do you think that you could expand upon your warewol!steve/caretaker!bucky where he has to keep steve drunk and fed during a full moon??? I love it so much
werewolf Steve
I can!
I imagine that in wolf form, Steve's metabolism runs even faster than his human form metabolism, so hours after Bucky has fed and bloated Steve, before and after his transformation, on the night of the full moon Steve's hungry again...
Warning for belly kink content ahead! Of course. Stucky with bloating, stuffing, alcohol consumption, animal play (werewolf with "puppy" as a nickname), and the tiniest mention of omorashi, etc.
Bucky jolts awake from his place on the couch, his chin on his chest, putting a kink in his neck, as a result of...
Something?
A noise?
There's no blanket thrown over Bucky because he wasn't supposed to be sleeping. He wasn't supposed to be sleeping when he had a drunk puppy on his hands! He was supposed to be keeping tabs on that puppy. Werewolves often get up to no good (whether they mean to or not) when transformed, and you add beer to that? Shit. Bucky is going to have some mess to clean up, isn't he? He groans. It was reckless to let himself fall asleep! He should've drank some coffee or something! Damnnit! So much for being a night owl! Hopefully, whatever trouble Steve has sniffed out, it's just nothing involving other people.
But, still, what the hell woke him up? He's glad for it, but he's still confused.
Upon beginning his investigation, Bucky fully expects to spot a broken-in door, a smashed window, or something else speaking of his mistake, allowing his intoxicated werewolf to escape, falling asleep with Steve transformed. But, he doesn't.
He doesn't see... anything.
Huh?
Tiredly, Bucky squints through the darkness, trying to figure out where the hell his wolf is. He wishes, in the back of his mind, that he had Steve's night vision. That would make this easier. Bucky lightly slaps his own cheeks, waking himself up, scouring the living room, and -
Oh.
There he is.
Bucky's eyes have to drop down to spot Steve. He's in the shadows, still on the floor where he was the last time Bucky was awake. He's moving. In the light of the full moon, Steve is struggling - through his white, sharp teeth, he's panting. Every once in a while, he lets out high-pitched whines, too. His wolf body is muscular all over, rippling and bulging... except for his gut. Well. His gut is bulging. And, okay, well, his gut is also kind of rippling. It's jiggling, at least. Heavily moving as he squirms around. It's got a lot of cargo. There's a lot for gravity to sway. He's big.
Was he that big when Bucky fell asleep? Shit.
After watching for a moment, Bucky realizes that Steve is trying to push himself up off of his side where his gut is spread out next to him like an overfilled water balloon. Resting on the floor. Large. Straining around all that beer and meat that he scarfed down. It doesn't look as tight as it was before, but it's still massive.
Then -
Bucky hears the noise that woke him up again. A monstrous growl. Deep and angry and coming from the pit of Steve's stomach.
That's why he's moving.
He's hungry.
Oh, God, it occurs to Bucky that Steve might be a monster, but Bucky has created a monster.
Steve's eaten so, so much and yet... he's still fucking hungry. He needs more food. The wolf needs more food. It demands it. And he's struggling, squirming and pushing, trying to get it. Steve's huffing and grunting and panting and whining as he tries to get himself up off the floor so he can go hunting.
More. That's all the wolf knows. Hungry. More. Now. The wolf is gluttonous and reckless.
Bucky is so stunned with arousal that he can't hardly move. How will Steve possibly stomach more? Bucky just watches for a little longer, his eyes open as wide as they can be in the dark, desperate to catch as much detail of this as possible. Suddenly, his mouth is dry. Steve is rocking and pushing and -
Christ.
Steve, as bloated and stuffed as he is, makes it onto all-fours. His gut sloshes - settling between his legs and arms, hanging massive below his body.
Steve pauses once he's on all fours with a satisfied sound. A little exhale. He stretches, too, arching his back and - cute - wagging his tail a little. Pleased with himself.
Bucky is pleased, too, just watching.
The best part of it isn't Steve's sounds, nor is it his wiggling tail or his arched back. The best part is how Steve's heavy, belly-full of semi-digested food and drained beers is scraping the ground. He's so large.
He's massive.
Huge.
So, so round and bloated that as he tries to take a clumsy pawstep forward, nearly tipping back over (that must be the beer talking), his belly drags on the ground. Bucky can hear it. Scraping along the floor. He can barely get his arms and legs around the huge belly attached to him as a result of (a) his intoxicated state and (b) the size of him. It's too much for his body to handle.
As he waddles along, having a hard time, belly too big, he whimpers. Meanwhile, his belly growls. His belly sounds like the big, bad wolf; he sounds like a poor, little woodland creature, scared of being eaten.
His gut is the scary monster, if anything.
Bucky watches for as long as he can stand it. His fingers twitch. He wants to touch. He wants to drag his fingers down his arched spine and grab those big, swollen sides. He wants to pet his hot, swollen gut. Scratching his nails through his fur until Steve whimpers some more.
Bucky eventually can't stand it. He makes his own sound - a growl, like Steve's glutted and yet still hungry tummy. His sound is much less frightening, though. He's hungry, too. But not for food...
Bucky grabs some food anyway.
Steve moans happily upon realizing he isn't alone. He isn't the only one here. He can get someone to do his hunting for him. He can get someone to feed him. But he doesn't stop moving. He tries to keep crawling, moving slowly and wobbly forward, trailing behind Bucky. The way his fat body moves is entrancing. Heavy, bowed sides swaying. Side to side. Every heavy, exhaled breath. Laboring. He's too heavy. Too big. Too fat.
And he needs more.
"Stay." Bucky says in his best, most stern voice.
Steve whimpers but pauses. He looks dopey, staring up at him, drunk.
"Good boy," Bucky scratches his ears and adds, "sit."
Steve thumps down obediently with the closest thing to a sigh a werewolf can make. His heavy, bulging belly falls between his legs, touching the floor. Swollen. He looks relieved, all that weight off his paws. For now.
Bucky collects another six pack of beer from the fridge. Make it two. Just in case.
He spins on his heels and makes it back to the part of the living room that Steve managed to crawl to. It's not very far from where he began Bucky notes with a smirk.
"Open, boy, be good," he whispers.
Steve's keen ears pick it up easily, and he flashes those pretty chompers at Bucky. Wide open, just as his stomach growls viciously. Bucky's pulse quickens in his chest. He swallows thickly. And -
He cracks open the first beer and, without holding back, pours it down Steve's mouth. No hesitation. His mussle acts like a perfect funnel. Going right down.
He pours and pours and pours.
One bottle. Two bottles. Three bottles.
Bucky swears he can hear Steve's gut gurgle as the beer drains into him. Expanding. Growling. Swelling. Larger and larger. Rounder and rounder.
Four bottles.
Five bottles.
Six bottles.
Steve looks massive.
He has a globe of a gut.
The red flush between his fur is getting darker. His fur, his skin is stretching more and more. Steve is squirming more and more. Fuller and fuller. His tail is wagging. He's drunk as shit. Happy as all hell. And so adorable. A fat, drunk puppy.
Bucky shushes him when he runs out of the first pack. Still, Steve whines, begging wordlessly for more. He needs more. Bucky can feel it coming off of him in waves. He's desperate.
"Okay, pup, one second," he soothes, pushing Steve down onto all fours once more. Rough. He can't wait. Bucky can't. And Steve... Steve's gut has bloated out another few inches (maybe even more than a few 😏), leaving his gut not just brushing the floor but pressed tightly against the floor. Squishing against the floor.
Bloated.
Swollen.
The sight is too much.
Bucky might be too rough with the next bottle, popping it open harshly and shoving it harshly into Steve's waiting mouth. But, it works because he's swallowing almost before Bucky's started pouring. And he's certainly drooling.
He wants it. So bad.
One. Two. Three.
The bottles go down so easy.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
Steve burps hugely, tongue lolling out of his mouth, sloppy with drool. He can't help it. Drunk puppy.
Four. Five. Six.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
Steve's tail is really going now. It's not too fast and not too coordinated, but it is cute. Wagging. He's so happy to be full. Pleased. Satisfied. He looks so...
Good.
Bucky can't take his eyes off of his back. He's arching his back insanely. The weight of his gut it insane. Bucky can hear it gurgling. Sloshing around. All that beer settling inside him. But he can also see the evidence of his gut from just looking at his back. The sides of his gut are so massive that the bulge out. It's reminiscent of an overdue horse with twin foals. Absolutely massive.
Bucky rounds him, looking at him from the back now, he trails a hand down that pretty arched spine and through his fever-hot fur. He blows out a harsh breath. Steve whines and wiggles his butt and tail. Bucky growls in response, animal himself, and squeezes his fat sides with both hands. Handfuls. He's so tight. So hot. So big.
Steve groans.
Bucky slaps his flank like he's a pony, "look at you, spoiled puppy," he murmurs darkly.
Steve squirms even more. Panting harder. Yes.
"Is this-" he squeezes him even harder "-enough for you? You full enough, you hungry beast?"
Steve positively melts with a needy whimper.
"Oh, yeah, you're full up, aren't you?" Bucky laughs, dark, "for now," he warns, smirking. "You'll be through all this in a while, won't you, puppy?" Bucky pets his distended, tight side, "then you'll be squirming trying to get up around your big, fat globe gut when you have to piss, whimpering at me to open the door and let you outside, won't you?" Bucky lays on all the faux sympathy he can, "poor puppy. You're never full enough until you're dibiliatingly full. What a hard life that must be."
Steve is rocking into his own gut, Bucky realizes. He's not squirming to get up and feel all the sloshing, liquid weight; he's humping. Animal in chasing his base-most desires. Bucky knows if he reached under the massive underside of his gut he'd find a nice, hard, hot knotted cock waiting. Ready to rut because nothing gets the deviant beast harder and more ready to go than an all-out orgy of gluttony.
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