#truck bloat

[the-city-in-mind]

The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) just announced new rules to help rein in the runaway supersizing of trucks and SUVs, to improve pedestrian safety.

[coulsonlives]

[faevaletine]

My sweet belly 😍

[subliminal-beef]

Moo~! I was looking back through some of my older subs to make non-music versions for the store. When I look back at the affirmations I wrote for some of my earlier stuff, I realise I can do a lot better, now~! 💖

So what I'll do now and then is 'reformulate' or otherwise revamp some older ideas to make them more effective 🥰

This is obviously a subliminal for fans of wanting to grow, gain, expand and inflate their lower-half!

All about the butt, thighs and hips~! This ass growth subliminal is written not to conflict with my !CURSED! variant of subs, such as Cosmic Cheeks or Door Jammers.

However, it might conflict with breast-focused ones such as Solarbloom or Back Breakers. I would suggest pairing this with 'Hourglass Combo', if you're still seeking bigger breasts~! 💞

Don't even get me started on what happens if you used 'Greedier Dragon', hehehehe~

This subliminal is suitable for all genders~! A potentially !CURSED! variant could be in the works too, but I'd love hear your ideas and suggestions for that! 💖🎶🐄

Let me know in the comments~ Please note that subliminals are for entertainment purposes only, but don't say I didn't warn you~! 😇😇😇

Please also always remember to take care of yourself and make sure that the things you pursue in life are for YOUR happiness! Only listen to this if you are 100% sure you want this!

[hawnks]

commence: SILLY TIME

[mr-arcturus]

Exactly.

i want devices that are functional and hardy and i want them to last and fuck the rest of the shit i dont need. my ds and 3ds can lie in sleep mode for months if not years and i can pop them open and they've still got two or three bars left. my old phones in high school could go days without a charge. if i leave my nintendo switch on the floor for a few days doing absolutely fuck all nothing i will turn it on and it will cry to me mother i am dying. i am dying mother. and i tell him he'll never be half the man his brother was and he can't hear me because he's dead

[ds-angel1]

could you do a rafe!drugdealer x reader who is constantly talking about reader’s weight

cw: a lot of talk about weight, calories and scale mentioned, very toxic rafe, mention of sex, crying

It started small. Just a flicker beneath the surface, too subtle to name, too quiet to call out.

"You gonna eat all that?" he asked one night at Tannyhill, eyes locked on your plate as it had offended him. His tone was light, almost teasing, but his gaze didn’t waver.

There was something coiled beneath his words, something not entirely playful. You paused, fork halfway to your mouth. He tilted his head slightly, that smug half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Just saying. You looked better last summer.”

You laughed it off, cheeks burning with confusion. Back then, you still did that, smiled through the sting, convinced yourself it wasn’t a red flag, just a weird comment from someone who loved you. That’s what love was, right?

Honest. Raw. Unfiltered.

But it didn’t stop there. It never does.

At the gas station a few weeks later, you grabbed a bag of chips from the shelf, craving something salty. Without a word, he plucked it from your hands and dropped it back like it was poison. “Empty calories, baby. You already said your jeans felt tight, remember?”

His voice was low, edged with casual disdain. You looked around, embarrassed, but no one seemed to notice. Or maybe they did and just didn’t care.

In his truck, he’d reach over and rest a hand on your thigh, not lovingly, not protectively, but like he was inspecting something. Measuring. Evaluating. His fingers would press into your skin, hard enough to leave a dent. “Gotta keep this from getting out of control,” he’d mutter, almost to himself, like you were some project he was managing, some vessel he needed to sculpt into something acceptable.

Then came the scale.

He bought it one evening after dinner, setting it in your shared bathroom as if it belonged there.

“Step on.” When you hesitated, his voice dipped, smooth but dangerous. “Why? Got something to hide?”

On days the number dropped, he’d grin, pressing kisses to your shoulders, your collarbone, your lips. “See? When you listen to me, things go right, angel.”

His praise felt warm, intoxicating, like sunlight on your skin after a cold spell.

But if the number stayed the same, or worse, crept up, the warmth vanished. He’d go quiet. Distant. His silence stretched through the day like a wall you couldn’t break through. No goodnight kiss. No affection. Just cold detachment, as if you’d failed some unspoken test.

He noticed everything. Every bite, every bloated day, every extra helping. Nothing escaped his attention.

“Two desserts now?” he said once at a dinner party, his voice low but sharp, just for you. “Your greed sickens me.” No one else at the table reacted, your friends were too caught up in their conversations, laughter echoing while your stomach dropped.

Later, after sex, those dizzying highs he was so good at crafting, he’d lie beside you, fingers idly tugging at the flesh on your waist. He’d pinch the soft part of your stomach, chuckling. “I probably weigh less than you at this point.”

You’d flinch, shrinking under the blanket, trying to turn away from him. But his grin only widened.

The next day, you fasted. The hunger was sharp, almost holy, and when he noticed, when he told you how proud he was, you felt a surge of victory. Like his approval meant you’d won something. Like his love was a prize you had to keep earning.

You cried more often. Quietly, mostly. Into your pillow, in the shower, on your way to work. But every time you fell apart, he was there, arms around you like a savior, like the only person who could piece you back together.

“I just want you to be perfect,” he’d whisper into your hair. “You know I love you more when you take care of yourself.”

It sounded like tenderness. It sounded like care.

But it wasn’t about health. And it was never about love.

It was about control. About reshaping you into something that made him feel stronger, more powerful, more admired.

Because to Rafe Cameron, you weren’t just his girlfriend. You were a mirror. And any imperfection he saw in you felt like a flaw in himself. Every pound on your body wasn’t just weight, it was a crack in his image, a threat to the story he was trying to tell the world.

And that’s the cruelest part of it all: how he convinced you, little by little, that your body was never truly yours to begin with.

[leqonsluv3r]

Can I pls request one where Leon is obsessed with his wife’s small baby bump? Like especially when she wears dresses he just can’t stop staring 🧎‍♀️🌸

baby blues

—re4!leon kennedy!husband x pregnant wife!reader

�� a oneshot (request)

warnings: MDNI, 18+, a lot of fluff, leon being the best baby daddy out there, reader kind of hates being pregnant at times, reader deals with some body issues and how their body is changing, leon is so sweet and supportive, gives cocky hot dad vibes, mentions of pregnancy pain, oral (f receiving), breast play, lots of kissing and praise, mentions of past sex, mentions of doctors offices, cursing, leon and reader being the cutest little husband and wife out there.

“you had tried. tried stretching, tried taking a pill and had tried sleeping. but everything hurt. everything. your feet, your head, your back and especially your breasts. it felt like something was tugging and poking at all the soft parts of your body. it was torture, almost. if there wasn’t a handsome man next to you, rubbing your back as you laid on your side. leon dulled the ache a little, he looked at you still like the day he met you four years ago, even when you were pregnant, fat and you felt like death had taken over certain parts of your body. leon still looked at you like you were the most precious thing. and it made you wanna cry, scream and kiss him all at the same time.”

— or reader gets pregnant and tries to come to terms with it and leon has no problem helping her out

masterlist taglist

an: thank you for the request anon <33 hope you enjoy it. this was such a cute little thing to write. might make a headcanon list soon just for this specific request :,)

you and leon had talked about kids, about babies.

about the joy it would bring both of you to have something made by the two of you. to make you both enjoy the ties of your marriage and love.

you, however didn’t expect to get pregnant so soon after your marriage. but leon…leon was hard to resist and your body craved him and it was your choice. a choice that you made over and over and over again.

until two lines changed his life and yours entirely, it was hard ignore how the both of you panicked. the excitement, nerves and the rushing of your heart beating accelerated as you stared at the test…four month ago.

you both had been so careful, so very careful, but in one night of heated touches and sloppy kisses, you decided to fuck the condom and just deal. thinking the birth control you took would be enough, but it…it was not. definitely not.

you dealt with being pregnant like a champ, or tried to. you were sore now, you were fatter and you felt like a truck had hit you when you simply moved to grab something.

you loved the idea of carrying a child in retrospect, when leon had pounded you into the mattress many times before, thinking and muttering all the obscene words and images about breeding you. you literally keened at the idea, but now, now that you were here and doing it, you wanted to rip this kid out of you.

you hurt every moment of everyday, you were tired and hungry and whenever you saw that stupid ASPCA commercial on the tv with the dogs, you started bawling like a child. it was obnoxious and to think it would only get more strenuous as the moments that passed was literal torture.

and the doctors appointments, the vitamins you had to take and the way your body changed. it was a lot to handle, you had leon. you had him to help but sometimes it didn’t feel like it was enough. you couldn’t dress like you usually did anymore and could only wear the sundresses and other dresses you had hanging in your closet.

it felt like you were playing dress up, but it was the only thing you were comfortable in these days. the only thing that fit over the bump. the only thing that made you feel pretty and not like an inflated blimp.

and the one thing besides the pain, the bloating and the never ending amount of morning sickness you’ve had to deal with…the one thing you held onto was by the end of it you would get to be a mom. leon would get to be a dad, that was the only thing that kept you tethered to reality these days.

but leon enjoyed the sight of you in your dresses, that was one thing that also kept you tethered. the way he still ate you alive with his eyes, scouring you still as if you haven’t changed at all. you would always find his blue eyes piercing into your pregnant frame whenever you’d slip on a dress for the day or when you were bare and just got out of the shower.

it made you more aroused then usual, the only thing worse was the leon never acted on it. he never once stopped you and brought you to your guys bedroom. he never offered to eat you out anymore. you didn’t know why he was staring but wouldn’t act. was he worried that he’d hurt you? or the baby? you didn’t know, you had no clue.

but it was festering, each look he gave you in your pretty little dresses with your bump of pregnancy was making your skin hotter everyday. you didn’t know how much longer of this pregnancy you could take if he didn’t act on his desires. most importantly, your own.

two weeks, later and your sick of everything.

your sick of walking, your back pain, the peeing every five minutes. just everything makes you annoyed or feel like your going to crawl out of your own skin. you don’t get comfort in bed, you toss and turn. you’re then frustrated because you can’t sleep on your stomach, you wanna rip this baby out of you and it’s only the four month mark.

leon is a saint though. he’s bringing you food, rubbing your feet, holding your hair back when you throw up from the morning sickness. you feel bad for being such a bitch, for being so mean and hormonal. you try not to snap or throw a hissy fit.

but it’s hard.

you’re also sick of the doctor asking you twenty million questions when you go to your next appointment. already fed up from lack of sleep and your bowel movements. the baby is healthy, so everyone is happy. just not you.

another thing, leon keeps eyeing you and basically fucking you with his eyes. another thing that’s just adding up into your short limit of patience. you wanna scream at him to just fuck you, do something. you need a release. and if you could do it on your own, you would. but you can’t even see over your stomach or much less reach it.

so your just stuck feeling pent up and frustrated with everything. until one day, one day you just snap. you just lose your shit. you don’t remember what really caused it to happen, maybe it was the fact that you saw leon wearing only a towel after his shower, practically making you drool.

but you lost it. you just lost it, for absolutely no reason at all.

“can you stop looking at me like that?” you say softly as you look over at him, your being patient, so patient at this point and it makes you wanna scream or cry. he’s digging for something in your shared dresser drawer at this point, minding his own business.

leon looks behind him, over his shoulder to where you sit on the bed. he raises a small brow, “i’m not even looking at you, baby. i’m getting clothes.” he says with a small hint of amusement in his voice.

“you know what i mean, leon.” you say in a annoyed tone as you shift on the bed, the many pillows for your back pain and a heating pad pressed up against it. you opted for a t-shirt of his and underwear, the only two things besides dresses that you could really stand these days.

he grabs his boxers and takes off his towel, you try to ignore the arousal that’s literally pooling uncomfortably in your underwear as you see it. your trying to stay annoyed, stay focused, but his dick is just right there. so far out of your reach but so close and you just want to pounce on him.

“i can’t stare at my beautiful wife now?” he says with a small notch in his brow, pulling his boxers up over his dick, making you disappointed and snap back into what was currently happening. you huff and rub your bump, shifting against the heating pad and pillows.

“no, you can.” you say with a small glare in his direction, “but if your not gonna do something about it, i’d rather you tell me then just…” you trail off when he crawls on the bed next to you, sitting beside you. “angel, you have something you wanna share with me?” he says in that low and intimate tone that gets your insides all bubbly.

you gnaw on your bottom lip in contemplation, “no. i don’t.” he chuckles lowly and moves even closer to you on the bed, putting his hand on your thigh and squeezing. “i hardly believe that, baby. no offense.” he says softly as he presses a kiss to your ear.

you were going to jump him if he didn’t stop this, he was teasing you. he had to be, it was ridiculous that he couldn’t even see how miserable this was making you. “can you just…?” you start and fail pathetically as you try to squirm into his touch more on your thigh.

“can i just what?” he says in a soft timbre into your ear, almost daring and pushing you to say it. to ask. you were beyond irritated and wound up now. everything hurt and your body felt hot. “can you please touch me?” you say softly, you sound whiney and desperate and it’s nothing like you. but a part of you really didn’t care anymore.

you hormonal, achy and moody beyond relief. you just wanted him to touch you, to fuck you even. it was getting annoying how much your body had craved him since you became pregnant.

he didn’t move his hand from your thigh, his breath still ghosting over your ear and the side of your face. “i am touching you, love.” he says with an arrogant smirk against your skin.

arrogant bastard. you thought to yourself, you were brazen in the moment. “it hurts, leon. just…please?” you practically whined in that moment, you didn’t like the teasing. not when your patience was already short enough as it was.

he pressed a tender kiss to the side of your head, “what hurts, baby?” he says softly as he rubs his hand up her thigh and over her bump, soothing tender circles over your body and the baby beneath.

you don’t even care anymore, the soothing feeling of his hand over your t-shirt was enough. your cheeks were red though and you guided his hand up to your swollen breasts beneath your (his) t-shirt that you wore.

“oh, honey.” he sighs softly in a contented whisper against your head, pressing a small kiss to your hairline. he doesn’t move his hand on one of your swollen breasts, just rests his hand there as if he’s just supporting it with his large hand over the fabric.

“leon…please, it hurts.” you hear yourself breathe out in a whimper, one of pain or of desire, you didn’t know. you didn’t care to know right now. “hold on, hold on.” he mumbled softly as he shifted next to you, getting closer to your side, he adjusted himself on the pillows next to you.

“can’t deny my pretty little wife. can i?” he says into your ear with a small nip as his hand squeezed and kneaded one of your swollen breasts. you couldn’t help the sound that came out of you, a mix of relief and desire that you didn’t know you could make.

he moves his lips to press against your neck, nipping and licking as he kneads your breasts, trying to make the pain subside as you moan. “feels s’good…” you mumble in between small noises.

“i know, i know. sorry, for teasing you all this time.” he mumbles into your neck, “gotta stop teasing you…” he mumbles again in between kisses as he presses one more kiss under your ear.

his hands working up your swollen and aching breasts, you could feel your panties practically dripping with release. you grab at his bicep, curling around the muscle there for balance. “please…” you whimper softly.

he moves his lips up to your ear, “what do you want? use your words, baby.” he nips at your earlobe and keeps kneading your breasts, alleviating some of the ache there.

you grip down on his bicep harder, your hormones from the pregnancy were going crazy at his touch. “anything…something, please.” you whine softly near his ear as you almost draw blood. you just needed a release and you weren’t going to get far with him kneading your breasts.

“how about i eat out that pretty pussy? hmm?” he practically purrs into your ear as one of his hands leads down from your breasts to beneath the covers. your soaked underwear beneath your rotund belly, he finds it. an amusing sound leaving his mouth at your ear, tracing the pads of his fingers over your wet slit of your underwear.

his words and his touches having a disastrous affect on your pregnant body, you felt like a match that he was striking with flame and then putting out. it was so much in the best way possible.

you just nod rapidly, emitting a small whine as you clutch his bare bicep harder. “okay, pretty girl.” he presses another kiss to your ear, smirking to himself. he traces your wet slit again, marveling at how soaked you were for him.

“practically drenching your underwear, this all for me?” he muses as he pulls back on the bed next to you, pushing the covers back from your body. your hand falling down to the sheets beneath you, “yes…” you manage to get out as he clicks his tongue. a growl almost rose from his mouth as he gets farther back on the bed, moving in between your knees.

he sees the wet patch that’s soaking your underwear, he knew you were hormonal from the pregnancy. but god, how much arousal could form just from you looking at him? it needed to be studied, but he couldn’t help but feel his ego and confidence inflate.

your bodies reaction to him would always be something he’d never get tired of. especially now when you were drenching your pretty panties.

“fuck, baby. missed this sweet pussy.” he rasps as he looks up at you with hooded blue eyes, his pupils dilated. you knew that look well enough to know that he was going to give you what you both wanted.

release.

you mewl, “please, leon. don’t wanna beg…” you try to reach down to yank his hands or his head closer but your pregnant belly stops you. he puts a hand on the inside of your thigh, “no begging required. i’m going to eat out my pretty pregnant wife. i’m hungry anyways.” he smirks devilishly as he massage the meat of your thigh.

he doesn’t waste anytime, your head hits the mountains of pillows behind you. your chest rising and falling fast beneath his t-shirt that your wearing. his hands come up to the waist band of your underwear and slowly pull them down over your hips and bent legs.

your bare pussy is on display now and you feel the cold air hit your most private parts, ones that he’s seen before but now…now that you were pregnant and carrying his child…things were different. you looked more delicious now, looked more like he could eat you out for days. eat you and fuck you until the baby came.

god help him.

he doesn’t waste anytime, none whatsoever. he’s going to give you what you want. he rubs his fingers through your arousal, spreading it everywhere and teasing you just a bit longer.

you whine, “leon, please…just stop. i want it.” he looks up at you from where he’s laying on the mattress in between your bent legs. “i know baby, just admiring how beautiful you are…everywhere.” he smirks to himself and presses a kiss to the hood of your clit.

you moan a little, he clicks his tongue. “so sensitive.” he muses, “good to know some things never change after pregnancy.” he whispers as he presses another kiss to your clit.

“fuck…leon…” you whine softly, clenching the sheets beneath you. your hormone fueled body making you out to be this whiny monster.

he just chuckles against the skin of your dripping pussy, “just sit back and relax, sweet girl. i’ve got you.” he says as he runs his hands up to the sides of your hips, holding you steady as he dips his head down.

he starts licking a long stripe up from your drenched opening to your clit, your head tilting back as you moan loudly. you never failed to amaze him, get him hard and all worked up. you both had that affect on each other, good to know it was still intact.

how had leon not done this yet? not touched you this way yet when you’d been pregnant? you were like putty in his hands right now.

he felt like an idiot.

a large one. 

he stuck his tongue into your soaked opening and licked, fucking you with his tongue as you clenched the sheets harder beneath you. “fuck, want…uhh, so fucking good!” you moan loudly, practically screaming.

he just keeps fucking you with his tongue, almost rutting his boxer clad erection into the mattress. he reached one hand down to rub his thumb over your clit, still fucking you with his tongue.

your back arches a little, as much as it can without you hurting yourself. a white knuckled grip on the mattress is all you have as he ravishes you, keeps his tongue and fingers working you into oblivion as you writhe and moan underneath him.

“leon! uhh…fuck…” you babble nonsense as you feel the coil start to build in your lower abdomen, you had never come this fast before. but the fact that you were pent up, more hormonal then usual and he was working you open with his skilled mouth and fingers…

you were fucked, figuratively and literally.

he took his tongue out of your opening moving the finger that was on your clit, down to your soaked opening. his fingers working you open now, sliding one in which causes you to release a long moan, his name rolling off of your tongue.

his mouth attaching itself to your clit and licking, sucking and swirling his tongue. he was smirking as he did it. knowing that he was gonna feel you come all over his fingers and face.

he could do this forever, keep you pregnant forever just so he could hear those pretty little sounds you made when you’d fall apart beneath him.

he kept moving his pointer finger in and out, swirling his tongue over your swollen clit as you moaned obscenely, thanking god and him and his mouth.

“just…yes! fuck! gonna cum!” you babble again, losing all rational thoughts as he continued to lick and rub and finger you. you felt helpless under his touch, but in the best way. the way that made you and the unborn baby inside of you feel safe and cherished, loved even.

he just kept it up, only breaking his licking at your clit to talk you through it, “good girl, pretty little wife gonna cum all over my fingers? huh?” he says with a raspy voice, his lips stained in a gloss of your arousal.

you moan softly in response and nod, your eyes fluttering open and shut, your pussy clenching around his fingers. pulling them out just to push another long inside of you and curl your fingers upwards until he found your magic spot.

you whine at that, smacking a hand down on the sheets underneath you. “there it is…” he muses in a low tone, “good girl, maybe if your really nice i’ll pump another baby into you tomorrow.” he says with a smirk.

you moan, “fuck…yes!” you yell out, the idea of him fucking you and promising to get you even more pregnant…it was making that band inside of you get closer to snapping.

“you’d like that wouldn’t you? filling you up with my big cock and pumping you full of my cum?” he teases as he keeps fucking you with his two fingers, the noise of your arousal would normally be a turn off but you were so close to release that you didn’t care anymore.

you moaned and nodded dumbly in response, his free hand sliding from your hip to rub over the swell of your belly. “pump another baby into you, fuck, you’d love that.” he says lowly.

“i-i would…fuck, want more babies…” you whine softly as you writhe more, some tears leaking out of your eyes. he almost growls at that, pumping his fingers harder inside of you and rubbing that sweet spot that makes you see stars.

he knew you were close, knew you were going to reach that point that made you all blissed out and needy. “cmon baby, come all over my fingers. know you can.” he encouraged with a kiss to your clit, his free hand still rubbing over your belly.

all it took was him talking more, working you up with his sweet words and his fingers hitting the mark over and over again inside of you. you moaned loudly, clenching around his fingers. your release coating all over his digits.

he didn’t say anything, just worked you through it until overstimulation set in, removing his fingers from you. he brought them both up and licked the release from his fingers.

you watched him with undivided attention, your eyes lazily opening and closing in the haze of your orgasm. he smiled softly and crawled from in between your legs to rest over you, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“don’t you ever think for one second that i don’t want to fuck you, taste you or do that. i love you and i love making you fall apart. you being pregnant…has nothing to do with me holding off.” he says in a reassurance, pressing another small kiss to your lips.

being mindful as he leaned over you not to disturb the bump of your belly. your eyes locked on his as he looked down at you, “i’ve just been stressed and on edge with prepping for the baby. it’s had absolutely nothing to do with you being pregnant.” he says softly, reaching a hand up and running it through the hair at the base of your skull.

“your so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. i know you don’t see it these days. but you are even hotter now that your carrying my baby, our baby.” he explains with a gentle smile, making some water prick into your eyes.

“so don’t think for one second that i find you unattractive or that i’m teasing you on purpose.” he says with another small peck to your lips, “you understand me?”

you nod slowly as you look up at him, blinking the small amount of water away from your eyes. you should’ve never doubted him, should’ve never thought that about yourself.

and he hated that, hated that he made you doubt yourself and your body for one second. you were so beautiful, you were his and he loved you. he had loved you long before you both spoke your vows in front of god and each other.

he loved you so much, as much as you loved him. so he rolled off from hovering on top to you, cuddling his body next to yours, letting himself wrap his strong arms around your pregnant body.

he wanted to hold you close to his heart, he always did inside. he always kept you there because that’s where you deserved to be. you were his wife and the mother of his (soon to be) child.

he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, pulling the covers back up over you and him, cuddling you close. his hand rubbing over your belly with the fabric of his own t-shirt covering it. “your so very beautiful, baby. i love you so much. even when you don’t see it.” he says against the side of your head, pressing another kiss there.

you melted into his arms, your eyes fluttering close in exhaustion and in content. you didn’t feel so insecure and anxious anymore. you knew that he had been off, but he was just as stressed as you. he had to be, you were going to be a mom and he was going to be a dad.

it was a lot of pressure.

but as long as you both had each other, you knew you guys could do it. the rings on your hands symbolizing the best and worst parts of you and him, the parts that you accepted and promised to love forever.

and with him, it would never be scary. not if you had a husband like leon, and he would love you just as much as the baby inside of you.

it was a part of both of you, that could never be unloved. not if either of you had anything to say about it.

an: hope you guys enjoy. i couldn’t deny a double upload this week, my bad lol. i love you guys so much and i hope you enjoyed. happy friday!! i’m gonna be opening my requests again soon. i wrote this when i was ovulating so no harsh judgement. please reblog and like, kisses. xx.

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @argreion @sqiim @adollrable @leonkennedygvrl (if you wanna be on my taglist interact with the link at the beginning)



[beuxwhoyouare]

Dressing Room Score

All the couples wanted the day off for Valentine’s Day but I took those shifts so quickly because hello it’s free money! I took the apparel section because it’s the easiest place to get a peak at the dressing rooms. I’m not a perv I swear, but I can’t help myself. I always kept one vital of bodysuit serum on me. All the eye candy going into the dressing rooms was like a buffet of options. Men, women, pets! Shit I don’t discriminate I love trying on another persons experience to see how they live.

We were getting a weird crowd today since all the couples were out and about. The store was filled with miscellaneous randos so I went through most of my day thinking I struck out. As I locked in refolding some destroyed sections of t-shirts, a customer came up to me asking for help locating more of a certain item I absent mindedly answered looking at what was in his hand before looking up. My words stopping in their tracks as I saw his face.

He was so adorable and dorky looking in his face but the outfit he already had on told a different story. Leaving little to the imagination, it inferred he was going on a date or going out but I didn’t want to inquire too much. I like my mouth mindlessly answer his inquiries as I kept looking back to ogle at his outfit.

Eventually he asked to use the dressing rooms and I knew this was basically my chance. We walked slowly to the rooms and as he walked into the tiny space I quickly pulled the syringe out, stabbing him in the neck behind his back. The mirrors lining the room couldve saved him but he was oblivious of his surroundings.

He began turning into a suit hollowing out into a mound that looked like skin colored liquid latex. I quickly pushed him into the dressing room with me to avoid spectators. As I latched the door, I turned around to see the process completed. I knew I was operating on limited time and quickly pulled his skin on. I love putting on a new body that’s stacked with muscles that I’m not. It’s like you feel bloated, but in a good way because it goes straight to your muscles and any other places you differ in size…if you get what I mean. He was clearly a grower because I didn’t feel anything crazy there though.

I looked through his wallet to figure out a name and basic details. Okay, Reese is the name 5’9” is the height okay there’s the address. Wait the best part! I whipped back upright standing and smiling towards my new phone.

I decided to save the rest of the excitement for privacy gathered my new belongings and headed to the address on my ID. I fumbled through several keys before eventually finding the right one as I pushed my way into a very nice but neutral looking apartment. It definitely gave upper class gay which is what I always pretended to be so this would be easy to embody.

I quickly began stripping as I hastily searched for the closest full body mirror. I wanted to see the goods from every single angle. I ripped the belt holding up my very fitted pants, dropping them down to my ankles and I just gasped at what I could see.

Reese was had the type of body I was always afraid to have. He’s so conventionally attractive that while I wore him I felt like I couldn’t control myself. I needed to push it to the limit and see what I can do.

I headed down to the gym matching the sign in tag on Reese’s keys and just pretended to be there for a good workout. I mean I did go for a workout just not that kind.

I had a hard time breaking a sweat, which only intrigued me more but I headed to the locker room to take pics. I was just so obsessed with his juicy chest. Thankfully this was the better strategy because I kept getting passing glances until someone finally took initiative and approached me.

The man was such a daddy, something I could’ve only hoped to previously attract before. He nearly demanded I come with him after he got dressed and who would be to not oblige? I got in his big truck and we made our way to his home. I don’t know how I deluded myself into thinking I’d be the dominant one in this situation but the second the house door closed behind me. The burly daddy manhandled me and pushed me onto his bed. Gentle and slow was only a dream I could’ve hoped for because that man whipped his beer can out immediately and shoved his way in.

Don’t get me wrong he was BIG but that was the moment I learned what Reese did well. He was a power bottom. There was no moment of pain, me and my new hole took it like a champ. The in and out of his aggressive pace was matched by my new muscle memory eagerness to accept it.

He attacked my muscular backside as I finally began to break a sweat. Loud moans escaped my mouth. I couldn’t control it like an animalistic cry. As I thought I was reaching my limit I came on myself as he kept going. That would become a recurring theme.

Every day I’d show up to the gym and act like the slutty himbo I wanted to be. Ending up at a different home, condo, apartment every night putting my new orifices to work.

[piggytfs]

(inspired by the one & only @fattystoriez, this is a prequel to Preston's 18th Birthday)

Travis had always prided himself on his ambition.

At eighteen, he already had a promising future ahead of him — a scholarship to a top university, a beautiful fiancée named Megan, and a baby boy only months away from being born. He planned to be the kind of father he never had growing up. His own father, Carl, had walked out on the family when Travis was still in diapers.

The night of his eighteenth birthday was supposed to be a celebration. Megan had planned a homecooked dinner and game night with Travis's mom and a few of their close friends. But everything changed when Carl showed up unannounced. A heavy fist thudded against the front door, and Travis was the first to answer.

It had been years since Travis had even heard his father’s name spoken, yet there Carl was, standing on the porch — he was a bald with a thick, dark beard. His huge, beachball sized gut had burst through the buttons on what must have once been a nice dress shirt, and the sour stink of beer and gas clung to him like a second skin. Travis focused on the sheer girth of the man, the way his massive belly jiggled as he drew in a ragged breath. Even his huge, hairy tits couldn't be contained by his XXL shirt.

“Travis,” Carl greeted with a gruff voice and a wide grin, exposing his yellowed teeth and exhaling the scent of cigarette smoke and fried food. “Figured I oughta be here for my boy’s big day.”

Travis barely managed to keep his disgust hidden as he frowned at the obese, raunchy man. Even after being told about his father’s betrayal, Travis liked to fantasize about who Carl actually was. As a kid, he imagined his dad was a police officer, or an astronaut. He liked to pretend Carl's job had been why he couldn't stick around, but the man standing in front of him looked more like a stereotype of a dirty plumber than anything else.

The truth was hard to come to terms with. Travis stared at the bloated man as his huge gut bounced and sloshed with lard, unable to be contained by his useless shirt. His father was nothing like the man Travis planned to become. This man was an obese, bald loser with hygiene issues and an a smoking addiction.

Still, something in Carl’s intense gaze made Travis's stomach twist. He could hear it gurgling.

Travis needed to hear Carl's side of the story, so he quickly stepped onto the porch and closed the front door behind him with a quiet thud. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and the meaty stench of a fart seemed to orbit around the massive man he struggled to view as his father. "Mom isn't going to allow you inside, but you drove here, right? We can go to the diner together. I'll at least hear you out."

The pickup truck the two squeezed into seemed to amplify all the smells, like belches and farts were embedded into the old leather cushions. The thick girth of Carl pressed against Travis, shoving the slender teen against the car door as he found himself literally stuck between a rock and a very fat place. Travis was able to notice that they had a similar eye color and the same dark, curly brown hair. Only, Travis still had it on his head, and Carl had it around his chubby, sagging face. The similarities ended there: an athletic jock and an obese slob driving in silence.

Once they arrived at the diner and received their orders, they passed the first few minutes with awkward small talk. Carl barely touched his towering stack of maple drenched pancakes, watching Travis intently. Travis found himself eating eagerly, as if he hasn’t already eaten the breakfast his mother had cooked only a half hour ago. Finally, as the meal wound down, Carl leaned in, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers up Travis’s spine. The musk of his father rolled over him in a thick wave. “You ever wonder why I left, boy?”

Travis swallowed hard. He was so close to finally having an answer, but opening up about his feelings was a daunting task. He had always longed for a father, but was it worth it to stoop this low? “I figured you just didn’t care enough to stay.”

Carl chuckled, his fat gut pressed against the table and making it shake, but there was no humor in the sound. “Not exactly. You see, men in our family… we got a curse. A blessing, really. But it don’t matter how hard you fight it, how much you wanna be different. It’s in your blood.”

Travis frowned, having to clear his throat as his voice began to take on the same hoarse quality as his father's. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Carl pulled something from his pocket—a grease stained, crumpled old photograph. Travis hesitated before taking it. The man in the image was almost unrecognizable, but the longer he stared, the more it all started to make sense. It was Carl in the photo, younger, leaner, and with a striking resemblance to Travis himself. It was shocking to see how much a human's body could change over the years.

“That was me at eighteen,” Carl said, his hand rubbing circles on his engorged, hairy belly. It was jutting out from his dress shirt like a hairy beachball, begging to be worshipped. “Before it happened.”

Travis scoffed, about to throw the photo the ground when a sharp pain twisted in his gut. He doubled over, a cold sweat breaking out across his body as he started to tremble. The gurgling was back again, a tightness in his stomach that made him feel like he needed to pass gas.

“What the—?” The words died in his throat as heat surged through his limbs. His fingers were shaking, his vision blurred. And his muscles, once lean and toned, tingled—then they began to soften. Like someone was pumping him full of dough. His chest felt itchy before the firm definition of his pecs sank into soft, pliant flesh. Dark curls of hair started to poke through his skin. It didn’t take long before the front of his shirt was stretched by a pair of saggy man boobs. Travis’s arms thickened, his lean biceps swallowed by layers of fat.

And that was only the beginning.

He gasped as his stomach pushed outward, stretching his shirt until the fabric groaned and began to tear at the seams. Rolls upon rolls of flesh surged forth, his abs dissolving beneath an avalanche of lard. Every trace of his old physique was being swallowed by a body that began to look increasingly like Carl's. His thighs ballooned, pressing against each other. His once-taut ass was spread out and sagging against the chair beneath him. Travis felt his asshole twitching between his swampy crack. His fat ass cheeks jiggled as he squeezed out a hot, sputtering fart against his will.

PRFFFFFFFFFFFFT!

The smell came next, and it was noxious. A deep, pungent musk seemed to ooze from his pores—thick, sour, inescapable. He reeked of body odor, stale sweat, and something heavier, something rotten.

“No—No, this isn’t—” His voice was deeper now, rougher, his breath coming in ragged, phlegmy wheezes. His vision cleared just enough to catch his reflection in the diner window—a bloated, thirty plus slob stared back at Travis. His sharp jaw had disappeared beneath jowls, his youthful face buried beneath a double chin and stubble. Sweat had soaked through his now ruined dress shirt. The flimsy fabric clung to his hairy gut for dear life. His belly looked even larger than Carl’s.

The buttons didn't take long to start flying off.

Travis stank. And worse—he was getting used to it. He breathed in deep, his shrinking cock twitching as it rubbed against his soft, fat body.

Carl laughed, clapping Travis on the shoulder. “Ain’t no fightin’ it, son. We were meant for this life. Me, my daddy before me, and now you.”

Travis wanted to scream, to fight, but his body was betraying him. A deep rumble built in his gut before he let out a thick, meaty belch. The sheer release sent shudders of disgusting pleasure through him. His cock—once proud and athletic—twitched beneath his huge gut, crushed under his fat pad. He tried to cling to his identity, but his memories of the old Travis were fading fast. He wasn't strong enough to stop himself from burping and farting them all out,

PRFFFFFFFFFT! BELCH.

Megan. His unborn son. His future.

All of it—

Gone.

A new hunger replaced the old ambitions. The thought of responsibility, of fatherhood, of discipline, felt foreign to the hog now. A greasy, gluttonous craving overtook everything else. His stomach gurgled loudly, demanding more. Without thinking, he reached for the pancakes Carl was ignoring, shoveling sugary bites into his mouth, moaning at the taste. His nub of a cock leaked pre down his fat leg. He was so happy he couldn't help but jiggle for his Daddy.

Carl leaned back, grinning as he squeezed and played with his own gut. “That’s my boy.”

As Travis sat there, gorging himself and flaunting his size, his past life faded into a distant haze. He wasn’t meant to be a father. He wasn’t meant to amount to anything of note. "Oh, Daddy. Thank you." He was only meant for this—to be a lazy, filthy slob with no worries beyond when his Daddy would provide his next meal. The two of them were now bonded for life, and the old Travis disappeared without a trace.

And the best part?

He was absolutely in love.

"This was the best birthday yet, Daddy. Yer gonna have to let me repay ya." Maybe the other diner guests should have been shocked to see the obese, filthy father and son began to fondle and play with one another in public. Their huge bellies met across the table and rubbed together as they moaned. It seemed that Travis had some latent magic of his own, the same blood curse his father warned him about. The hornier Travis got, the more the diner begun to heat up. And the more the guests became hotter and hornier and hungrier, too.

Travis heard the clothes ripping as men swelled to epic proportions.

And he heard the grunting sound of pig-like men shoveling food down their throats.

From a visiting businessman to the diner's very own chef, no man was safe from the magic that Carl and Travis unleashed.

And Travis was too busy sucking on his Daddy's fat tits to notice.

[ralfmaximus]

This week, the US National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) stunned safety advocates by proposing new vehicle rules that it says will help reduce pedestrian deaths in America. The new rules appear aimed directly at the trend of increasingly massive SUVs and trucks, which have been shown to be more deadly to pedestrians than smaller and midsize vehicles.

FINALLY we're doing something about these fuckoff huge pickups & SUVs. Guess what happens if Trump gets back in office?

[subliminal-beef]

🐮👉 NO MUSIC VERSION: https://ko-fi.com/s/5aff8dc438

💖👉 CUSTOM SUBS: https://ko-fi.com/subliminalbeef

✨👉 RUMBLE BACKUP: https://rumble.com/c/SubliminalBeef

Moo~! As you can probably guess, this is the booty growth, butt inflating, ass expanding entry in the breathing/air series

These affirmations are intended to 'enchant' each inhalation of air you take, to cause exponential, limitless and aggressive growth in the listener's butt, thighs and hips.

Basically purely thiccening the lower-half! It also 'enchants' every exhalation of carbon dioxide you make.

Every breath you let you will erode and melt away limiting beliefs, doubts and hesitation when it comes to achieving your goals~ 😍

Imagine feeling the waistband of your pants cinching tighter and tighter, knowing there's no way that you can simply stop breathing, as each puff of air taken into your lungs makes you a more and more exaggerated caricature of extreme feminine curves!

This booster should technically be able to be boosted, by my other boosters!

...How's that for a sentence 🤣

This is designed to work for anybody of any gender or persuasion!

Just like with any subliminal audio, this shouldn't be a substitute for professional care and consultation, and should be treated as for entertainment purposes only!

Please always remember to take care of yourself and make sure that the things you pursue in life are for YOUR happiness!

[after-witch]

The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Title: The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Synopsis: You're a District 2 school graduate who comes to the Capitol with her father before the 11th Hunger Games. You don't expect to meet anyone kind, especially not someone named Coriolanus Snow who offers you his arm, his smile, and treats in secret. 

Word Count: 5270

notes: yandere, abusive relationship, non-graphic descriptions of torture and death (not against reader); uses a mixture of book and movie canon

The Capitol was not as dazzling as your father described it but then, he had seen it before the war. Though perhaps it was your own bitterness that made you ignore the signs of returning prosperity that sets it above everywhere else.

The repaired elaborate buildings, the fresh pungent smell of plaster and paint. The cars pumping exhaust fumes into the air. The low rumble of garbage trucks that pick up bright green garbage cans, some of which are actually teeming with plastic trash bags. Such waste was unheard of, even in the oh-so-loyal District 2, where only the lowest of the low find themselves starving.

Although not-starving didn’t mean that everything was plentiful. 

You, though, were lucky enough to avoid the lima bean heavy diet that some of your classmates (now former--graduation was months ago) lived on. Or were you? The meat that graced your family’s dinner table, the pats of butter on toast, were all courtesy of your father’s  immense talent in building creative weapons that allowed the Capitol to stamp out every last bit of rebellion in the Districts. That allowed them to regain control. That allowed them to create the Hunger Games.

Which is why you were in the Capitol now. Oh, not to participate in them. Your father’s status in District 2 had seen to that; it would be a scandal if the name of his beloved daughter were to ever be pulled. 

You were there because your father had been given a lucrative contract, one that was sure to cement your family’s wealth for generations: a contract to build high-tech weapons for the Hunger Games themselves. 

They would still be killing. But on a much smaller scale, you supposed, than the weapons your father designed during the war. 

Still. Blood was blood. And if it had to be spilled, well, there was nothing you could do about it except hope they died quickly. Especially the ones from District 2.

Last year’s Games’ had been awful enough. Your family had watched the Games on a modest television set in the privacy of your living room, sent courtesy of the Capitol. 

You wondered if you would ever get the sight of Marcus’ battered, bloated face from your mind; if you would ever unhear the way his body thumped to the ground when that girl had killed him, out of mercy. If you would ever stop imagining what it must have felt like in those last moments.

But it wasn’t all horror. You’d liked Lucy Gray well enough, even though she was from 12. She had a wild way of dressing and the singing--it was practically theatrical, compared to what you’d heard about the previous games. 

Maybe that was why your father got this contract: theatrics. Maybe the games would be more dramatic from now on. Maybe they wanted tributes like Lucy Gray, who sang and spit and poisoned her way to Victory. It was strange, really, that there’d been hardly any talk of her since her win. 

“Father?” You asked, quietly as you could. 

Both of you were standing in the foyer of the grand university in the Capitol. The outside was still a little ravaged, but inside, it was perfectly lovely. Walls lined with books--perhaps some of them were fake--and marble floors and marble busts dotting the sight lines.

“Mm?” He replied, eyes scanning over his clipboard. He flips it, here and there.

“I was just thinking. About last year’s games. About Lucy Gray, and how the Games--”

Your father rounded on you, eyes suddenly serious and blazing.

“Quiet. Weren’t you paying attention on the way here?” Admittedly, you were not. You’d been daydreaming about what you might do now that you were done with school. There was no university in District 2, and your father hadn’t even mentioned a job. “You’re not supposed to mention--”

“Not supposed to mention whom? Ah, ah, ah. Lucy Gray Baird?” called a voice, almost in sing-song.

Your father stood up stiff, and the life seemed to drain from his face.

Both of you look towards the sound of the voice, and now it’s your turn to stiffen. The voice came from a woman standing in the doorway of the very office that your father was waiting to enter. She was wearing an elaborate jacket made of what looked like rainbow snake scales. Her hair was gray and curly. She had, you realized, two different colored eyes. 

Your father swallowed, and you could see the apple of it bob up and down. It made you think, abruptly, of suckling pigs. 

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, in a voice far too tight to be relaxed. “I apologize for my daughter’s insubordination, I assure you, she meant no--”

Dr. Gaul waved her hands at him and approached you. 

“Did you like last year’s games?” She didn’t look angry. No, she looked delighted.

“I…” It was your turn to swallow, your turn to feel that tightness. “It-it was the first time I’ve watched them, ma’am.” You want to ask this woman: do you think I liked watching someone from my District 2 so horribly? Or any District, really? Did I like it? 

Her smile grew wider. 

“I’m glad. You’ll be watching them every year from now on, I hope. We have big plans.” Her eyebrows raised high. “Big changes. Thanks to men like your father.” She glanced at him and you saw disdain flicker across her gaze. 

And then another door opened, and you heard the sound of polished shoes on the marble floor. Dr. Gaul’s attention dropped away from you like you were nothing at all. She turned to meet the sound of these footsteps, and you did too.

It was a young man. Probably your age, you thought, with light blonde hair and eyes that your mother would have described as “baby blue.” He didn’t look at you, or your father. But that was nothing new. You’d only been in the Capitol for 2 days, and you’d already gotten used to being treated as lesser than. Though, at least, you were not so far down on the food chain that you lost your tongue. 

“Ah, my protege,” said Dr. Gaul, giving the young man a grin. The smile on her face almost looked warm, which was somehow far more terrifying than her manic smile from earlier. “Ever the earnest student. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying the day off, Mr. Snow?”

The young man, this “Snow,” chuckled and lowered his gaze. “I couldn’t stay away once I heard you were discussing some of the new prototypes for this year’s games.” 

He finally looked at your father, and then at you. But only briefly.

“Can I assume that this is…?”

Dr. Gaul nodded.

“Yes. My little designer from District 2. And his daughter.” Her voice dropped a few octaves when she referred to you. She probably didn’t want you here, you thought. You weren’t supposed to come, but your father had begged the Capitol for a pass; it would probably be your only chance to see it, he said, so you may as well take advantage of the chance.

Snow nodded to your father. It was a surprising gesture, almost respectful. But cold, too, like it was done from necessity rather than anything else. 

Your father stammered a bit and nodded back, and you felt shame begin to creep into your bones. It wasn’t fair, to be lesser-than. But weren’t others lesser-than you in your own District, where you ate better food and never worried that your name would get picked, that your blood would be spilled?

Everyone 

But when Snow turned to you, he smiled. It gave him dimples. 

It was the first kind smile anyone in the Capitol gave you. 

“My name is Coriolanus Snow. I doubt you’ve heard of me, but if Dr. Gaul’s teachings have anything to say about it, perhaps one day you’ll know me as a Gamemaker.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Congratulations, one day you’ll be coordinating Games that kill people? Instead,  you gave your name, voice squeakier than you meant it. But it was fitting, you supposed. Here, you were a mouse, hoping you would get a bite of cheese and make it home unpoisoned. 

Dr. Gaul’s face seemed to react slowly, as if she couldn’t decide what she thought about his words or your interaction, but a small smile grew on it, eventually. “I do have high hopes for you, Mr. Snow. Now, shall we?”

She gestured for your father to follow, face once again impassive with a sprinkle of disdain, as she led the two of them into her office.

Snow gave you a smile and a nod before he left.

You waved, stupidly.

Your father didn’t even look back.

--

I’m dead. I’m dead. I might as well be dead.

Your heartbeat kept time with your racing thoughts as you went up and down corridors, begging your shoes to be silent, wishing your breath would catch and stop coming out in terrible pants.

You were lost. You weren’t where you were supposed to be. If someone found you, if the wrong person found you, they would think you were running, trying to get lost in the Capitol; they’d think  you were a rebel. They’d shoot you.

Just when you thought you might collapse and die from your own nervous exhaustion, you heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

Your name.

It was only the moment after that you realized it didn’t come from your father’s mouth, but the lips of--what his name--Coriolanus Snow. The young man who was a Gamemaker-in-training, or so your father said. But that’s all he would say. He kept tight about anything that went on behind closed doors. 

But this Coriolanus Snow smiled at you, and didn’t look at you like you were some kind of insect he might want to pin on a board, and so when you whirled around to look at him you were smiling.

Ah--for a moment. For just a moment, you saw his muscles tense. You saw the expression on his face falter in worry. Like he thought he was about to miss a step on a staircase, and corrected himself; like he thought you were a wolf and you were only somebody’s dog, off their leash. 

But it wasn’t too surprising. You knew most people in the Capitol thought anyone from the Districts wanted to rip out their throats. 

Well, the worry was mutual. Except in your case, you were forced to walk around with the living proof of that worry--all those “Avoxes,” they called them. Without tongues, without freedom. 

But you swallow all that. Because he smiled at you. Because maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend. Especially right now.

“I’m--I’m lost,” you tell him, giving a shaky smile. “I was waiting for my father, but you see, I got to thinking, and I started to wander around and now I’m… well. I don’t know where I am, actually.”

His smile wasn’t very deep, was it? It was like the gloss of paint on the outside of the Capitol buildings. Pretty to look at, but there must be more underneath.

You expected him to lead you right back to where you’re supposed to be.

Instead, he asked you something.

“What were you thinking about?

You couldn’t tell him. Could you? But something about 

“About… the Games.”

You don’t tell him that you were thinking about Lucy Gray and all those snakes, and the way that Dr. Gaul’s outfit that first day made you think of them. Because your father had slapped you across the face when you got back to your lodgings that night, and told you to never, ever bring up Lucy Gray Baird or the 10th Games unless you were directly asked. And you would probably never be asked. 

Coriolanus gave a little snort through his nose. You liked it. It was nice to know that even Capitol people could seem a little dorky.

“They aren’t for another 3 months. Are you that eager to see them?”

You didn’t know what expression you made, exactly. It was so instinctive and fast that you didn’t have time to control it. 

You only knew that it made him shake his head and offer you a sympathetic look.  

“I apologize. That was rude, wasn’t it?” 

And then he did a strange thing.

He offered you his arm. 

Like you were Capitol, like you were a real person, and not some visiting District wench walking on the coattails of her arms-dealing father. 

“Let me walk you back to the waiting area.”

And the stranger thing?

You took it.

--

You and your father were quickly moved into a small apartment within the university, once it became clear that he would be staying in the Capitol through the duration of the Games. It was best, he said, because ordinary people in the Capitol didn’t really want to see new faces from the Districts mingling around unless their tongue had been cut out first. It made them nervous. The rebel bombings, and all that.

You didn’t mind, because it meant you didn’t have to be flanked by Peacekeepers on the streets. 

And, well.

You got to see Coriolanus more often. Sometimes he greeted you, sometimes he didn’t. He did it less often when Dr. Gaul was there,  unless she was talking to your father and it gave him an opportunity.

He asked you things, too, when he caught you walking back to your father’s little apartment. Like what you did back home. What you liked to do. Whether you went to school, and what you planned to do now that you have graduated. 

This morning, he caught you drawing while you waited in a chair outside Dr. Gaul’s office. Sometimes you waited there--you would admit to no one that it was to catch a glimpse of the kindest person you’d met in the Capitol--and other times you stayed in your temporary home.

“What are you drawing?” He asked. But he had a way of speaking that you’d quickly clocked into. He can make a demand sound like a polite little question. Oh, he wasn’t mean about it, but it reminded you of the way your father talked to his underlings back in District 2. On his home turf, he was far smoother than he was here, where his voice stammered and sweat beaded on his neck.

So you handed it over, even though, to your greatest embarrassment, you’d drawn… him.

“Why me?” He had a smile on his lips. His smiles were nice. Kind. The kindest you’d seen since you came here. But they always felt like that fresh coat of paint; like you didn’t know what he really meant by them, and that was how he liked it. 

“You’re… important,” is all you could come up with. You felt small, then. He would dismiss and probably never want to talk to you again. What a stupid answer from a stupid girl. 

But he just smiled. It was like paint peeling a little.  You could see underneath that he liked what you said, although you weren’t exactly sure why. And his expression tightened up so quickly, protecting what you’d seen, that you weren’t entirely sure if it was real or not. 

“I’m just a humble student at this university. Not so important. Not yet.”

--

You were really going to die, now. This wasn’t some panicked imagination gone wrong, some flight of fancy that took a wrong turn.

A pair of stony-faced Peacekeepers had walked up to where you sat in the waiting area near Dr. Gaul’s office and ordered you to come with them.

You asked to talk to your father. They said no. You asked where you were going. They yanked you up. 

And now they were leading you down hallways that you’d never seen before, where there weren’t even Avoxes roaming the halls with brooms and dustpans. 

They didn’t even answer, just spun around and walked back the way they came. You pushed the door open reluctantly--what the hell was going to be on the other side?--and it was--it was--

It was Coriolanus. Standing there in a nice suit, eyes downcast on a book. Until the door creaked and he looked up.

“What--why did you bring me here? Did I do something wrong?” The thought went through you, that perhaps this had all been a test, to see if you were loyal to the Capitol and he’d found you wanting.

“No,” he said, simply enough. He set the book down and gestured for you to step inside. You did, because what else were you going to do, in some strange room in a Capitol University where you’d been forcibly brought by Peacekeepers.

Snow studied your face. Your eyes darted around, from him, to the room, to the door. 

“I wanted to see you,” he said, a little softer. “In private.” 

“Me?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But… why?”

He smiled. “Come now, you’re a smart girl, even if you aren’t in university.” 

You really didn’t know. Not at first. But then you watched the way his expression softened, and you remembered it, or glimpses of it, that he’d given you before. When he complimented your drawing. When he said your name. When he escorted you back from the maze of hallways. And his smiles, all his smiles, although you were never sure how much they meant coming from home. 

He took a step closer. You didn’t dare step back. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back, but it didn’t matter, either way.

He pressed his lips to yours and took your first kiss, in a secluded little study in the heart of the Capitol University. 

--

Your days became routine, although the routine was strictly forbidden and could have probably gotten you executed or at best, gotten you a one-way ticket to a tasteless existence.

You wake up. You stay in your apartment.  You wait for the Peacekeepers. You get summoned here and there, always private rooms, secret rooms, rooms out of the way. You meet Snow--Coriolanus, he said, call him that--and you talk (well, mostly him) and kiss and sometimes a little bit more. He gives you gifts. Trinkets, necklaces that you can only wear under your shirt. Food, flaky pastries made with mountains of sugar, sandwiches made with cream and cucumber. 

But how much longer could it go on? The Games were going to start soon. As soon as they were over, you were going back to your District. There would be no more meetings, no more kisses. No more wondering how far he wanted to go or why he liked you or even if he even liked you as anything more than someone to keep him busy. 

You didn’t dare talk about the Games, but you did talk about this. In the kindest way you knew how for such a sensitive subject. 

“I’ll miss you,” you told Coriolanus after one meeting, when you’re both sitting on a sofa and he’s got your fingers tightly wound in his. He squeezed them tight.

“Miss me?” 

“After the Games,” you clarified. “We’re being sent home right after.”

He squeezed your fingers until it hurt a little. Then he looked up at you. To see if you would say something? Or did he not know how strong he was?

“Oh, that. I can arrange for you to stay.”

Your chest began to feel sick.

“Stay? In the Capitol?” You were torn about Coriolanus, but you didn’t want to stay here. You couldn’t. 

“Yes,” he said, as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “You wouldn’t be the first person from the District granted such an extreme privilege. I’m sure I could--”

“But I don’t know if I want to stay.” 

His gaze narrowed and you felt your stomach clench. He looked at the necklace you’d pulled out as soon as the door was shut, at your lips where a dollop of strawberry cream still rested. 

“I treat you so well, and you don’t know if you want to stay with me?”

His voice was calm, and that scared you. It would have been better if he flew off the handle.

Instead, he simply stood up and gently sent you out the door, and called the Peacekeepers to bring you back to your apartment.

--

Every night for the last week, you have cried yourself to sleep. Because every day for the last week, Coriolanus Snow has not sent for you. Not even once.

What if he told someone? What if you got sent back early, and your father was shamed? What if they broke his contract? Or--worse, worse, worse. There were so many worse things than merely being sent back to District 2.

And then he sent for you, and it was the longest walk of your life, though it was no farther than any of the times you’ve been escorted to your secret meetings.

This time, when you pushed open the door, Coriolanus was not alone. 

There was an Avox in the room. 

It was someone from District 2.

You didn’t know her. Not personally. But you saw her, before. She worked in one of the munitions factories and you watched her walk to work from your classroom window sometimes. Then she stopped showing up, and you thought perhaps she got married. 

That delusion was shattered the moment you saw her, eyes downcast to the floor, wearing a simple gray tunic. 

It’s not until Coriolanus tells you to hurry up and come in that you’re able to move. Even then, you weren’t sure how your body did it; how your arms managed to gain the mobility to shut the door, to twist the lock; how your legs moved, one foot in front of the other, until you were standing stiffly in front of him.

The Avox--you wish you knew her name, but she couldn’t give it to you now, even if you asked--moved seamlessly to a table set up nearby. There was tea and sweets. The sort of thing that you and Coriolanus had been enjoying together for the past few weeks. The sort of thing that you were sure would sit sour in your stomach, now. 

The cup shook in your hands when she handed it to you, and your tears dripped right into the tea.

Coriolanus glanced at the Avox and waved his hand. She left obediently. She would never tell the secret she witnessed in his room, that much was certain.

And then he looked back at you.

“Don’t cry,” he said. Soft but firm. A command, not a coo. “You shouldn’t cry here, in the Capitol. You should be grateful to be here. You should be grateful that I’ve arranged all this for you.”

“I am,” you whispered. 

“Then show me that you are.”

And you did. 

You said what he wanted and looked to him to show you how he wanted you to act, and did just that. You didn’t argue, even to lightly banter. You kissed him and nodded along when he told you about how things would be after the Games, when he had arranged for you to stay.

All you had to do was keep him happy until the Games were over, and then you could go home. 

Bitterly, all of this made you realize just how much of your father is in you; he knew how to appease the Capitol. You could do the same with Coriolanus Snow. At least until the Games were over. Just keep him happy until the Games were done and the blood was spilled, and you would go home. 

They wouldn’t let him keep you here after the games. You were sure of that. You’d overheard some of Dr. Gaul’s assistants murmuring how glad they would be to send the District profiteers like your father home once the Games were over. And you? You’re just his useless daughter, an appendage he brought like an unwelcome suitcase. Why would you be allowed to stay?

--

The Games were over. The winner was from District 1. 

You were going home any day now. Just as soon as your father finished tinkering with the designs, gave his notes on improvements that might be made for next year.

The thought gave you a delightful bounce in your step. It was like having a pat of sweet butter in your shoe on a day when you needed good luck-- District 2 superstition, although the strict rationing meant most people didn’t have even a pat to slip into their shoes anymore.

The sweetness didn’t even disappear when the Peacekeepers showed up to bring you to Snow. It was going to be a bittersweet farewell, you were sure. He might be angry. But you would kiss him and tell him that there was nothing he could do, and how sorry you were not to be able to stay, but that was how things had to be.

Except they didn’t bring you down a maze of corridors that led to a secluded room.

They brought you right into Dr. Gaul’s office.

Breakfast threatened to evacuate your stomach with every step. Not just because of nerves, but because of what you saw. Rows of experiments in glass tubes; some of them move. You walk by a room with a half-open door that showed someone strapped to a gurney, face contorted in a silent scream as they fought against restraints. You almost did lose breakfast, then.

But somehow you made it to the desk of Dr. Gaul without a dribble of vomit to show for it.

The Peacekeepers left with no fanfare and you stood there, ramrod straight. Did she know? Was she going to tell you that you were going to be strapped to one of those gurneys, now?

“I’m keenly aware,” she said, keeping her hands primly folded, “on how much you’ve enthralled my star pupil.”

Toast. That’s what will come up first, you thought . The toast.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.” Your voice was so thin and tinny that you didn’t even believe yourself.

And then the prim facade cracked, and Dr. Gaul threw her head back and grinned.

“You really think I don’t know everything that goes on within these walls?  I know every time one of my lab assistants runs into the bathroom to throw up after a particularly nasty experiment. I know every time one of our university professors sneaks into a closet to down a vial of morphling with a student. And I certainly know when my newest protege is having an adorable little District girl brought to him for… canoodling.”

You weren’t even embarrassed. No.  You just felt terrified to the bone. You only hoped that you’d be killed, shot against a wall, instead of made into an Avox. Let there be some mercy in this world. 

”He’s asked to keep you, you know.” Her voice was low, almost a drawl. She tapped her fingers on her desk rhythmically.

“My Coriolanus Snow wants a bird of his own.” Her smile turned darker. “Not a songbird, though. Oh, no. I think he’s had enough of those.”

Her gaze bored into yours, each color magnified by her intense expression. “I think if I let him have his pretty caged bird, he’ll be happy. He’s more productive if he’s happy.” She smiled. “I like productivity. It keeps the Games more interesting.”

She looked you over one more time, and then waved you away.

“I’ve granted his request. You’ll be staying here indefinitely, courtesy of one Mr. Snow. Your father has already been told.” 

You were wrong.

It was not the toast that came up first, but the sweet butter you’d patted on top.

--

You still had your tongue, but you felt as though it was useless, stuck to the roof of your mouth, as Coriolanus fussed over your outfit. Or rather, as he directed an Avox to fuss over it for you. He could afford his own personal servant, now, he told you. He’d almost flinched after he said now, and you didn’t dare press him on it. Had he not been able to afford one before?

“We can’t walk arm-in-arm in public,” he said, walking around you, making sure the outfit was just-right. “But you can stand by me if I stop and direct you forward.” He reached over and fixed one of your buttons. “Don’t speak to anyone unless I’ve told you to, or they speak to you first. Always address someone older as ‘sir,’ or ‘ma’am.” He pointed at your hair, and the Avox began to fuss with it, eventually covering it in a colorful wrap that Coriolanus said was popular right now. “Address someone our age by the last name and Mr. or Ms.”

When he was satisfied with your appearance, he sent the Avox away. You liked it better that way, it was one last reminder of the horrors in the Capitol, even for someone “privileged” like you.  You’d only been without your father for 3 days, but you felt like your nerves were continually on fire. You wanted to go home. You wanted your family. You wanted out of this place.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

For now, you were still living in the small university apartment the Capitol had given your father. Coriolanus insisted on it, until he could figure out how to move you into his own sprawling apartment that he shared with his cousin, Tigris (who, at least, genuinely sounded lovely) and his grandmother, Grandma’am. She was the sticking point, or so you were told, with a thin smile. She hated Districts, and she ought to, he said. They killed her son. His father. 

She would hate you, too. Even if Coriolanus wanted you enough to make you stay with him; wanted you enough to keep you. But for how long? And would he change his mind, if you couldn’t fit in? 

He said your name, and you snapped yourself out of your thoughts. He held you by your shoulders. Gently. Like one would an unruly child that hadn’t yet learned that there were such things as salad forks and dinner forks, as polite conversation and etiquette. 

You got the feeling you wouldn’t have long to learn all of those things and more, to make him happy.

“Remember,” he said. “You’re District. You’re here because the Capitol has recognized that your loyalty can benefit us in some way. Be grateful.”

“I am,” you said, reflectively.

“Be happy..”

“I am,” you said again, your chest hitching.

He smiled at you. Was it real or not real? 

You smiled back, regardless. And he liked that, evidently, because he leaned forward and kissed you. Then he scrutinized your face and wiped at your lips with his thumb--the kiss had smeared your lipstick. 

“Good.” 

He gestured towards the open doorway. This time, he didn’t take your arm. There would be too many people lingering in the university hallways, all making their way to the soiree held to celebrate the end of this year’s Games and discuss what improvements might be made for the next year. 

You dutifully walked behind him, just like he said. And you would do exactly what he said in all respects. You would stay quiet unless you were spoken to, you would certainly never bring up anything confrontational or controversial, and you would make a good impression. You would be a loyal, grateful District citizen who was given the opportunity of a lifetime thanks to the graciousness of Coriolanus Snow. 

Of course you would. 

Your life depended on it. 

[hoggobblin]

The actual inflation is always going to be my favorite part but there’s also something so hot about the idea of living as a permaberry. You probably only need some hydration and sunlight to live on but it’s still pleasurable to have someone feed you whenever you get the itch. And you will need a handler because you can’t move without help. You have to be rolled wherever you go. You won’t even fit through most doors. You can’t fit in cars or buses or trains unless you’re packaged into a truck or boxcar like the fruit you are. The only job suitable for you is to produce that sweet juice that’s filling you up to near bursting. You can be juiced by being squeezed like a berry, or milked like a cow from your blueberry tits, or it can be fucked out of you in a burst every time you orgasm. No matter how much juice comes out of you, you swell right back up to bloated and round and helpless. You’re not human anymore, you’re stuck living the life of a giant blueberry.

[fattystoriez]

Preston’s 18th Birthday Pt.2

Content Warning: Homophobic Slurs, Forced Weight Gain

The truck pulled into the driveway of the house Preston once called home. The suburban front lawn, perfectly trimmed and pristine, was a far cry from the trailer park slum they had just left. But something inside Preston had changed—he didn’t see this place the same way anymore. It felt sterile, clean to the point of being suffocating. He couldn’t wait to see how his daddies would look rolling around in filth.

“Alright, boy. Time to split up,” Travis rumbled as he killed the engine. His deep Southern drawl oozed with pride as he smacked Preston’s fat jiggly belly. "I’ll take care of one faggot, you take the other.”

Preston nodded as they exited the truck, his bloated body spilling out of his too-tight gym shorts and stained t-shirt. His skin glistened with sweat from the short walk to the house, but he didn’t care—he liked the feeling now. The stench of Travis’s trailer was all over him, a rancid musk that filled his nostrils and made his fat cock throb in his soaked briefs. He knew it would only get worse from here.

He waddled inside, his gut leading the way, leaving Travis to deal with one of his dads in the living room. Preston had his sights set on Vince, his adoptive father, who was always in the kitchen around this time. Preston’s belly jiggled with every step, the weight of his transformation settling into his bones like it had always been there. The trailer park had changed him, but the change wasn't done.

He pushed open the kitchen door to see Vince standing by the counter, tapping on his phone. The sight of his dad made Preston’s stomach growl, not from hunger, but from the anticipation of what was about to happen. Vince looked pristine, dressed in his usual light blue suit and pink button-down, looking like he was ready to entertain guests. His soft jawline and graying hair gave him an air of sophistication, the kind of gay dad who thrived on dinner parties and keeping up appearances.

But Vince didn’t know what was coming for him.

“Preston?! Oh my God… Preston, what happened to you? We need to get you to a hospital—”

Before Vince could finish the thought, his phone was ripped from his hand, and Preston slammed it down on the counter. “No need for that, Daddy Vince,” Preston growled, his voice thick with the same Southern drawl as Travis. “I’m feelin’ better than ever.”

The musk rolling off Preston’s body hit Vince like a brick wall. It was vile, a disgusting stench that made his eyes water and his stomach churn. But something about it was… intoxicating. Vince’s hand trembled as he tried to reach for the phone again, but Preston was quicker, his fat fingers gripping the back of Vince’s neck and pushing him toward the counter.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, Daddy,” Preston whispered into Vince’s ear. “You’re gonna join me… just like I did with Travis.”

Vince struggled, but his body felt weak against Preston’s growing strength. His mind was hazy from the overpowering stink his son was giving off. His eyes darted around the room, trying to make sense of it all. Preston had been a jock—a fit, handsome boy with the world at his feet. And now… now he was this bloated, slobbering pig.

Preston’s hand reached for the tray of cupcakes that were meant for his birthday party, the colorful frosting catching Vince’s eye for just a second before Preston shoved one into his mouth.

“Mmmph!” Vince tried to protest, but Preston’s grip was too strong. The cupcake forced its way down his throat, the sugary sweetness filling his mouth. He couldn’t stop chewing, even though his mind screamed at him to fight back.

“That’s it, Daddy… eat up,” Preston said with a cruel grin, his fat fingers grabbing another cupcake and shoving it into Vince’s mouth. “Time for you to join the family tradition.”

As Vince choked down the cupcakes, something started to shift. His body betrayed him as his flat stomach began to bloat, the buttons on his pink shirt straining under the sudden pressure. His smooth skin rippled as fat began to accumulate, his once slightly defined chest turning into sagging moobs that jiggled with every forced bite.

“N-No… Preston, stop… I don’t—” Vince’s voice was barely a whimper as another cupcake was shoved into his mouth.

Preston was relentless, forcing more and more cupcakes down his adoptive father’s throat. Vince’s belly swelled, his love handles spilling over the waistband of his suit pants. His soft jawline puffed up, turning into a thick double chin that wobbled with every chew. His perfectly tailored pants ripped at the seams as his ass grew into a sagging mound of fat, jiggling obscenely as he tried to squirm away from his son’s grip.

“Look at you, Daddy Vince,” Preston taunted, ripping off his dad’s suit jacket and throwing it to the floor. “You’re becoming just like me. A fat, stinkin’ slob.”

The buttons on Vince’s pink shirt finally gave way, popping off and flying across the kitchen as his swollen belly pushed forward. His gut was huge now, soft and jiggling with every movement. His bulge, once noticeable in his tight pants, had shrunk into a pathetic nub, barely a bump under the layers of fat that had taken over his body.

Vince’s mind was slipping. The more Preston force-fed him, the harder it was to think. His once clear mind was clouded by the overpowering stench of his son’s musk, and the sensation of his body swelling with fat. He could feel himself changing—his mind dulling, his desires shifting. He didn’t want to fight anymore.

“F-Fuck…” Vince muttered, his voice barely a slurred whisper as he leaned back against the counter, his now enormous belly resting on his thighs. “I… I feel so… disgusting…”

Preston grinned, grabbing one last cupcake and shoving it into Vince’s mouth. “That’s the point, Daddy. You’re one of us now.”

Vince moaned, his fat body trembling as he finished the cupcake, crumbs falling into the deep creases of his belly. His once clean and pristine self was gone, replaced by a bloated, stinking slob. His body was covered in sweat, the smell of his own filth mixing with Preston’s musk.

Preston stood back, admiring his handiwork. Vince was unrecognizable, a far cry from the polished, sophisticated man he’d once been. Now, he was just another fat, greasy pig.

“Welcome to the family, Daddy,” Preston said with a sneer. “My real daddy is taking care of Daddy Brent."

Travis lumbered up the stairs, each step creaking under his massive weight. The air of sophistication and cleanliness of the house made his skin crawl. It was far too pristine, too perfect—nothing like the life he and Preston were now embracing. The putrid stench of his own body clung to him, a walking reminder of the filth he reveled in, and he couldn’t wait to share it with Brent, Preston’s other adoptive father.

He reached the top of the stairs and paused, catching sight of the bedroom door left slightly ajar. From inside, he could hear the sound of music softly playing, and the faint scent of cologne wafted into the hallway. Travis grinned—this was going to be fun.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the room, his massive bulk filling the space as his eyes landed on Brent. The man was standing in front of a mirror, adjusting his shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal his muscular, hairy chest. Brent was the polar opposite of Vince—where Vince was soft and well-dressed, Brent was a picture of rugged masculinity, with his bald head, thick beard, and toned body.

Brent turned around, startled by the intrusion. His sharp jawline tensed as he took in the sight of the hulking, sweaty man who had just entered his room.

“Who the hell are you?” Brent demanded, his voice firm, but there was a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He didn’t recognize the grotesque man standing before him, but something about him seemed eerily familiar. Before Brent could press further, Travis let out a loud, wet fart that echoed through the room like a thunderclap.

The stench was instantaneous, a vile cloud of filth that filled the air and overwhelmed Brent’s senses. His eyes watered, and he gagged, stumbling back onto the bed in shock.

“Jesus Christ… what the fuck is wrong with you?!” Brent gasped, his hands going to his nose as if that could block out the rancid smell. But it was no use. The stench clung to everything, and the room felt like it was closing in on him.

Travis chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made Brent’s skin crawl. “You’re ‘bout to find out, boy,” he said, stepping closer to the bed. “This is what happens when you’re part of our family.”

Brent’s head was spinning, the overwhelming odor and the dizzying sense of something being terribly wrong gnawing at him. His muscular chest rose and fell as he struggled to catch his breath, but his strength was fading. It was like the air itself was thick with poison, draining him of his will to resist.

Travis loomed over Brent, placing his massive, sweaty hands on the man’s broad shoulders. “Relax, big guy,” he growled, his voice dripping with smugness. “You’re gonna love this.”

Brent tried to pull away, but his body wasn’t responding the way it should. The dizziness was growing worse, and the feel of Travis’s hands on his skin made his body tingle with an odd sensation he couldn’t shake. Travis began massaging Brent’s shoulders, kneading the muscles with an unexpected gentleness, though the stink radiating off him never let up.

With every movement of Travis’s hands, Brent could feel his body changing. The definition in his abs, which he had worked so hard to maintain, began to soften, the firm ridges giving way to a layer of fat that bloated his once-toned stomach. His hairy chest, which had been one of his proudest features, began to sag, the muscles turning into soft, jiggling moobs that rested heavily against his torso.

“W-What… the fuck…?” Brent groaned, his voice trembling as he tried to make sense of what was happening to him. His sharp, bearded jawline began to blur, fat accumulating around his face until a thick double chin formed beneath his once-chiseled features. His designer button-down strained against the rapid expansion of his body, the fabric pulling tight as his belly swelled, and his love handles spilled over the sides of his pants.

“Just relax,” Travis grunted, his hands now moving lower, massaging Brent’s sides as his love handles plumped up even further. “You’re turnin’ into the pig you were always meant to be.”

Brent’s mind was a fog of confusion and disgust, but the worst part was… he couldn’t fight it. The smell, the sensation, the sheer wrongness of it all was drowning out his ability to think clearly. His bulge, once noticeable and proud in his black dress pants, was shrinking into a pathetic nub, barely discernible beneath the growing mass of his fat gut.

The buttons on Brent’s designer shirt began to pop off one by one, unable to contain the rapidly expanding girth of his belly. His chest hair, which had once been thick and masculine, now looked out of place on his sagging moobs, the flesh jiggling with every slight movement. His dress pants ripped at the seams, the fabric tearing open to reveal his hairy, flabby thighs and sagging ass, which now jutted out like a mound of jello.

Travis grinned, stepping back to admire his handiwork as Brent collapsed onto the bed, his massive body too heavy to support anymore. “Look at you, boy,” Travis sneered. “You’re nothin’ but a fat, filthy pig now.”

Brent’s mind was slipping, his thoughts clouded by the stench and the rapid transformation his body had undergone. He could feel the sweat pouring down his face, his body bloated and disgusting, but… there was a part of him that didn’t care anymore. The stink that had once made him gag was now… familiar. Comforting, even.

Travis leaned down, his face inches from Brent’s, and let out another rancid fart, the sound echoing in the now-filthy bedroom. Brent barely flinched this time, his glazed eyes staring up at the ceiling as the room filled with the foul odor.

“You’re one of us now,” Travis said, his voice low and commanding. “A fat, stinkin’ slob, just like Preston. Just like me.”

Brent moaned, the last of his resistance crumbling as his body gave in to the transformation completely. His designer clothes lay in tatters around him, his once-muscular frame now nothing more than a massive, jiggling mound of fat. The sharp features that had once made him so handsome were gone, replaced by rolls of flesh and a slack, dumb expression.

“Get used to it, boy,” Travis growled, patting Brent’s bloated belly with a satisfied smirk. “You’re gonna be livin’ in filth from now on.”

Brent barely registered the words, his mind too far gone to process what had just happened. All he knew was that the life he had once known was over, and there was no going back.

Travis stood up, leaving Brent to wallow in his own filth as he headed back downstairs to check on Preston and Vince. The family was finally complete.

The living room felt different now, it was heavy, thick with the smell of sweat, musk, and filth. Travis stood at the center of it all, his massive arms crossed over his bloated gut, grinning with pride as he surveyed his handiwork. His family was complete, and there was nothing left of the pristine life that Preston’s adoptive dads had once known.

Brent waddled down the stairs first, his designer shirt now nothing more than a few tattered pieces of fabric clinging to his flabby frame. His chest sagged, hairy moobs jiggling with every step, and his once sharp jawline had completely dissolved into a thick, quivering double chin. His eyes were glazed over, a dull look of submission and satisfaction etched across his face as he reached the bottom of the stairs, the sound of his heavy breathing filling the room.

Vince shuffled out of the kitchen soon after, his light blue suit bursting at the seams. His fat belly hung over the waistband of what was left of his pants, and his pink shirt had burst open, leaving his chest and stomach fully exposed. His hairy skin glistened with sweat, his body now a mountain of fat that jiggled and wobbled with every clumsy movement he made. Vince’s face was slack, his double chin wobbling as he took in the sight of his new family with a dumb, contented grin.

Preston stood between his two dads, looking like a grotesque reflection of the man he had once been. His athletic build was gone, replaced by an even larger belly than his fathers’, sagging moobs, and thick love handles that spilled out of his overstretched clothes. His eyes sparkled with a newfound joy—he had embraced his transformation, and there was no turning back. The remnants of his old life were buried under layers of fat and the overwhelming stink of their new existence.

“Look at you boys,” Travis growled, watching as his creation unfolded before him. “All fat, stinkin’ pigs, just like me. Ain’t no goin’ back now.”

Vince’s once smooth jawline was now buried under layers of fat, his double chin quivering as he leaned in to press his face against Brent’s hairy moobs. He inhaled deeply, the scent of his husband’s sweat filling his nostrils and sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine. Brent, in turn, let out a low, guttural moan as he squeezed Vince’s bloated love handles, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh.

“Feels good, don’t it?” Travis grunted, stepping forward to join his new family. He reached out, grabbing a handful of Preston’s fat ass, the flesh jiggling beneath his grip. “This is what you were always meant to be, boy. You and your daddies.”

Preston let out a shuddering moan as his dad’s words sank in. He felt complete, whole in a way he had never known before. His fat body was his new reality, and the stench that clung to him, the sweat that dripped down his rolls of flesh it was all part of the life he was meant to live.

Travis stepped back, his arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold before him. His family was finally complete, each one of them a bloated, stinking reflection of himself. He had turned them all into ignorant, rancid, obese, gainer pigs. And he couldn’t be more proud.

Preston, Brent, and Vince continued to grope and explore each other’s bodies, their hands sinking into the rolls of fat that now defined them. They were lost in their own world of filth and pleasure, their minds fully given over to the transformation. The remnants of their old lives had faded away, replaced by the primal, piggish existence they now embraced.

The sound of their moans and grunts filled the room as the family of slobs reveled in their new life.

[spurbleu]

hands

s. johnny has a way with making you abandon shame

johnny mactavish x afab!reader. cw. public(ish) fingering, implied handjob, desc. female anatomy. unedited.

his hands aren’t that much bigger than yours, you’ve discovered.

it’s one of those stupid cliche’s. movie on the hood of a rusty Chevy, your pa’s, because Johnny’s working on his own. he promised to “take ye for a ride soon, bonnie” and is covered in enough grease and oil for you to believe him. sits like a second skin against the stubble of his jaw. patchy, warm.

he leans over to you, dry lips a whisper from the shell of your ear. it’s at the point in the movie where the couple kisses in the rain, and a knot forms in your belly when you see him shift next to you. patient and expectant.

“gimme yer hand.”

you follow his instruction, if only to hold the frog in your throat. he takes it in his own, guiding it gently over his palm. your digits rest on opposite bends, each fingertip a shy handful of centimeters from his own.

it’s silly, but the notion that even as a bull of a man, well fed and broad shoulders, built from barnacle and the iron beneath his truck, he was still so close to you. quite literally, just out of reach.

“aye, they look good together, no?” and as he wraps his other arm around your waist, you nod slowly, swallowing the giddiness that bloats within your lungs. his lips collect the skin under your ear and you gasp, tensing in his embrace.

it’s dark, no one is looking at the old tree to the south of the movie screen, but a shyness bred by polite mothers and angry fathers wet your lips. a waning denial that this is everything you’ve wanted the minute you jumped the fence to meet your boyfriend for a secret night out.

“Johnny…” your hand finds purchase on his work shirt as he lays his leg down from its propped position on the dash, leading your connected hands to your thigh. his fingers interlaced yours now, gentle as you held him tighter.

his hand slips from a clammy hold to your wrist, guiding your hands from your thigh to the line of your jeans. his mouth hasn’t moved from its spot under your ear, but the pattern of its exhale tell you he’s not really focused on kissing there anymore.

“cmon sweetie. nae one’s lookin. jus ye n me….”

your throat is dry, but the saliva has gone somewhere else entirely. pooling, hot and teething between your thighs, biting at the sweet nub that since dating Johnny, had been at the forefront of you mind.

your mother would scold you for being ‘easy’- call you unladylike and say he’ll leave you. but Johnny seems to fall more in love with you everytime you give yourself to him. it’s reassuring, grounding.

and, while you’re discovering things about yourself, it seems you also can’t help falling too.

you unbutton your jeans and unzip the fly, and you hear him sigh at the sight of the purple lace. trim fanning across the hot plush of your stomach. a tease, but enough that under your hand you feel his heart thrum dangerously fast.

“‘ere she is…”

you follow his lead, slipping your hand under your the thin fabric, biting your lip when the familiar but welcomed feeling of your fingertips meet sodden folds. you lean your head on his shoulder and he moves his head to your scalp, pressing a kiss there and mumbling, low and gravely,

“such a needey girl.”

you nod, rubbing drunken circles against your clit. you haven’t touched yourself like this in a long time, and it’s already frenzied, but there’s something about an audience that makes you molt.

it’s not insecurity, Johnny has always made sure of that. don’t ye dare be embarrassed Bonnie, he’d say, everything about tis is beautiful.

you can’t help the flush the peppers your under eyes- he knows this, and you think he loves it. seeing you squirm, fighting church guilt and the pleasure that breathes out of you, for him.

there must be a pride in it. you won’t complain, because since it, you’ve explored the parts of you it was hard to look at, and enjoy it.

he stiffens when you turn, silencing your moan by biting his shoulder.

a lull.

“fuck.” he yanks his hand from your side and swipes your hand away, before wiggling his digits down and folding his fingers into your cunt.

must’ve seen your groan coming, because as soon as he did he clamped the other against your lips, moan lost into the grimy lifelines on his palm. he curled his fingers, angling the heel of his hand against your clit, smirking against your head when you began to rut against it.

“quiet nae, bonnie. wouldn’t want too much of an audience nae would we?”

you gasped, his hands digging into the sponge of your cunt, your pace on the butt of his palm speeding, earning small groans from the hood of the Chevy. he hummed.

“workin so well on my fingers, girl. such a great performer,” he paused, head moving towards to movie, “betchye’ ye could be up tere, on the big screen,” he forced you to look at him with his palm still over your mouth, “fuck, love when ye look at me ike tat.”

bright blue. type that scares you a little in the dark, looks unnatural on dogs and anyone that isn’t him. restless and tundra cold, but somehow within you they’ve found away to kiss and hold and melt.

your walls clench around his fingers and he sucks a breath between his teeth.

“gonna cum fme? cmon now, easy, give it.”

three more shuddering ruts and your legs crowd his fist, string of curses smothered in hot breathes against his hand. your orgasm has you tattered, in need of repair, of his greasy fingers and tool kit to roll under you and split you open again, and again, and again

the unzipping of a second fly pulls your from the shore of your orgasm. it grabs your attention shamelessly, on his lap, legs spread wide, his cock glistens against the dim lighting of the movie.

they’re kissing again. he grins.

“ma turn, bonnie.”

his hands aren’t much bigger than yours, but lord, does he know how to work them.