff back. Being dad doesn't stop just because he's halfway across the world. 

Would be so proud if any of them enlisted. Would probably cry unashamed. But he's equally as proud of them if they don't. 

[doodoodinklefart]

it's late but!!!! happy birthday suguru!!!!! you deserve the world 🥺🥺🥺🥺i could have gotten it on time but im rlly bad at planning LOOL but i hope you enjoy it anyway!! it's based on my own personal hc that suguru consumed his first curse on his birthday as a child and has associated his birthday with curses ever since (but satoru brings new meaning to it! i hate them very much)

also gonna add alt text soon! i just wanted to get it posted before the 5th LOL

edit: alt text added!

[rapidhighway]

behold, sonic and knuckle climbing a cliff. what will they do

[justarandombrit]

This took seven hours I'm not okay (as always click for quality)

[serizawasgamecube]

mom said its my turn to fix serizawas waistline

[thegainingdesk]

Borrowed

“Fuck!” I barked as hot coffee spilled down my front. This always seemed to happen when I wore a nice shirt, always when I had to meet clients, always on a fucking Tuesday. God I hated Tuesdays.

Fifteen minutes of frantic dabbing with wet paper towels later I sat slumped in my chair. Not only had I not managed to shift the coffee stain, but now I'd also made my shirt wet enough that my thick body hair was plainly visible through it.

“Maybe someone has a jumper?” Owen asked.

Sandra shook her head sadly. “We asked around,” she said. “The weather's been so lovely, not sure the last time anyone brought a jumper in. There's a couple in lost and found but…” She trailed off and lifted up two jumpers - one lurid pink with three kittens covered in glitter, the other a red Christmas jumper implying Santa was about to do unspeakable things to a reindeer.

“Not really the thing for a client meeting,” Owen said, making a small sucking noise through his teeth.

“Someone else is going to have to do it,” I said. “It's in ten minutes, there's no way my shirt will be dry in time.”

“I always keep a spare shirt or two in the stationery cupboard,” Graham said, appearing round the corner eating a donut. “It'll be a bit big for you though!” he added, slapping the firm ball gut that took up his torso.

I bit my lip. On one hand, I'd look absolutely ridiculous, my lanky frame swallowed up by a shirt intended for a man surely a hundred pounds or more heavier than me. On the other hand, I'd look more presentable than I currently did. And besides, it would be kind of hot to have real, tangible evidence of just how much bigger Graham was than me - okay, so forty-five year old obese dads aren't exactly everyone's fantasies, I can admit that, but for me, Graham was my dream man.

“Thanks Graham,” I said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

A minute later I was stood in our stationery cupboard holding up a piece of fabric I could use as a light blanket. The tag said 2XL and I thought about how Graham filled his shirts - gut straining gently at the seams, the hem riding up by the end of most days to reveal a wedge of hairy fat. There were some trousers as well, neatly folded beneath the shirt. I held the pair up to my waist and boggled at how much wider they were. I imagined filling up clothes so big and felt myself grow hard.

I peeled off my own wet, stained, size small shirt and hung it on the door handle to dry a little. I slipped my arms in Graham's shirt and buttoned up the front. The shirt swallowed me. The hem hung down below my crotch, the shoulder seam lined up somewhere along my upper arm, so that the cuff hung down past my thumb, the whole thing billowed around me. I pinched the fabric and held it out in front of me - it seemed like there was a foot of space left in every direction.

My cock throbbed. I checked the door was locked, then checked the time. I had a few minutes, and Sandra was already on delaying duty. I bunched the shirt up, unbuttoned my fly and pulled my aching cock out. I stroked rapidly, keen to finish in a timely fashion. I tried to imagine myself filling the shirt. How much bigger would I be? Would I be shaped like Graham, with a firm gut, or would I be softer, flabbier, wider? My left hand raked over my trim stomach and my breath hitched as I moved it away, out to where I'd held the shirt just a moment ago. I bit my lip to stop myself yelling out as I shot cum across the floor of the cupboard, and as it dribbled over my fist.

Hit by post-wank clarity, I immediately felt like an idiot. How did I think I was going to clean this up? I frantically grabbed my wet shirt and did my best to wipe up the thick cum on my right hand and cock, struggling a bit to get it out of my pubes and stopping it getting on my trousers or Graham’s shirt. Then I knelt down and wiped up the mess on the floor.

A knock on the door. “Just coming now!” I choked.

“The clients are here,” came Graham's voice through the door. “That shirt alright?”

I looked down at myself. I looked fucking ridiculous, like a child wearing his dad's suit for a play. “Yeah Graham, cheers. It's perfect.”

I wadded up my coffee and cum covered shirt and threw it into a corner that I hoped no-one would look in over the day. I tucked the excess fabric into the waistband and rolled up the sleeves, hoping the overall effect was “loose and casual” rather than “four sizes too big”.

-

I panted softly as I squelched my way into the office. When I woke up, the weather was blissful - bright sunshine, a little warm maybe, but with a light breeze to make it bearable, the sky clear apart from a couple of distant picturesque fluffy clouds completing the picture. Of course, once I was halfway to work, the heavens abruptly opened, necessitating me to run from my tube stop through torrential rain to my office.

My body wasn't exactly built for running these days. That day with Graham's shirt had flicked a switch somewhere deep in my brain, and since then my appetite and waistline had expanded in rapid conjunction. Now my soaking shirt clung to a round, soft gut, plump tits and wide love handles, and my damp trousers made my wide, plush thighs and fat pad uncomfortable.

I was met with noises of sympathy from my much more weather-prepared co-workers as I dripped across the floor, but couldn't fail to notice the whispers and pointing as soon as I passed. My weight gain wasn't exactly fresh office gossip at this point, but I'm sure it being highlighted by clinging wet clothes didn't exactly help matters. I sighed as I sat at my desk, the cold clothes against my skin making me shiver.

A shadow fell over me and I saw Graham stood meekly above me. “I've got some spare clothes,” he said quietly, looking around to see if anyone was listening. “I'm not sure if you, you know, if they'll fit or anything, but you're welcome to them if you like.”

I saw his eyes flick to my swollen gut and my heart jumped as I realised that Graham - Graham! The office fat guy! - wasn't sure who was bigger out of the two of us. I shuffled my legs slightly to adjust my hardening cock, but knew that my overhang would largely keep my arousal hidden.

“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks Graham, that would be great,” I thanked him. “I've actually borrowed your shirt before, you know,” I told him. “You wanting to keep it a secret all of a sudden?”

Graham grew more flustered. “It's not that,” he said. “I'm happy for people to borrow it whenever, you know. I figure it's best if there's a spare shirt around and at least if it fits the fattest- I mean, that is, if it fits me it… well.” He cleared his throat and looked around again. He lowered his voice further “I wasn't sure if you'd be happy to, you know, have people know you were borrowing my clothes. You know since…” He gestured feebly towards me and I felt my heart pump harder.

“That's fine Graham,” I said. “Thank you again.”

“If you ever want to talk to someone,” he said, not moving yet. “I get it, you know, the uh,” he shifted his feet nervously, “weight thing. I was probably about your age when I started to put on a bit, back when Vanessa had the twins and well… anyway. I just wanted to say that I know how it feels, and if you ever wanted to talk to someone who understands…”

“Thanks Graham,” I said. “For the shirt and the offer.” I stood up so that we were almost belly to belly. “I best go get changed.” Graham grinned and gave a small wave as he walked away.

I looked at the shirt on the hanger in front of me. Was I really the same size as Graham now? I'd certainly fantasized about the idea often enough, and the shirt in front of me looked… well, it looked normal. I thought back to that day a couple of years before when I was shocked at the size of Graham's clothes; now they looked the exact same as all the others I had hanging in my wardrobe at home.

I pulled off my damp clothes and put on the shirt. It fit perfectly - the collar wasn't too tight, the shoulder seams hit the right place, it tucked perfectly into my waistline. A little snug, perhaps, around my gut, but then most clothes did these days. The buttons were definitely straining more than they did around Graham's belly, weren't they? He'd have surely bought the next size up by now if this was how his shirts fit everyday.

I sucked in as I bent down to pick up the trousers, keen not to stress the buttons anymore and stood back up with a loud grunt. Advanced acrobatics like “bending over” and “standing back up” were getting a little strenuous these days. I looked in the waistband and froze. It was a 42 inch waist. I'd gotten rid of my last pair of 42s months ago, and in the meantime my 44s were starting to pinch painfully when I was particularly bloated. I looked back at my soaked trousers and imagined drying in them. These would have to do - maybe just for the morning until my clothes dried.

I had to suck in as I struggled to button the trousers, and immediately felt the familiar vice grip of too small clothes as I let my gut hang out fully. The fabric confined my legs and hips, making my torso explode out of the top like bread dough, and I could imagine the angry red marks I'd see once I took them off. The legs felt like skinny-fit jeans, all the way down to my calves. Surely Graham couldn't wear these? I didn't think I'd be able to sit down all day.

“Those forty-twos aren't too big, are they?” Graham asked when I gingerly came out the stationery cupboard, feeling like an overstuffed sausage casing come to life. “I only really use them if I'm feeling a bit bloated,” he explained.

I shook my head and gave a strained smile. “They'll stay up with a belt,” I said. I saw Graham's eyes flick down to the full-to-bursting fabric with no belt in sight.

He gave a thin smile. “Well then,” he said. “Glad I could help. You know where they are if you ever need them again.”

I was back in my own trousers by lunch, after promising Graham to buy him a new pair since I'd ripped the seat on his.

-

I licked the sugar and jam off my fingers as I walked up to Graham.

“Hey man,” I said, before stifling a belch. “I don't suppose I could borrow that spare shirt you keep?” I gestured down at my shirt, where jam from my donuts sat next to grease from that morning's sausage roll on the shelf of my gut. “Breakfast got a bit messy this morning.”

Graham’s eyes widened a touch and I could see him perform a series of mental calculations. “I've lost a little weight since the last time you borrowed a shirt,” he said after a moment. “I'm down to just plain old extra large these days.”

“It looked like the same shirt when I got some staples the other day,” I told him. “Maybe you just forgot to swap it out.”

He smiled weakly. “Ah, yeah, that's right,” he conceded. “Must not have brought in one of my new ones yet.” His eyes flicked down to the farthest extent of my gut, where its swell strained the buttons of my 4XL. “So you umm, I mean that is, if you think, but well.” He desperately reached for a polite way to tell me I was too fat for even the clothes that were too big for him. He lowered his voice. “Weren't you saying a while ago you shop at one of those plus-size shops these days? I never really went to those, even when I was, well, before I lost some weight.”

I grinned and shrugged. “Worth giving it a go, right buddy?” I slapped the top of my belly. “Us big guys are used to squeezing into places.”

He grimaced at the suggestion our sizes were comparable and gestured towards the cupboard where he kept his spare shirts. “Help yourself,” he mumbled.

I unbuttoned my own shirt and dropped it in a heap on the floor. I picked up Graham's from its hanger and held it out in front of me - did I really used to fit in clothes this small? I grunted as I bent down to pick up the trousers and held that out in front of my waist too - god they were narrow. My own hips were a good half foot wider, even while holding them like this. I'd have liked to have tried them on too, but they were a non-starter, I knew. A shame that I couldn't go all the way with my little game, but oh well.

I put the shirt on, even the shoulders a little too narrow to slip my arms into comfortably, and slowly started buttoning, my fat fingers slow and clumsy. The neck was a complete no go, fat oozing over the collar when I attempted. The buttons over my tits were snug, but broadly doable. The top of my gut - starting to become a real problem. At the very diameter of my soft ball gut the two sides were inches apart. Determined to make a show of myself in front of the office before I left in a few weeks, I sucked in as far as I could and tugged on the shirt hard. After a few moments of struggling, huffing and puffing all the buttons were precariously lodged into their respective holes.

I let my gut out slowly, so as not to tear any seams or send the buttons scattering. Even at the largest I dare let my gut hang out, I was still sucking in a little.

Every inch of fabric was filled with me, inflated to its limit. I could almost hear the cloth creaking. The buttons had huge ovals of hairy, dimpled skin showing between them. The bottom of the shirt hung around my heavy love handles like bread loaves and several inches of my gut hung clearly out the bottom. The waistband of my trousers were hidden beneath cascading fat, and my soft arse hung out at the top.

I grinned as I walked out the cupboard. “Cheers for the shirt Graham,” I called across the office. Disgusted and embarrassed faces turned towards me as they took in the sight of my morbidly obese body forced and squeezed into clothes meant for the merely clinically obese. I began walking towards Graham as I spoke, giving everyone a good view. “I don't think it's really going to work,” I said as I gestured towards my body. “I swear we used to be the same size?” I shrugged. “Ah well, I can cope with a couple of stains for today.”

Graham blushed bright red as I approached him, the only person forced to engage with the spectacle unfolding in front of everyone. “Oh well,” he said, staring resolutely at his computer screen.

A flash of a thought began to nucleate into an idea. Did I dare? I think I did. I made a show of wrinkling my nose a little and then- “ACHOO” - a not quite believable fake sneeze as I let my gut expand to its fullest extent. Two buttons pinged off the and I heard a small rip to my side.

“Oh god!” I feigned humiliation. “I'm so sorry Graham, your shirt! I'll buy you a new one!”

Graham paled. “That's fine,” he insisted. “Didn't fit anymore anyway, destined for the charity shop.”

“No, no,” I replied. I stroked my hand around my gut, feeling the contrast between strained fabric and exposed skin at the fresh tear in the shirt's side. “It's my fault and this spare shirt’s helped me out no end of times.” I pretended to ponder for a moment. “I swear it used to fit…”

My cock was rock hard beneath my gut as I returned to the stationery cupboard to put my own shirt on.

[cara-carabowditbowdit]

and the times when i feel fine, im just dancing in my mind

[plutos134340]

Setting ablaze an extravagant scene

Progress below cut:

[neolxzr]

student au save me...... save me student au

[kyurochurro]

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! here's a cozy lil drawing of Rosalina and he Lumas for the Christmas season :D 🎄💫

[mercuryspit]

this is for an extremely niche audience and the niche audience is me

[love-archive]

shoutout to all my listerine lovers

some mouthwashing trad doodles :3

the GRIP this game has on me atm is insane… i cannot stop thinking about it 😭🙏

go play mouthwashing it’ll change your life !!

[yanderespamton78]

Guys guys guys new theory/hc time that I have not seen anyone mention

Something that basically everyone disregard about the Addison trash zone dialogue is the fact that orange Addison says "I heard he started looking for any way to become more popular." Meaning that he likely didn't know spamton when he was an Addison due to the fact that they didn't know he was looking for a way to become more popular first hand. And if they were friends or brothers how did he not know this??? But interestingly enough, it's soon followed by "he was on the phone all the time", meanng that oramge addison must have known him in his big shot era, and thetefore seen that he was on the phone all the time.

Also if you count in the spamton mannequin with the dress, why would orange Addison own this? And be trying to get rid of it?? There are no other cyber city darkners like Spamton. Also the dress is one of the dresses mettaton wears, and spamtons had plenty of parallels with mettaton in the past

AND orange is the only Addison who really expressed suspicion about the person on the phone. "one day, he made the right phone call, and found someone. Or, was he found... BY someone?". This would make sense if he knew spamton during his big shot era and saw his decline, and even more sense if spamton told the orange Addison what the phone person was saying (which is debatable ofc but it would make most sense for them to be telling spamton that he's special and stuff)

SO. What if orange Addison was a tailor for spamton when he was in the mansion? That would explain how he knew big shot spamton but not addispam, and why he has a spamton shaped mannequin, and why he expressed suspicion towards the phone person. It all fits

Anyways sorry if this is badly written but it is 5ami just desperately needed to tell the world