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beefrobeefcal · 4 days

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an Ezra & Cricket One Shot: Brass Knuckled Debauchee Summary: Ezra, after abusing your healing talents, returns to make good on his debt... for a price.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 4,752

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), weight gain, eating, edging, soft!dom Ezra being an overall ass, teasing, begging, crying, malfunctioning prosthetic limb, the occasional swear

Author's Notes: requested by two (count'em - 2!) lovely babes for the 900 Friendo Celebration - thank you to @xdaddysprincessxx and @morallyinept for bringing Ezra some love.

Huge thank you to @strang3lov3 , @noxturnalpascal & @bitchesuntitled for their beta badass skills and to my ever lovely beta fish, @neverwheremoonchild. None of you will understand the depths of gratitude I hold you all in.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

You’d cared for him when his appendage was newly parted from his person, after a young woman dumped him off at your meagre midwife’s centre.

You hadn’t delivered a baby in at least eight cycles, but you were busy tending to broken bones and crushed limbs from the mine nearby, so the idea of caring for a wound caused by a missing arm wasn’t far from your everyday.

What was far from the standard men in your care was that this one wouldn’t shut up. Truly. You’d never met someone so close to death spew such a narrative. You almost wished to have him out of his misery just to stop his linguistic vomit.

Thank Kevva for sedatives.

You didn’t even want to know his name, worried that if you had his, he’d need yours and there was no way someone this sick and wounded that could carry on like he’s memorized a thesaurus wasn’t capable of performing a hex or a curse on you.

After three blessedly quiet and devoid-of-narration days, the open wound where his arm once hung from was no longer festering and the fever that wracked his body broke. Despite your own desire to keep him silent, you stopped administering such a high dose of the sedative, and you allowed him to regain consciousness.

For the first little while, all you heard was his steady, deep breathing, so you left the room to grab some water and liquified sustenance for him, figuring that when he would finally come to, he’d be hungry.

“To what do… do I owe the pleasure?”, you heard croaked as you walked softly back into the room.

“Oh good…”, you replied flatly. “You’re awake and talking.”

The remainder of his stay that time had revolved around you doing what you could to keep his mouth occupied enough to keep it quiet; you fed him. By the time he’d left, he’d made you aware of his name – Ezra – and bestowed a nickname on you for lack of giving your own. Cricket. He then made the terrible promise to return to see you and left with a wink and a smile.

Your whole body bristled at the thought of having to deal with him again.

*****

The first return visit he made, his confidence and vocabulary were still obnoxiously inflated. Whining of a bruised rib, you resumed your frustrated feeding to keep him down to two to three sentences and responses between mouthfuls.

The second time he returned, he stated that he had been ‘brutalized by a deviant, one who you should not even be told of his true form else your fragile and virtuous mind be stained’. There wasn’t a single mark on him, save for a bite on his only arm that looked to be self-inflicted. He enjoyed himself, smiling between bites of food.

By the third visit – complaining of a sprained toe - you knew that he knew that you knew what you were doing - and vice versa. Despite this, you fed him, and he ate very well. After several days of ‘healing’, he hauled himself up and it was then that you noted his flight suit looking like it was getting tighter around his middle.

Those visits happened in a fairly rapid succession, but a longer period – more than six cycles at least - lapsed before he darkened your doorway and approached your desk once again. Without even looking up, you knew it was him, having heard his cavalier long-form salutations being crooned out at anyone he passed approaching your unit.

“What now?”, you sighed in irritation, dropping your head into your hand, not bothering to look up at him – something you would come to regret to save yourself future embarrassment. You didn’t see him close your door and lock it behind him.

He approached your desk, and his hand came into view along with a mechanical one; the smooth-as-silk tongued devil was now outfitted with a prosthetic arm that looked like it had been stolen from a brass skeleton and had gears added. Your eyes followed the mechanical limb up to the hem of his shortened sleeve, hiding the joint between it and what remained of his actual arm. The new colour of his clothing caught your attention, too, pulling your eyes to his torso. Yes, it was definitely a different colour. He was no longer in the moss greens and soil browns you’d associated with him. Now, he was in a dark blue flight suit with a gold zipper that looked to just be barely holding together.

Your brain paused to take in what was in front of you.

“No more chirps for me, sweet Cricket?”

His raspy, southern drawl sounded sweeter than you’d noticed before as your eyes took in the added weight on his middle. Before looking up to his face, you noted the way the zipper rippled from the strain and the clear indent his belly button made as the fabric pulled taut across his expanse.

His face. As soon as you took it in, you regretted not doing it first. He’s held you in his big brown eyes’ gaze before, but you’d been able to avoid being trapped. But this time you couldn’t help but let them absorb you. His smile widened as he slightly leaned forward, arms putting further weight on your desk.

“You seem at a loss for word, Crick-“

“You’ve been eating well.”, you managed to croak out in a somewhat aloof-sounding voice, nodding towards his middle.

He didn’t shrink back at your comment; instead, it seemed to embolden him. “You started me on a path of decadence that a mere man such as myself isn’t able to easily shake.”

He stood to his full height, eyes never leaving yours. “Is that all you noticed?”, he grinned, lifting his brass appendage, bringing the crude and simple brass hand to his face, smoothing over his moustache.

Your lips parted then closed and parted again before you were able to spit out, “I saw y-… I see you got a new… limb.”

His eyes gleamed at you, seeing his every move had you further in his grasp. You inwardly scowled, chiding yourself on how quickly you were falling under his spell. Narrowing your eyes, you shrugged at him.

“Looks old.”

If it stung him, he didn’t show it; he simply kept that smile on his face and continued to look down at you from across the desk. “I’m not its first owner.”

The pleasantries had only lasted a few more moments before Ezra moved around your desk and hovered over you.

“I’m here to return the favour, Cricket.”

“...Favour?”

“For all the hard work you put into bringing me back to my full health.”, he cooed lowly as his brass hand cooled your cheek with its feather-light touch.

“It’s nothing... I was just doing my j - “

He leaned over you further, cheshire grin pulled menacingly across his face. His voice slipped into a lower pitch and his eyes darted from your eyes to your mouth.

“Doing your job would have been to send me away when I appeared with erroneous and fabricated injuries and illnesses. You, my sweet Cricket, stepped over and above the threshold of your employment and I intend to repay you for your sweetness in full.”

You sucked in a few shallow breaths and nervously swallowed. This was a side of him you hadn't seen, assuming that he was a submissive and pliant brat who’d chosen you to dote on him. But no. There was no favour he intended to pay back. He was just sizing you up and wrangling you into his web, and now he was out loud declaring that you were his prey. His eyes were dark and fixed on you, in contrast with the gentle smile on his face.

“Don’t be nervous, sweet Cricket. You can tend to your own wounds afterwards. Now, let me hear you chirp.”

His brass arm shot out and gripped your wrist tightly and he pulled you from your seat. Dragging you to the maternity room, he tossed you onto the low soft bed.

“Ezra!”, you squeaked as your body hit the push mattress below you.

He dropped to his knees and crawled up, forcing your legs apart, and his belly barely grazed your middle as his face lined up with yours. You let out an involuntary whimper.

“Oh, sweet Cricket. How badly I wanted you on your back, making those sweet vocalizations your namesake promised me.”

His flesh and bone hand gently grazed your face and moved to the back of your head, softly fisting your hair, forcing your head to stay still as he traced his nose along the contours of your face. His eyes remained half lidded and he watched as your own rolled back when he pushed his knee into the crux of your thighs, knowing he had all but your verbal consent.

“This is all you need, sweet Cricket? Someone to light the way?”

All you can muster as his hold on your hair tightened and his knee applied more pressure was a light whine through your parted lips.

You wanted to respond, but the moment you opened your mouth, Ezra’s brass arm made a clunk sound and began to shudder.

“Oh, for Kevva’s sake.”, he muttered, sitting up on his knees as he examined the arm. It made a mechanical sound before it shuddered again, then a higher pitched noise droned as the arm vibrated.

You watched him sitting between your parted legs as the realization of what he had at his disposal dawned on him. Your eyes widened as he turned and looked at you like a starved man with a wild grin.

“Sweet Cricket, I think I could go for a bite to eat.”

*****

Once you’d gotten some finger foods together and brought them back into the room, you found Ezra laid back in a mountain of pillows on the bed. He nodded his head towards you and raised his hand, beckoning you to him.

“Come on, Cricket. Tend to your weary traveller.”

His eyes were glued to you, cascading up and down your form, as you hand fed him. He’d had a few pieces of the savoury pastries when you felt the cool touch of his brass hand slide between your thighs.

“Curious...”, he mused as he chewed. “… that when I make a certain motion with my appendage, it malfunctions in such an amusing manner that I know you will find benefit in, pet.”

Your brows furrow in question and before you can ask how that could benefit you in any way, the arm made that clunk sound again. You felt the vibration between your thighs and your eyes widened.

“Ez – oh fuck!”, you gasped as he pushed his knuckle up against your mound and held it there firmly.

Your mouth was open, allowing shallow panting breaths to puff out and your eyes were closed with your brows pinched as the shuddering vibrations pulsed against you. You’d never felt anything like this before in your life and you thanked Kevva.

The low amber tones of his voice cut through to you and pulled you out of your silent prayer. “Now, sweet Cricket. We are both here to derive enjoyment from one another given we both now have the intel on each other’s vices. You can’t go holding out on me to seek your fruition – that is not fair.”

He pulled his hand from contacting your core, and your eyes snapped to his, a pleading whimper bubbling out from your pouting lips.

“Uh-uh, Cricket. We will play fair.”, he growled in warning. His smile dropped as his features darkened, and he nodded towards your suspended hand holding a small meat-filled pastry. “Don’t you dare hold out on me.”

Shakily, you brought the morsel to his mouth and as he took it in and let his tongue touch your finger, his hand once again pressed against your core.

*****

Ezra had continued to eat and finished over half of platter. But every time you started to get close to your peak, he would pull his hand away, leaving you a shaking mess.

“P-please… Ezra, please!”, you begged mere seconds away from ecstasy.

“I am not finished, sweet Cricket.”, he said with a mouthful. “You will be sated when I have found my fill, and we are not yet there.”

You could have screamed at him, strangled him in a rage. “Ezra please! I - ”.

The warning look he gave you stopped any further pleading. Your mind reeled, trying to find some way to get relief. You could kick him out and try to finish yourself off with your fingers, but you knew it would be fruitless; you’d never gotten this worked up on your own before and you doubt that you had anything in this clinic that vibrated at that frequency.

As you trembled and panted, Ezra watched, amused at how clearly you were seeking a solution to the problem he’d created for you.

“Cricket…”, he cooed, soothing his biological hand up your arm and to your face. He gently guided your chin towards him. “Sweet Cricket, come back to me.”

When your frantic gaze met his, his eyes softened and creased as he smiled. “I will not leave you unfinished. I repay my debts, darling nurse.”

You sighed in defeat, nodded, and took a deep breath. Your eyes trailed down to his noticeably rounder middle that made the already strained zipper pull at the seams of the fabric. He shifted in what looked like discomfort.

You put down the current half-filled plate of food and reached for the zipper tag, tugging it down. It only got to the beginning of the swell of his belly before you met resistance. You tugged a little harder, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Suck it in.”

“Now, Cricket, let’s not be hast-“

“I said suck it in.”, you snapped back far more forcefully than intended.

Ezra froze then nodded. “Sweet girl, I will try, but…” You saw his middle pull in slightly. “… the profound conundrum I experienced in getting it on…”

The zipper finally moved, and he groaned as his stomach expanded. “Sweet Kevva… such relief.”

You were desperate for him to touch you again, but seeing him fat and swollen before you, knowing it was your work that was filling him out. Ezra watched your gaze turn hungry and almost feral. Granted, he felt that way as he watched you teeter on the edge of falling apart over and over. He wasn’t ready to let the power he held over you go, giving him the drive to get through, bite by bite. But that power began to slip the moment his vulnerable and considerably rounder middle exposed, and it left him feeling uneasy and unsure.

“A change of flavour… is needed, my sweet Cricket.”, Ezra crooned, trying to exude as much confidence he could muster, despite his self-consciousness lingering in the back of his mind. He swallowed down a moan as your blown-pupiled eyes met his. He pushed a faux-confident smile and spoke softer. “Something sweeter, perhaps?”

Letting a small huff escape, you nodded and got up from the bed, cursing him under your breath for having this much power over you.

As you stood in the small kitchen area, waiting for the food rehydrator to loudly prepare the freeze-dried baked goods, you didn’t hear Ezra huff and grunt as he got off the bed and saunter into the kitchen. You weren’t alerted to his presence until his belly hit your back and his brass hand went to your hip.

His nose and mouth pressed against the back of your neck, whispering filth as his hand cupped your breast and squeezed.

“You leave yourself so vulnerable, sweet Cricket... back to the door, not an ounce of concern…. any rapscallion of low morals could take advantage… of your sweet, supple figure…”

You let out a light, breathy whine gripping his hand as he kneaded your breast. As much as you wanted his hands on you, you wanted his mouth on your own more, so you pushed your body back against his, making enough room between him and the counter for you to turn around. His brass hand stayed on the curve of your waist, not offering any resistance, and his other hand cupped your cheek, holding it in place while he kissed you softly. His lips moved against yours like he was able to read your mind, or maybe even needed this point of contact as badly as you did. His mouth parted and his tongue pushed for entrance into your mouth, and once it was granted, the kiss fevered and boiled over. You felt your core throb with need and want, soaking your pants and already ruined underwear, and he crowded you against the counter. So wrapped up were you in his mouth and teeth and tongue, that you didn’t feel his brass hand move from your waist.

In one swift move, Ezra shoved your pants down in the front enough for his brass hand to slip with no barrier into your folds. The cool touch you would have expected from it was long forgotten as the metal now met your body temperature. Still engulfed in the kiss that was beginning to rob your breath, the telltale clunk barely registered in your mind until the vibrations started. Sending a jolt through your body, you pulled your face away from his and let out a shrill gasp.

The timer on the rehydrator went off, and Ezra chuckled darkly, watching your brows draw together and your eyes flutter.

“The rules stay the same, Cricket. Sweet or savoury, I will have my fill and you will have your petite mort. But one will meet the other at the same time.”, he said in a wickedly soft tenor. “Now, you can begin holding up your end, sweet girl.”

Once again, Ezra ripped away any power you might have had or believed you had, edging you with each bite, withholding his metal hand’s vibrations from the moment his mouth was empty to the moment your hand shakily pushed another bite past his lips. Overstimulation mixed with the pent-up fury of being denied an orgasm had you panting rapidly, tears threatening to spill over. High pitched whines and shuddering whimpers were all you could produce, and it was music to Ezra’s ears.

“You… create the most… glorious cricket song…”, he mused softly as he chewed the mouthful. “Keep chirping, sweet girl…”

You were coming to a point where you weren’t sure you would make it. Your brain felt like it was filled with the static from a communicator’s blank channel and your hearing and sight felt fuzzy. The coil tightening in your cunt was hitting a painful level, causing you to drop the next pastry you’d picked up with your shaking hands.

As soon as it hit the floor, Ezra tsk’d you, and pulled his hand right out of your pants. The pained sob that burst from you from the loss of contact was loud and harsh, and the tears finally spilled over, staining your cheeks.

“P-please… I… I can’t!”, you cried out, jutting your hand out clumsily to grab his wrist as he pulled back. His dark eyes scanned your desperate ones, pausing momentarily, before his gaze shifted to one of pity and amusement.

“You can’t what?”, he mocked with a cruel grin. “Can’t what, sweet Cricket?”

A rasped and pained whine peeled out of your throat as your head fell to his shoulder, and his hand gripped your hair and pulled back, forcing you to look at him. You looked ruined. Your cheeks flushed and eyes wet and lidded, your lips parted, turned down and chin quivering. He shoved up back and up onto the counter.

“Oh, come now, sweet Cricket. Don’t look at me like I won’t give you your due.”, he whispered, ghosting his mouth over yours. His brass fingers traced lurid shapes along your inner thighs, causing your body to shiver and that coil painfully wind up in your core once more.

“I asked you for something sweeter, pet,”, Ezra mockingly cooed as he pulled back, your face involuntarily following his to try and capture his lips against yours. He shook his head, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Something sweeter and you dropped it on the floor. It’s precious currency, Cricket, and you mishandled it.”

Your eyes followed his, stuck in the trance he’d put you under. He could have told you to do anything, given any order and you would have obeyed to your detriment. His brass hand moved to your throat, long, metal fingers grasping just tight enough to keep you precariously seated on the edge of the counter. His thicker middle forced you legs open wide, and his other hand took its place between your legs and without warning, he shoved two fingers into your core.

Your mouth and eyes widened as a wrecked gasp escaped you and your hands went to grab onto what ever meaty part of him you could grab for stability. Ezra hummed in response as the pads of his fingers felt the walls of your cannel twitch and flutter at his intrusion.

“Good Kevva, sweet girl…”, he groaned, watching your face contort. “As much as this contraption of a limb can bring me such sadistic joy at your expense, my own digits needed to feel the silken walls of your inner sanctum.”

As he pumped his fingers in and out of you, he dropped his forehead against yours and hummed again, answering your repeated whining pants and moans.

“Keep chirping, Cricket… sing me your evening song… that’s it….”

As you felt your peak come careening in, he felt your walls convulse and slicken up. The soft tenor he’s just lulled you into a steady rhythm with fell away and the low chuckle followed by his fingers being removed made you scream out and dig your nails into the fattened flesh of his upper arm and shoulder.

“EZ-EZRA! PLEASE! FUCK-PLEASE!”, you sobbed out in a shriek.

His brass hand’s hold tightened around your throat, and he shoved your shoulders flush with the wall behind counter roughly.

Your desperate eyes looked him over as best as you could, given the position he had you in. His bloated and full stomach moved with each laboured breath he took and the strain he put himself under to wreck you was fully apparent. You could feel the outline of his clothed hard cock seated against your thigh and the sweat beading on his forehead. He wiped his face and parted his lips to take in deeper breaths; his irises were indiscernible from his pupils as he looked down at you.

You had never known need like this, and you felt as though you were going to succumb due to your lack of orgasm as a final line in the life that Kevva had written for you.

“P…please…”

“Is it my cock you want to be impaled on, pet? You want to whine and mewl while I rut my quiver bone into your sopping celestial cavern?”, he coolly growled, but there was a slight waiver in his voice. You saw the same desperation in the dark abyss of his eyes.

You nodded dumbly and he scowled, baring his teeth, and tore his brass hand off you, trying to make quick work of getting his flight suit off his shoulders. The arms were tight around his fleshy arms, and you shakily sat up and tried to help. Once his arms were free, you tugged the material over his waist, taking note of the roll of flesh sitting just above his waistband, showing just how much he had been indulging. You gave it a squeeze, revelling in the sound he made, sucking his breath thru his teeth at your fingers.

“Marvel the fruits of your labour, Cricket… The destination you set me on course to has made me beyond redemption and unfit for galactic adventuring…”, he grunted breathily, shoving his flight suit off his legs before kicking it off entirely. “You have effectively rendered me useless beyond what effect I am able to wield on you.”

He shoved his mouth against yours before you could respond or ask what he meant, sucking you into a bruising kiss. His hands gripped your hips, pulling your twitching cunt flush with his weeping, hard cock, knocking the plastic plate that held the desserts onto the floor at his feet. Fumbling slightly, he pulled back and gripped his member, before lining it up with your entrance and pushing it in all at once. The sting of his intrusion melded perfectly with the relief of finally connecting, and the sound you made caused Ezra to almost break. His eyes softened and his brows tented, body tense at the gentle yet firm, warm hold you had on him.

“I’m af-afraid I’ve pushed too far to allow for… for niceties and gentle welcomes, sweet Cricket…”, he panted against your face, teeth clenched as he tried to focus and draw this out as long as possible.

“Please move...”, you begged in a strained whine.

“If I move to fast, sweet Cricket, I will... end this fortuitous connection with an... an early release, and that would render me- fuck!... render me less than a gentleman...”

“You’re no gentleman... now shut up an-and fuck me!”

It seemed that your tight walls and frantic begging were too much for Ezra, and he pulled out with a grunt, followed by a whine as he came onto the plate on the floor. The vulgar sounds of his panting breaths mixed with the sploot of his spend had you seeing red.

“You asshole!”, you screeched, shoving him off you.

He panted and held his hands up in surrender as you charged at him.

“Cricket... forgive me! You’re too sweet... your sacred cavern was too - “

The slap you landed across his face stopped his fancy wordplay. “You fucking bastard!”

Ezra’s eyes flashed in anger, and he stood to his full height, towering over you.

“That was uncalled for, Cricket.”, he snarled. “I will take the wrath of meeting an end without you by my side, but I will not allow you to besmirch my good mother with a question of my paternal lineage.”

You stared at him, eyes wide with anger at his audacity, and before you could say another word, he tackled you to the floor. You tried to fight him off but the moment you heard the clunk of his brass arm and felt two metal fingers punch up into your slick heat, you ceased your struggle.

“See, sweet Cricket? I may be a wayward traveler, but even I know the dangers of leaving a woman on the precipice of completion... “

“Don’t stop... please... don’t stop...”

The vibrations of his arm and the smooth curves of the worn metal fingers found a rhythm that had you seeing stars.

“I plan to keep demanding your company each time I move through this sector, and-”

“Oh Kevva... Ez-Ezra!”

He leaned forward and ghosted his mouth over yours, speaking in a low, husky growl, “... if I were to fail you now, what kind of welcome would I receive the next time I darken your doorway?”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull and your body arched off the floor. Pent up energy burst from your burning cunt, sending wave after wave of precious release through your body. The scream that peeled out of you was dampened by Ezra kissing you forcefully.

His movement slowed and he slowly pulled his brass hand from your core. You were greeted with his grin as he looked over his brass hand.

“You’ve polished only two fingers for me... there are three more.”, he cooed, placing a delicate kiss on the end of your nose. “Next time.”

“N-next time?”

He nodded and stood up with a grunt. You sat up carefully, and it seemed you both took note of the plate on the floor, covered in his cum. The chastisement was on your tongue, but never became words out loud as you were struck speechless as you watched him pick up the plate and fling it out the window.

He turned back to you, standing naked in the kitchen, fat and sweaty, with a grin on his face.

“There is always a next time, Cricket.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #ezra prospect #fat ezra #chubby!ezra #chubby ezra rights !!!#🥩#900 friendo celebration #900 milestone #900 followers #pedro pascal tummy #you ask beefro answers #thot tank #you asked beefro answered

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beefrobeefcal · 1 month

Text

The Clean Plates Club feat. Joel Miller x f!reader

a HeftyThrowaway one shot drabble | Rated: G | word count: 406 warnings: weight gain, stuffed belly, teasing A/N: thanks be to Nonnie who submitted the prompt. And thank you to @strang3lov3 for the idea for this series. thank you to: @xdaddysprincessxx, @rebel-held, @romanarose, @umnitsa for their help in crafting the nachos.

Delicious regards,

Beefro👌🥩💜

Joel was in heaven, though anyone would be hard pressed to get it out of him. You were in the kitchen, cooking up a storm and he was going to be the lucky sunovabitch who would reap the benefits.

At least his heart was feeling lucky. The trial runs you ran through each weekend leading up to a major catering event made his heart sing, but his waistline, belts and clothing were saying otherwise. Between the regular meals you cooked and all the ‘tasting’ he was doing almost every Saturday and Sunday, each Monday he’d lumber into the office and his brother would made another remark about his weight or gut or a subtle comment on how his clothes fit; sometimes Tommy would even go so far as to poke the butt end of a pencil or pen into the added bulk of his middle and laugh.

Joel would play ignorant to his thickening form and ignore Tommy telling him he must be in love because he’s getting soft in more ways than one. He wanted to slap the smug grin off his brother’s face, but he knew Tommy was right – he was getting fat off your love.

On this Saturday, you’d prepped for a Tex-Mex menu and once Joel had eaten his weight in tacos, he sat back in his chair and huffed, unbuckling his belt. As he did, he made a note that he needed a new one now that he was on the last hole – the one he had added to lengthen its life with him. Just as he was unbuttoning his jeans and letting his stuffed belly out with a groan, you walked into the dining room with another platter of nachos, loaded with beef, queso, lettuce, jalapeño, pico… the tray in your hands looked and smelled so good, making his mouth water. It almost made him forget how full he was.

“You look fit to be tied there, Miller.”, you smiled as you placed the nachos in front of him. You smoothed your hand over his very full middle. “You sure you’re up for this, baby?”

Joel huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Don’t matter. I was raised in the Clean Plates Club… I got a job to do.”

By the time he was done, Joel’s plate was indeed clean, and he sat back in the chair slightly out of breath, button up shirt ruined, and feeling pretty damn accomplished.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #you ask beefro answers #thot tank #hefty hefty hefty #joel miller #chubby!joel miller #🥩

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beefrobeefcal · 22 days

Note

https://64.media.tumblr.com/14f4d8c695a934d5d026d9a460dc8101/8bd5942657f9f68b-c3/s1280x1920/8d97b1afcb985de51b73451d940ad9da16fcad39.jpg

xoxo

Nonnie, you know just what the fuck is up.

Yours in sin,

Beefro👌🥩💜

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #you ask beefro answers #thot tank #you asked beefro answered #Beefro is blessed #🥩

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beefrobeefcal · 3 months

Note

Some angst??? Idk. Maybe there’s something here. You decide.

This is after Frankie tells mouse that he is as big as he wants to get. Mouse, being the wonderful partner she is, listens to his request and stops encouraging any extra ~indulging~ to help him maintain/lose weight.

BUT each time they pass a gelato shop without going in or mouse says no to a dessert menu, it stings. It’s as if he’s been left hanging for a kiss or like he’s been left on read.

Food has become an avenue of affection, and now that it’s closed he’s realizing how much it means to him. And even though he’s the one that asked for this, he feels like he’s going crazy being denied in this way.

To Nonnie, Love Beefro

The bitch is back. Need we say more?

--------<3---------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Frankie one shot

The Catfish & The Mouse: All Pent Up & Nowhere to Go

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Pregnant Fem!Reader

Summary: A communication breakdown causes a lot of angst.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 3,546

Content Warning: weight talk, angsty angsty, self esteem issues, communication breakdown, allusions to oral (f-receiving), feederism talk, car smut, masturbation, p in the v, established relationship

Author's Notes: I know this deviated from the original ask, but I hope this suffices, Nonnie. It's not as sweet or innocent as I think you were looking for. Thank you @xdaddysprincessxx for beta'ing & offering ideas! Thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for also beta'ing & being their every awesome supportive self.

Things were rough, that much was true. After the night that Frankie had confided in you that he felt he was big enough then thinking out loud about how maybe he was getting too big, you’d done your best to keep his meals at standard portions and not offered anything indulgent to him.

On a Saturday, Benny had stopped by to return the snow shovel he’d borrowed from Frankie. Having not seen him in a while, you stepped back into the house to let the guys catch up. But you heard everything through the kitchen window as the guys chatted in the backyard.

“Fish! Holy shit! You losing weight? Last I saw you, you looked... you were bigger!”, Benny chirped with a huge smile on his face, patting Frankie on the shoulder.

“Yeah... well, you know... was getting pretty big... wanna keep the Mrs. Happy...”

You almost dropped the knife while you were chopping vegetables.

You peaked out the window and saw Benny’s face twist in confusion as he looked at Frankie. “I... dude, I thought... I mean, if you’re serious about it, I could always use your help. Trying to become a personal trainer... you know, I need to personally train someone...?”

It wasn’t like Frankie hadn’t specifically said to you that he might be too big, but the way you jumped at his words and completely changed how you fed him – how you cared for him – was jarring. To see his portion sizes shrink so quickly and not be offered a dessert was disappointing for him. At the rate you changed everything, he couldn’t help but feel that you had wanted him to lose weight. Were you embarrassed to be seen with him like that? Were you glad to have a smaller partner? Did his body disgust you and were you doing a good job being supportive?

Frankie’s mind would churn and whirl through every insecurity almost nightly as you slept peacefully next to him. When Benny offered to help him slim down further, he thought you would be happier, but it only made him feel worse about himself, and he didn’t know how to tell you. He didn’t want to disappoint you.

Almost four months since Benny offered, Frankie had shrunk. Not by mass proportions, but enough that his silhouette was definitely smaller. It could have been because he wasn’t constantly heaving around a big, full belly anymore, but his clothing was no longer pulled tight across his middle. You did your best not to say anything about his body or comment on his eating, and despite your disappointment at his changing physique, you kept up a supportive and positive attitude. You had no idea that withholding that was eating Frankie up inside.

The positive side of this was that Frankie’s broad shoulders were definitely broader and his arms were thicker and more muscular. But Frankie was miserable; he missed how you looked at him adoringly as he ate, or how you would squirm under his weight. He’d pulled away and was irritated almost all the time when he was home. He'd barely touched you in the past two months, and it left you wondering why he had become so removed. You’d tried talking to him, crawling onto his lap in nothing but a smile, but he’d declined, saying something along the line of being tired. Needless to say, the dejection had caused your vibrator and dildo collection to increase.

Frankie texted you on a Friday evening and said he was going to the gym with Benny, and you could eat without him. Your heart sank when you read the message and you ate your pathetic peanut butter and jam sandwich alone at the table. Your sadness quickly turned to anger with a smack of horniness; he’d gone from needing to make you scream his name and come on his hands, mouth and cock almost daily to barely looking at you, and you had only done what you thought he wanted you to. Not bothering to clear the table, you stomped off to your bedroom and grabbed one of your toys from the drawer. It was a newer one that was specifically used on your clit, and it was the closest thing to his mouth you could get. Not bothering to look at the time, you got to work, making yourself whine and pant, starting the ritual you’d created every time you missed his touch.

You were so engrossed and close to climax that you didn’t hear Frankie’s truck pull up or the door open. You didn’t hear him come down the hallway because he no longer called out your name; he had stopped doing that a month ago. You didn’t hear him standing in the hallway, rocking between his feet anxiously, listening to you pulling those sounds that he used to out of your mouth. You didn’t hear the hurt that was boiling over into frustration and anger in his mind.

You did, however, hear the bedroom door open as you came, and when your eyes met his, you barely recognized the broad, angry man standing in your doorway.

“What. The. Fuck.”, he snarled through gritted teeth. In his heightened state, he couldn’t differentiate whether his anger was at you for what you were doing or at him for not willing to do it to you himself.

“Frankie... baby... hi...”, you said softly, reaching your hand out to him, beckoning him to join you.

“What the FUCK is that?”, he barked, clearly hurt, and pointing to the vibrator in your hand.

You jumped at his harsh, loud tone, then closed your legs and pulled your knees to your body. Swallowing hard, you tried to find your voice, “Honey... I just... I needed...”

He stepped into your room, his hulking form at the end of the bed. His eyes darted between your face and the vibrator. For the first time ever in your relationship, he felt unneeded and replaced. Betrayal broke out on his face, and he yelled, “You needed what? To replace me? Let me know I can’t keep you happy, so you put of a fucking show for me to come home to?”

This was not your Frankie. Why was he mad? He’d never been angry before when he’d walk in on you masturbating in the past. He used to take it as the warm up act before he got to the main event, even telling you to finish for him before he got involved.

“Baby... honey, no! I could never replace you! I just... I wanted a release... I didn’t think it was a big deal!”

“That’s why you had to hide it then, huh?”, he yelled again, this time, sadness and hurt clearly in his voice. He didn’t know how to tell you the deep hurt he felt, thinking you were hiding this from him; thinking you didn't want him anymore, “Wait till I’m not home and then fuck yourself? Don’t need me anymore?”

You saw his body language show more than his words could say. He was hurting and had been hurting for a while. You had no clue that he was making this whole big change for you, and now you’d basically told him that after all that hard work, you’d replaced him. No, you had no idea what was running through his head. All you knew was that you were tired of being rebuffed and ignored and wanted to give yourself some much needed pleasure and release and he was mad at you for it.

“How fucking dare you! You barely even look at me anymore – let alone touch me – and you want to give me shit for wanting to-to feel good?”, you yelled back, standing up from the bed. His face fell and his big brown eyes widened. Your emotions were getting the better of you, and you could feel the hot tears begin to flood your eyes. Your voice cracked. “What is happening, Frankie? Talk to me!”

He said nothing. He just turned and hurried out of the room, and you heard the back door slam shut and the garage door open. You waited to hear the truck start, but nothing came. You grabbed your things from the bathroom and bedroom and settled into the guest room.

After having a shower in the guest bathroom, you’d crawled into the guest bed and tried to sooth yourself by scrolling through your phone. It was only once you heard Frankie come back into the house that you put your phone down. You saw his shadow pass the guestroom door, heading to your room, and then come back out and hover in front of the door. You wanted to call out to him, but it seemed fruitless. He’s turned down so many of your advances and chances to open up, you figured this was it. If he wanted it, he had to make the move.

Your heart broke for a second time that night as the shadow retreated back down the hallway, and you heard your bedroom door close.

Your night was restless; you tossed and turned, never able to find a spot that was comfortable. By the time morning light was pouring in through the window, you’d resigned to the fact that you were not going to get more than a few hours of sleep.

As you laid in bed, trying to decide how to tackle the awkwardness that was sure to come from your next interaction with Frankie, your phone buzzed and your heard his buzz, too, from the next room.

Calendar Reminder! - 12:00 pm – Taste of the Town! Food Truck Festival

You groaned quietly, turning off the reminder. You’d bought tickets months ago for this, before Frankie’s health kick, at his request. You’d already made up your mind that he wouldn’t want to go – you weren’t going to make him – and opened up your messages to ask the group chat if anyone wanted the tickets.

As you typed, a notification popped up from Frankie.

You still wanna go?

You were stunned. You knew he knew you’d read the message, and you wanted to answer, desperately clawing at any shred of attention he was willing to give you, but he was still on your shit list.

Was gonna ask the guys and Hannah if they wanted the tickets. Assumed you wouldn’t want to.

Through the walls, you heard him get out of bed and rip open the bedroom door. You got out of bed and waited for him to come bursting through the guestroom door, but instead he knocked.

“Mouse? I-I think... I want to go with you. Might be fun, baby...”

His voice was soft and pleading, and it made you melt. But you wanted an apology, an explanation!

“It’s okay... I know it’s not your thing anymore...”

The door opened up and Frankie stood in front of you with an adorable pout on his face.

“No. I want to go. With you. I want to go with you.”

You’d conceded and now that you were standing outside in the sunshine with Frankie as he ate a hot dog, you were glad you did. While the conversation was a bit awkward and stilted, he was at least talking to you.

You mind wandered, watching the other happy couples walking hand in hand, when Frankie’s voice pulled you back.

“Mouse? You gonna eat that?”

You turned to him, then looked where he was pointing – at your hot dog.

“Oh... no. Go ahead.”, you said quickly. Then as he grabbed it and was about to take a bite, you blurted out, “Are you sure you want another one?”

You knew it was wrong as you watched Frankie’s eyes fall. He closed his mouth and put the hot dog down onto the picnic table, and sulked. You felt horrible.

“Honey... I didn’t mean to stop you. I just thought...”

“Thought what?”, he interjected in a cold, quiet tone. “Thought if I ate that you’d have a fat boyfriend again?”

You froze, feeling the lump in your throat start. Is that what you had become? That girlfriend? “No... No, I thought it’s what you... I - never mind. You enjoy it, okay?”

He didn’t look up at you. You did your best to keep the tears at bay, but it was quickly going to be a fruitless endevour. You got up from the table, trying and failing to keep your voice from breaking, “I’m going to get us something to drink, okay?”

If he tried to stop you or say something, you didn’t know; you were already moving away from him, discreetly wiping your eyes.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet and somber. Frankie had eaten your hot dog, but avoided anything else except the lemonade you brought him. You were exhausted, physically and emotionally, and you didn’t want this to go on any longer.

“Frankie?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know what I did to fuck this up, but I want to make it better.”

He stopped and looked at you. You felt his eyes look over your face, examining you. And he was. He was looking for his Mouse; his sassy, hot tempered, spitfire Mouse. Instead, he saw you looking the way you had for months, and he’d ignored it – sad and scared. He pulled you into a hug and it felt different; not just from the bit of weight he’d lost, but the emotion behind it, and you couldn't place what it was be it felt final.

“I’m sorry, too, baby.”

The ride home was quiet; the only sound was the radio on a low volume. You noticed up ahead that traffic was backing up on the highway, and as Frankie slowed the truck to a stop, he swore under his breath.

Then you heard it. His tummy grumbled. Frankie was hungry.

“Do you still keep snacks in your truck?”

Your quiet question broke through the silence and was met with an irritated sigh from Frankie.

“No. Benny helped me clean it all out.”

“I have a granola bar in my purse.”

You pulled out the little, wrapped bar and held it out for him. After a brief hesitation, he took it and ate it.

Silence.

“You... you got any more?”

You smiled to yourself and pulled another one out of your bag, handing it to him, and just as with the first, it disappeared quickly.

“Can we talk? I feel like we haven’t had a real conversation lately... and I just wanna know how you're doing.”, you pleaded softly. You took a risk and placed your hand on his shoulder.

He let out a huff. “I hate this.”

You pulled your hand back and faced forward, and he quickly turned, grabbing your hand.

“No! No no no! Mouse, no, honey! That’s not what I meant! I mean... I hate this diet!”

“This diet?”

He turned back, hand returning to the steering wheel. “Yeah... I hate it. I’m always hungry and I just feel like shit, and I don’t feel like myself and I know this is what you want, but - “

“Whoa! Wait... what I want?”, you interjected, sounding almost offended.

“Yeah. You want this. “, Frankie eyed you before finishing, “... don’t you?”

“I... no! I thought you wanted this!”

“Why would you think that?!”, he snapped.

“Be-because you said you thought you were getting too big so I asked if you wanted to make a change and you said yes! I was trying to be supportive!”

You didn’t mean to yell that at him, but you were so wound up and just as confused as he was.

You stared at each other until a horn honking broke the silence. Frankie quickly turned and got the truck moving again.

“You did this for me? Not because... not because you hated how I looked?”

You stared at him aghast. “How are you even asking that?!”

“You made me do it so quickly! Like all of sudden you... you just stopped. Stopped everything! It’s like you wanted it and as soon as I said it, you were elated!”

“Oh my god, no! Frankie, no! I always felt selfish giving you all this food, and then you said you might not be happy with it... I love how happy I can make you with food and I never stopped! I put the same energy I would have into feeding you into... into not doing it as much!”, you said frantically. “Why didn’t you say anything? Is this why you’ve ignored me? Why you’ve-you’ve cut me out? Is this why you don’t like me anymore? Don’t want to be around me?”

Frankie slammed on the brakes and the whole truck lurched. He looked at you with wide eyed, his mouth open in shock.

The horn behind you sounded again, and if not for the moving traffic, you were sure that that Frankie was ready to jump out and punch the guy behind you’s lights out.

As soon as an opportunity presented itself, Frankie exited the highway and pulled into a parking lot. He threw the truck into park and ripped his seat belt off, then jumped out of the truck. You stayed put, watching him stalk around to the passenger side and rip the door open.

“What?!”, he barked, breathing heavily with a panicked face.

“What??”, you asked back, just as panicked as he was.

“You think I don’t like you?! That I don’t want to be around you?”

“Yes!”, you cried out softly, grabbing his face. “You keep pushing me away and I don’t know why!”

His eyes searched yours before he spoke.

“Tell me you want me to enjoy eating again.”

“I... what? Frankie, I’m trying to be serious here!”

“So am I! Say it! If you mean it, say it!”

“I...”

“Tell me you want me to eat everything on my plate.”, he growled, reaching around and unbuckling your seat belt. “Tell me you want me to hit my fucking limit every day at dinner.”

You felt heat pooling in your core. This was the most animated and hottest you’d seen him in so long.

“I want -”

“Tell me you wanna watch my clothes get too small again.”

He pushed you back and crawled up on the bench and shoved his knee right up to your cunt as he hovered over you.

“Tell me you want a fat guy to fuck you.”

“I want you to get fat again and fuck me.”

From the outside, it was clear what was happening in the truck. The door was wide open and your only saving grace was that you were in a parking lot for a nightclub, and it was 2:30 pm. Regardless, Frankie ate you out in the front seat of the car and you finally made it home around 5:00pm – just in time for dinner.

You made sure he finished everything you made – lasagna of course! Then, instead of Frankie hoisting himself to the couch, he backed you down the hallway to your bedroom.

“Never wanna go that long again without your pussy on my mouth, princess...”

You whined as you gripped his full – albeit smaller – belly. He grunted and one of your hands slid down to his hard cock in his jeans.

“I don’t want these jeans to fit you anymore, Frankie...”, you cooed as you palmed his cock. “Wanna watch you struggle getting them up... got too skinny for me...”

Frankie made a groaning sound as his eyes rolled and he shoved you onto the bed. You got your clothes off and frantically helped him remove his and you pulled him down on top of you.

“Fuck! I missed this!”, you growled, biting his ear lobe.

He shifted and laid on his side and pulled you into a feverish kiss. As your mouths danced, his hand slid between your legs. He groaned again with how wet you were.

“Can’t wait... need to fuck this pussy... need to feel it, princess.”

You nodded dumbly, shoving him to his back and crawling onto him. You spat in your hand, gave his cock a few pumps, then positioned yourself over him and sank down.

You both let out long, low moans, finally feeling like the missing puzzle piece was found. You started moving and his hands gripped your hips, keeping pace.

“Say it, princess... say it”

“I’m gonna make you so fat, Frankie...”

Benny pulled up to your house, determined to find out why Frankie had started coming up with excuses to avoid work outs. It had been almost two months since the last time he showed up and he’d looked like he’d put on a little weight then.

“Fish? Mouse? Anyone home?”, he yelled, banging on the door.

Frankie was sitting on the couch, letting dinner settle, and smiled at you then motioned for you to stay seated.

“I’ll get it.”

As soon as the door opened, Benny knew exactly why he wasn’t coming to work outs. Frankie’s stuffed belly was almost nearing where it was when Benny started working with him, and the shirt he was wearing looked to be at its maximum tension.

He grinned and gently elbowed Frankie’s belly. “See you’re putting in a different kind of work, huh, Fish?”

TAGLIST: @theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @nerdieforpedro @southernbe @starkeydaviss @noxturnalpascal @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog@vabeachazn @clawdee @iamasaddie @tightjeansjavi@rubyfruitjungle @lilmizmoz

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #frankie morales #triple frontier #you ask beefro answers #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #chubby frankie rights !!!!!#🥩#the catfish & the mouse one shot #thot tank

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beefrobeefcal · 1 month

Text

Dieter Measures Up feat. Dieter Bravo & Cookie (f!reader)

a HeftyThrowaway one shot drabble | Rated: 18+ | word count: 834 warnings: weight gain, grinding, Dieter being a needy mess A/N: thank you @toxicanonymity for celebrating 900 friendos in the bistro! and yes... this is a bit more than a drabble.

Dieter groaned. He looked over the email from his manager, suggesting in the firmest way possible that wouldn’t compromise their job, that he needed to wear an actual suit to the premier. To add to his grief, they put in bold right at the end before signing off: YOU ARE NOT WEARING ANYTHING REMOTELY RESEMBLING SOMETHING YOU COULD SLEEP IN.

Included in the message was also the requirement to get fitted for the suit because they knew he hadn’t lost any of the weight he’d gained for the role. Rolling his eyes, he flipped the bird at his phone, tossed it into the pocket of his robe, and pulled the tube of raw cookie dough from the fridge. He forwent the spoon, taking a big bite of the dough, and leaned over the counter thinking.

An idea hit him: he could just send the measurements that were taken when he arrived on set to shoot ten months ago. He smiled as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his notes before it dawned on him that he had to be measured and then remeasured a few times over the course of the shoot because his costumes kept shrinking. As he wondered who he needed his assistant to contact to track down the measurements, another email arrived from his management team: DON’T ASK FOR PRIOR MEASUREMENTS. THEY WON’T BE ACCURATE ANYMORE.

He scowled at his screen. “Mother fucker.”

*****

It had been a while since he’d been to a tailor, normally opting for off the rack because prior to this role, he was within the sample size range. He was pretty sure he still was. Sure, he had less of the iconic ‘slutty little waist’ and sure, his belly had stuck out when he wasn’t close to being full, but there was no way he was that much bigger.

At least he thought that until the seamstress, an older European woman, came out and began to measure him. Every time he felt the measuring tape pull tight against his body followed by the older woman calling out a number much higher than he anticipated, his body reacted. Not negatively – no, quite the opposite. He was getting hard.

Even after the project wrapped, he kept you on as his private cook, telling you that now he’d had a bite of his ‘Cookie’, there was no way he could have any other. And while nothing was official between you, he hadn’t fucked around with anyone else, and even cleared out his extensive vintage clown pornography collection from the guesthouse and set you up in there so you could live on sight. He loved the praise you gave when he finished his meals and he craved the look you gave when he sat back, belly heavy and sitting on his lap.

He needed to get home. Now.

****

You stood at the door to the pantry, debating on whether to make burritos or chicken korma for dinner that evening when you heard the door from the garage open and slam loudly. Before you could ask if everything was okay, Dieter was behind you, shoving you against the wall, his front to your back.

“Fuck, you do your job so good.”, he grunted, biting softly into your neck. His whole thick body pinned you and he bucked his hips, seeking friction.

“Most bosses offer a raise… not a full body slam.”, you breathed back with a smile.

“Most bosses…”, he panted, “aren’t grateful… enough.”

“Dieter… we can go to the bedro-“

“No… right… oh fuck… right here’s fine…”, he grunted with a whine. He ground his hips, and his painfully hard erection finally found the right angle against your left ass cheek.

“Dee! The couch! Not here!”

His breathing picked up and he bit the crux of your neck and shoulder with a whine. “Just… almost… need this…”

You pushed your body from the wall with all your strength, but it was no use; Dieter’s additional weight had made his physical self just as stubborn as his personality.

“Got me so… fuckin’ big… Olga… measured me… no idea… who I was… said I was a… a fat man…”, he whimpered in grunts, breath panting over the skin he’s made wet on your neck and shoulder.

You couldn’t help but moan in response, and his arm snaked around to your front, cupping your legging clad mound, and pulling your ass against him harder. It was almost painful, but also euphoric. Dieter’s breaths became faster and carried high pitch whines with them.

“I promise… I’ll fuck… I’ll fuck you later… after dinner… just need… to cum n-oh fuck!”

You felt a warmth through your leggings on your ass cheek and his whines hit heights that only dogs could hear. When he finally stilled, his body relaxed enough that you could turn around and face him. He gave you a goofy half grin with heavy lidded eyes.

“Now that we got that out of the way, I’m starved. What’s for dinner?”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal tummy #pedro pascal fanfiction #you ask beefro answers #thot tank #you asked beefro answered #dieter bravo #chubby!dieter #dieter x cookie #hefty hefty hefty #900 friendo celebration #🥩

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beefrobeefcal · 6 months

Note

you are dieter’s new personal chef and you’re supposed to be responsible for making sure he eats fairly well just to maintain his current weight while he shoots a movie… but you can’t help how much you like it when you make him something particularly indulgent and he melts at the taste of your food, spewing compliments left and right and a couple of flirts here and there too 🤭

To Nonnie Love Beefro

A LONG TIME COMING, BUT HE'S HERE NONNIE! And I hope he lives up to the hype.

I-just-want-to-thank-you-sweet-baby-for-getting-me-through regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

--------<3----------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Dieter One Shot

Please welcome Dieter Bravo to Beefro's Bistro!

a 'Dieter Bravo & Cookie' One Shot: Contract Conundrum

Pairing: Dieter Bravox F!Reader

Summary: You're hired to get Dieter ready for a heavyweight role.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 4,274

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), talk of eating, belly praise, self esteem, weight gain, mention of porn, loads of dirty talk, table top sex

Author's Notes: FINALLY! I know.. I KNOW. Between sinus infections depression and house guests, Dieter took the brunt of my willy-nilly gumption. I'm sorry, my babies... I hope he lives up to the hype and you're left sated.

Major thanks to @neverwheremoonchild for beta-ing the hell out of this for me, and to @theywhowriteandknowthings + @rebel-held for being champions!

--------<3----------

Generally, when you are hired for a new job as a private chef, it’s to help your client lose weight or introduce a new lifestyle – like veganism – to their household. But this was new; Dieter Bravo needed to gain weight for a role, and you were the one hired to help him do it.

Before you had even been introduced to him, you were handed an NDA by his manager along with the contract and the job requirements. Outlined in both were the meal plans, expectations, conduct, and specifically the amount he had to gain and time frame in which you had to help his achieve this. You sat across from his manager, Dan, while you read through the documents.

“If you have any questions…”, Dan started, voice pleasant but sounding like he really didn’t want you to ask him anything.

You looked up from the paperwork and nodded politely, then your eyes went back down. You noted under Requirements, it stated that you would be living on site with Dieter, and you would not be compensated for any adult activities you chose to engage in, nor would you receive any additional compensation for anything produced because of them. You had a good idea what that meant and any confusion as to why it was written in your contract evaporated when you remembered who you would be working for.

Dieter Bravo had a reputation based on rumours, and this contract just confirmed them all to be true. You smiled to yourself as you finished reading the documents. You picked up the pen and signed your future for the next year on the last page.

*****

You had a finite time to get Dieter heavier, and he was making it difficult. You were just over a week in, and his picky eating habits were hampering your efforts to do your job. He’d told you he liked fancy food, but everything that you made him had come back to the kitchen barely touched, and he’d refused, like a spoiled child, to tell you what he actually wanted.

According to his assistant, Frank, Dieter took this movie role for a paycheque and sighed the contract before being told he’d have to gain weight for it. His vanity had come into play, but the amount he would have to pay to get out of the contract was ridiculously high. After tantrums and screaming matches with Dan, his manager, Dieter finally agreed to do the role, but he wanted a private chef.

“He swore me to secrecy.”, Frank whispered to you in the kitchen. He took a look at the door then turned back to you. “Don’t tell him you heard this from me, but he’s a classic stoner… grilled cheese, burgers, pizza… y’know?”

You gave Frank a grin and motioned your lips being sealed. “I heard nothing. You were never here. I just happened to take a chance and hit the jackpot.”

That evening, Dieter wandered down to the kitchen to rebuke whatever five-star dining experience you’d conjured up.

“Hello, Mr. Bravo. Dinner will be served in just a few minutes.”, you said, looking up and smiling at him.

“Evening, Cookie....” He gave a half-hearted smile back as he went to the dining room and plunked down at the table. His grey t-shirt and black sweatpants had seen better days, and he fished a joint out of one of his pockets, lighting it up and taking a few drags.

You walked in, pushing a cart with a personal pepperoni pizza and garlic bread sticks on it.

“What in the fuck?!”, Dieter coughed as he blew out the smoke, his eyes wide.

“I’m… sorry, Mr. Bravo?”, you asked, placing the food onto the table.

“What… what’s this?!” , he asked, waving his hands at the pizza. “Cookie, where’s the… th-the fancy shit?!”

“Do you not want pizza, sir?” You were playing dumb and thankfully he was too flabbergasted to notice.

“Of course, I want fucking pizza!”, he yelled angrily. “That’s not the fucking point!”

He stared at you, chest and shoulders heaving with his deep breaths. You stared right back, beginning to question if taking Frank’s advice was a good idea… or even if it was good advice.

He slowly brought the joint back to his mouth and took a puff, holding your stare. You waited for him to throw you out of the house or berate you. Instead, he blew the smoke out of his nose and said in a sinister growl, “This better be the best goddamned pizza I’ve ever had.”

Apparently, it was the best goddamned pizza because he ate the entire thing. You attributed his appetite that night to the amount of weed he had in his system.

*****

This became the new routine: each night, you would make another one of his favourites for dinner and he would behave appallingly, then eat the whole thing. You were amused by his show each night, and he really wasn’t rude or mean to you, he was just loud with a lot of swearing, that was followed by him cleaning his plate.

It didn’t take long for this routine to start to make an impact on him. While he wore loose fitting clothing, after a few months of him indulging in your cooking, the softer jawline under his scruffy beard and the belly that would pop out firm under his shirt on occasion told you that you were doing your job well.

Over the next few weeks, he seemed to become more appreciative of the effort you put into the food you made. Dieter would often come into the kitchen while you were prepping for the meal and watch, commenting on how you were creating art for him to consume and how that was the perfect metaphor for a capitalistic society. While you appreciated his enthusiasm, you could not help but roll your eyes when he went on rants, waving his arms around, yelling about how life is fleeting, and art is forever or some other bullshit. Despite this, it was endearing how passionate he was, even if you had no idea what he was talking about.

As you spent more time with him, however, he started to make little passes at you that you would ignore and take in good humor, playing innocent to his flirting. It wasn’t anything serious or off putting at first; he would comment on how nice your outfit was or asking what you were doing after you were done your shift with an eyebrow wiggle. As of late, though, the harmless flirting and compliments started to become a little more aggressive. He was far more overt with his eyes washing over you and his hands finding their way to touch you, and he would ask you to sit with him while he ate. He eventually started asking you what you would do if he didn’t finish his dinner or if he was good and ate it all up, what reward he would get. It was definitely weird to begin with, but you came to accept it as part of working for eccentric artist who paid you very, very well.

You weren’t one to dip your pen in the company ink and breaking that rule for none other than Dieter Bravo seemed a little too cliché for you.

*****

“What’s on the menu?”, he called out from down the hallway as he walked towards the kitchen.

“Spaghetti and meatballs, Mr. Bravo.”, you responded casually, not looking up from the pasta sauce you stirred on the stove top.

“Gonna be enough?”, he asked with his hands in his pockets, watching you from over his sunglasses with a wide grin.

Looking up, you gave him a questioning look. “Mr. Bravo?”

His face looked over you as his tongue darted out quickly. He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “You heard me, Cookie.”

You hummed with a slight eye roll and nodded, then went back to the pot on the stove. This was obviously not the reaction he wanted because he came around the kitchen counter and stood next to you, his shoulder bumping yours.

“You ready to feed me?”, Dieter stated in a low, almost sultry voice, bringing his hand up to your lower back.

“Dinner will be ready soon, Mr. Bravo.”, you nodded again, trying to ignore his tone and touch, eyes down on the pot of pasta sauce you were stirring.

He huffed a laugh and moved behind you, nudging his nose against your neck, his hands gently holding your shoulder.

You shrugged his hands off you and turned around. You were not in the mood for him being so overt.

“Mr. Bravo – behave!”, you snapped, pointing the mixing spoon from the sauce at him.

Dieter grinned at you, his eyes scanning over your body.

“If I behave, do I get a reward, Cookie?”, he crooned with a flicker in his eyes.

You stared at him, trying to find words to tell him off, but the lookhe gave you had you feeling weak in the knees. You clenched your jaw – and thighs – and turned back to the stove top.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour or so, Mr. Bravo.” Your voice cracked, unintentionally letting him know he’d broken through the first layer.

*****

Prior to Dieter finding you in the kitchen, he’d been upstairs in his room, looking at porn and lazily stroking himself. Despite the debauchery on his laptop, his mind wandered to you downstairs. He thought about you often, enjoying the way you squirmed and flushed when he teased you and how you politely listened to his ramblings about ‘true art’ and the way your eyes would drift over his body, landing on his now fuller middle. He smiled to himself and looked down at his bare stomach. His smile fell a bit, noting that his decadence was really starting to show, and a pang of insecurity washed over him. He’d seen the recent papshots of himself, round belly protruding as he left a restaurant completely stuffed along with the heading ‘Dad-Bod Bravo Almost Unrecognizable!’ along with the numerous comments that he’d come to expect, critiquing his physique to cruelly mocking him. His dick went limp at the thought of it all.

He turned off the grainy video of a 65+ orgy that was on his screen and searched for those papshots again. If he wasn’t going to get off, he was going to punish himself. He clicked on the link to a gossip site and sighed, scrolling and rereading the comments until one made him almost choke on his own spit.

‘DIETER BABY YOU EATIN WELL. LOVE THIS FOR YOU.’

His eyes went wide, reading and rereading the comment, looking for any sign that this was a joke. He clicked on the comment, opening up the thread of responses, all of them being along the same line.

‘i want to feed him while we cockwarm’

‘CANT EVEN AT HOW FUCKIN GOOD HE LOOKS LIKE THIS’

‘Is it wrong to admit that seeing bravo with a big belly has awoken something in me?’

‘HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK HE HAD TO PACK AWAY TO GET HERE? COS HE DIDNT LOOK LIKE THIS A FEW MONTHS AGO. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK BB DIETER.’

He stared at his screen, shocked. The final comment made his dick at once stand at attention:

‘who’s the lucky bitch getting to stuff our husband’s tummy? think they know how fucking blessed they are?’

*****

Dieter sat at the dining room table and watched as you plated the spaghetti for him with a wry grin, giving you a wink when you looked at him. Frank, his assistant, had warned that Dieter was a kinky bastard who liked to set up scenarios in his head then execute them with most being none the wiser until it was too late. When you asked him to elaborate, he just gave a sympathetic shrug and said, “You’ll know it when you see it.”

You were pretty sure you were seeing it now. Fuck.

“Sit with me, Cookie?”, he cooed with his head tilted.

You shook your head. “I need to clean up, Mr. Bravo.”

He pouted. “Please? I’ll be good…”

You sighed and moved to sit down in the chair across from him.

“Closer.” His tone was low. “Please.”

You sighed and pulled out the chair next to him; as soon as you sat down, he reached for the leg of the chair and pulled it right next to him, your legs touching.

The heat that had been building up under your skin all evening felt like it was going to burst as the hand that pulled your chair was now on your thigh, fingers softly touching and gently lifting your skirt higher. His nose nuzzled your ear as he mouthed kisses to your neck.

“So soft, Cookie… maybe you have a treat for me if I’m a good boy… if I fit every fucking bit of this in my gut, you’ll let me eat you raw…”

Every nerve ending in your body screamed at once, and the goosebumps that erupted made your skin feel electric under his lips. Despite this, you still tried to move away from him, not wanting to cross that line. You stood up and stood with your chair between you and him.

He didn’t stop you. And when you looked back at him, he didn’t look disappointed - he looked… encouraged?!?

“Cookie… nothing is sexier than consent.”, he growled with a lupine grin, picking up his fork. “But I don’t think you really wanna stop… just want a different position, huh baby?”

He twirled the fork in his pasta and stabbed the meatball, then shoved the whole forkful into his mouth. With wide eyes, you watched him; your mouth went dry as you tried to swallow, and your panties got wet as you crushed your thighs together.

As a chef, one of the great joys was seeing people enjoy your work, but this was on a wholly different level. Dieter was commanding you with just his intense gaze to watch him devour the meal you prepared him, and you couldn’t look away. You were now fully engaged in his scenario, yet you weren’t tethered or being held in place – it was just the magnetic pull of him eating your food that kept you in place. Bite after bite, he held eye contact and the only sounds he made were the occasional hum of appreciation and his quiet chewing.

He finished his plate and held it up towards you, a wry smile and a dark gaze on his face.

“More, please, Cookie.”

You nodded and stepped towards him, moving the chair between you out of the way. You took the plate from him, and his hand ghosted around your wrist, testing the waters with you again, but you didn’t pull away this time. Your eyes locked onto his and he gave you a ridiculously innocent and sweet smile before his hand slid up your skirt and he kneaded your ass cheek.

“Mr. Br-Bravo!”, you breathed out.

He was being so gentle, so soft; it was breaking your resolve.

“Oh Cookie… fuck…”, he groaned as he placed wet, hot open mouth kisses on your neck and jaw. “Dieter, baby… call me, Dieter.”

He moved the hand that was under your skirt to your wrist again and he pulled you down, placing your hand to his stomach.

“Feel that, Cookie?” His voice was soft, almost like he was praising you. “Making me fat...”

All you could do was nod, feeling the heat blooming in your cunt. You knew any sounds you tried to make would only come out as a whimper or a whine. You palmed his chubby middle and sucked in a breath, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, baby... I know what you want, I see you watching me...”, he grinned, his voice keeping that low register. Your eyes shot open, and you tried to pull your hand away, but he held it firm. “No shame in it, Cookie... everyone should do what they’re good at...”

He suddenly pulled you down further by the wrist into a surprisingly gentle kiss. He pulled back and looked at you.

“I wanna eat you raw... get on the table.”

You stared down at him, knowing the moment you got on the table, legs open for him, there would be no going back.

You shook your head, and his raised eyebrow in response threatened the tantrum he was willing to throw, that he’d become so famous for when he didn’t get his way. You weren't going to let him win this... at least not yet.

The voice that came out of your mouth even surprised you. “You need to finish your dinner. No dessert until then.”

A giant grin that ripped across his face. “Kinky Cookie... bad girl... I like it.”

*****

By the time every bite of spaghetti and meatballs were safely tucked away in Dieter’s overstuffed belly, he’d removed his shirt and pants, only sitting in his boxer shorts and his green housecoat. Every hiccough made his tummy condense and he would wince. He held it gently and let out a whine that turned into a burp.

“Good work, Mr. Bravo.”, you cooed, kneeling beside him as you gently cupped and palmed his belly, feeling the light layer of fat stretched thin over the immense amount of food jammed in it. “Did so well for me.”

He leaned back, eyes glazed and mouth open, panting. He gazed down at you and a small smile tugged at the left side of his mouth.

“Get on... get on the fucking table.”, he grunted as he sat up.

You thought about defying him, making him work harder for you, but before you could voice it, he, with great effort, pulled himself up and stood to his full height above you. His hand cupped your jaw and pulled, telling you to stand up, and as you did, he turned you so your back faced the table.

“I cleaned my plate, Cookie.”, his tone was gentle yet dark and he never broke eye contact with you. “I deserve a treat, right?... my dessert... right?”

You realized this situation was not in any way shape or form in your hands. Dieter, despite him wanting you to egg him on, encourage him to eat, was seizing back control, taking what he wanted, what he felt he deserved. You nodded dumbly at him, eyes wide as your breathing shuttered.

He nodded back, like he would have if he were scolding a child.

“So, you’re gonna get on the table, right, Cookie?”

He backed you against it, his belly being the last bit of force to shove you backwards. Once you were on the table, he gave you a dark, lupine grin as he grabbed your hips and shoved you further up and leaned down between your legs. He shoved your shirt up and pressed wet, sloppy kisses on your exposed middle, humming in delight. His hands moved to your thighs and pushed your skirt up to the waist, then he pulled your underwear down and moving to get them off you before he pulled them to his nose, took a deep breath, and tossed them across the dining room.

His eyes zeroed in on your core as he dipped his index and middle finger int your folds, smiling.

“So, fucking wet, Cookie... you get off on it, don’t you... this why you’re a chef, baby?... making people fat and round on your food gets you worked up?”

You whined and writhed on the table in response, and he let out a low chuckle, circling his middle finger around your throbbing clit.

“Come on, Cookie... tell me how much you like it... tell me what goes through that fucking beautiful head of yours when you see me get bigger... fill out... pant and moan as I try to swallow down every bite you put in front of me...”

He replaced his middle finger with his thumb and pumped two fingers into your cunt, beginning an agonizingly slow pace. You whined, hearing the sloppy wet noises he was pulling out of your sopping core.

“You like that, huh?... stuffing me stupid, then leaving me each night with a raging boner... leaving me to fuck my hand or anything else I can fit my dick in... but it’s getting harder, Cookie... this gut is getting in the way of everything...”

He watched you as your legs shook. He could feel your walls flutter, and he smiled, knowing he had you right where he wanted.

“Making it so hard... but you want that, don’t you?... want me to need you... want you to feed me... want you to fuck me...”

He began to pump harder, and you cried out arching your back. He was working up a sweat, between working you over and his belly trying to digest the ridiculous amount of food he had in it. Dieter pulled his fingers from your core and sat down in the chair, gripped your thighs and dove in. He sucked your clit hard, and you screeched out, hands going into his messy curls. He shoved his tongue into your weeping, twitching hole and his nose pressed your clit perfectly, sending you screaming into your orgasm, and he happily lapped at your spend.

He worked you over as you started to come down, but he didn’t stop. His mouth moved back to your swollen and sensitive nub, and he pushed the two fingers back into you repeatedly. He wasn’t letting you go now that he had you, and he hummed in response to every whine, cry, and moan that left your mouth.

“Mr... Mr. Bravo...Dieter!... Please... I-I can’t!...”, you cried out, your body writhing and shaking.

He shook his head vigorously between your legs, grunting ‘uh-uh’ back to you and continuing his assault on your quivering cunt.

The noise his work pulled out of you as you came again was deep and animalistic, and he gave your clit one last, hard suck before he pulled back and stood up. In one swift movement, he pulled his boxer shorts down and pumped his cock, then pushed it into you, letting out a long, low moan as he did. He gripped your hips, and you wrapped your legs around him as best you could.

Goddamnit, he was big. Your eyes rolled into the back of yoiur head as he seated himself in you deep.

“Move ... please move, Dieter... fuck... so big... have to move... need you to... ”, you whined, tilting your hips to encourage him.

He started to set his pace, each pump pushing a squeak or moan out of you.

“Jesus titty fucking Christ... yeah, Cookie... soft as shit pussy sucking me right in... fuck you for holding out on me... fuck you, Cookie, for carrying around this tight little pussy and not telling me...”

The sound of your wet cunt being impaled repeatedly by Dieter’s thick cock was obscene, but the filth coming from his mouth was even more so.

“Lucky little bitch… getting to stuff me… feed me… make me fat…”, he grunted through gritted teeth as he pounded into you. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good… you like being fucked by a fat guy, Cookie?... you did this, baby… you did this to me… the fucking envy of every god damned kinky fuck out there… yeah, you are a fucking lucky bitch…”

“Fuck you, Dieter… fuck you and your big fucking cock… and your fucking ap-appetite!... you eat so good, too… fuck… oh fuck…yes… just like that… yes… uhhhgod… yes, Dieter… keep going…”

Your tight walls fluttered and clenched on his cock, and he groaned and grunted.

“Yeah , so close, baby… oh fuck… come on my dick, Cookie… be a good little bitch and fucking come on my dick… wanna feel you cream on me… then I’m gonna – Fuck!... then I’m gonna fill this pussy… it’s fucking mine… come on… lemme have it… lemme have it, Cookie baby…”

The white-hot bolt of energy traveled down your spine and exploded in your core, sending you screaming and arching your back off the table. Dieter held you firm as he pounded you through your orgasm.

“That’s fucking right!... yeah, baby… yeah… fuck… fuck fuck fuck fuck… Cookie… gonna come in you-your pussy… you’re mine… you’re fucking mine… yeah… yeah… yeah!”

With a final grunt, his hips pushed hard into you as he came hard. His hand moved from your hip and came down beside your face as he panted, his forehead resting on your chin.

Both of you were quiet, minus the sounds of your heavy breathing filling the air.

“Fuck you and your fucking pussy… god damnit, Cookie…”, he breathed, and you smiled.

“Fuck you and your monster cock, Bravo.”, you huffed back with a laugh.

Silence filled the room again until Dieter slipped his softening cock from you, and you let out a small whine. He smiled and chuckled.

“Don’t leave… come upstairs.”, he said quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your collar bone.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with his big, pleadling brown ones looking up at you.

“Are you a post-coital snuggler, Mr. Bravo?”, you asked teasingly, smiling.

“Yeah… yeah, I am…” He looked down and grinned bashfully, nodding.

He brought his gaze back up at you, a soft and warm look on his face. He leaned in close, lips almost touching as his bely pressed you into the table.

“Yeah… plus I wanna see your tits and be comfortable in bed.”

--------<3---------

thank you @toxicanonymity for the moodboard!

TAG LIST:

@theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @blackfemalenerd @southernbe @starkeydaviss

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #you ask beefro answers #you ask beefro answers #beefro's bistro #chubby!dieter bravo #chubby dieter #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x female reader #weight gain fiction #beefro is thankful #🥩#👌🥩💜

109 notes · View notes

beefrobeefcal · 5 months

Note

I have a Thot to contribute for the Beefro Repentance Tiddie Fic, in case it is helpful or shall I say... titillating? 😂 (I'm sorry)

Since it didn't specify who gets milked, maybe we go back to late-stage pregnant Mouse? A little lactation play where Frankie drinks from her after dinner until he tops off his big full belly? (Big enough to rival her bump 🥵)

Or since it sounds like nonnie wants some male breast play too...add Frankie and Mouse playing with each other's delectable chests first?

Anyway just some ideas! I wasn't expecting your poll to turn out how it did, not gonna lie 😄 But hey, I'll enjoy wherever you take us with this!

You're a lifesaver, Reby!

fucking RIGHTS we need to expose Frankie's Breeding, Pregnancy & Lactation Kinks!

Smuttiest regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

--------<3---------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Frankie one shot

The Catfish & The Mouse: Mouse's Relief

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Pregnant Fem!Reader

Summary: Frankie helps Mouse find relief.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 2,382

Content Warning: pregnancy talk, main character pregnant, lactation kink, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, 5-knuckle shuffle (male), lactation, breast feeding, breast milk, cumming in pants, weight talk, eating, sore breasts

Author's Notes: Thank you @rebel-held for the assistance you provided in your THOT. Thank you to @thehalflifeofloveisforever, @theywhowriteandknowthings & @neverwheremoonchild for their input, eyes and THOTs.

--------<3---------

It had been a day. You were now on maternity leave, supposedly to be giving yourself some down time before your baby arrived, but you’d been anything but relaxed today.

Your baby had been kicking the same rib over and over for the last three days, not allowing you to have any restful sleep; your big belly weighed heavily on you, making movements hard; and to top it all off, your milk had come in, making your breasts extremely sore and heavy.

Pregnancy was so uncomfortable.

Thankfully, it was a Friday and that meant you had Frankie all to yourself from the moment he got home to Monday morning at 6:00 am. He’s been so patient and caring with you, rubbing your feet and back, switching sides of the bed with you so you could be closer to the bathroom, and giving you your space when you needed to just be left alone because of the raging hormones in your body, then running back the moment you needed to be held.

Despite being so uncomfortable, you decided to do something special for him to dinner and make his favourite – lasagna.

****

Frankie arrived home, opening up the back door to the smell of his absolute favourite. He smiled and walked into the kitchen, seeing you leaning against the counter, your hands holding your phone and resting on your big belly, while you scrolled through whatever app you were hooked on today. He couldn’t help but notice how much more pronounced your chest was, and his cock twitched in his jeans. But before he could do anything, he knew he needed to test the waters first.

“Hey mama…”, he said softly with a smile, coming up beside you and splaying his hand over your middle. He pressed a kiss on your temple and moved his hand over your sore side. “How’s the rib?”

You sighed with a tired smile. “Sore… but okay. How was work?”

He didn’t want to talk about work. Not when that sigh heaved your swollen tits, making his cock twitch harder.

“Baby…”, he cooed as he kissed your neck, continuing to test whether you’d let him go further, and he reached up and gently palmed your tit.

You hissed in pain, and he jumped back. “What? What happened?”

“They hurt… so much… I’m sorry, Frankie. Please don’t touch my boobs.”

“What- why are they so sore, Mouse?”, he asked, sounding concerned with a slight hint of annoyance.

“Milk’s coming in, and they’re swollen and-“

“I can see that.”, he stated, his eyes glued to your ample cleavage.

“Frankie.” Your tone was indicative of your own irritation and a warning that your hormonal temper was rearing its head.

He looked up to your face and offered a sheepish grin.

“Okay… no touching the tiddies.”

You sighed again, not wanting your weekend to start with your mood. “It’s okay, baby. Dinner will be ready soon so you should have your shower. “

He nodded with a smile and kissed you quickly before heading to the bedroom.

As Frankie stood in the shower, he tried to ignore his semi hard-on but his mind kept slipping back to the sight of you, round and heavy, tits swollen and all because of him. He gripped his now fully hard cock and pumped himself, thinking about how good you feel and smell and look, and…

He came fast, his come hitting the shower wall then washing away under the spray of the shower. As he calmed down, he thought about how quickly he hit his release by his own hand when his mind was filled with you being pregnant. He grinned to himself as he finished his shower, making a mental note to take some more pictures of you like this for his personal spank bank, especially if you decided one kid was enough. He dried off and got dressed, heading back out into the kitchen with you.

*****

The lasagna was gone, and Frankie’s belly was the only evidence that it had ever existed. You couldn’t stomach it, so he had eaten your portion as well, so you had some fruit and soup instead.

“Fuck me, Mouse… we both look like we’re about to pop.”, he chuckled, trying to pull down his T-shirt, the same one that fit just fine a few weeks ago.

“Head to the couch, I’ll clean up.”, you said, standing up and wincing.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely not, mama.”, he grunted as he stood up. “I’ll clean up later. You need to relax.”

After some coaxing, Frankie had convinced you to have a bath and he would be ready for you when you were done.

As you soaked, Frankie sat on the couch, full belly sitting heavily on his lap, and he searched online for how to help you with your sore breasts. He read about warm compresses and massaging, then his heart almost jumped into his throat and his cock came to standing attention at once when he read that he could express the milk by sucking it out. He groaned and palmed at his hard on through his sweatpants. Yup. He was going to be so helpful.

You got out of the bath, feeling more relaxed, minus your breasts, and got into your lounge clothes, then made your way out to the living room. You stopped in the doorway and watched as Frankie grunted looking at his phone with a feral intensity and his hand palming his crotch.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Your tone was teasing and the grin on your face told him to not stop on your account.

“I think I can help you… with your tiddy problem.”, he grunted, tossing his phone to the couch and standing up. He walked towards you, his eyes fixed on your chest, and he licked his lips.

“Frankie! I said they’re sore!”

“I know… and I wanna help.”, he groaned as he pulled you into his arms and kissed your neck. If it wasn’t for the fact you both had pronounced bellies, you know you’d feel his cock pressing into you.

His hand came up and slipped under your shirt and he gently caressed your breast through your flimsy bralette. Your breath hitches and he hushed you and kissed your neck again.

“Don’t think you understand what you do to me, looking like this, mama… your fucking body is just…”

He grunted as his cock tried to find friction when he bucked his hips, and he softly twisted your nipple. You gasped and let out a pained whine, but he held you firmly where you were.

“Lemma help, mama… please.”, he pleaded against your neck, breathing heavily. “Lemme make it better.”

You winced again at his hands, as gentle and wonderful as they felt, and seriously considered telling him off. But the desperation in his voice plus the warmth of his hand on your swollen breast gave you pause.

He stood up, nudging his nose against yours, his eyelids heavy and he whispered please again. You nodded and he led you to the couch.

Once you were seated, he went to the bathroom and grabbed a few towels, and put them beside you. He leaned down, holding himself above you with his hand on the back of the couch. He kissed you, and you could tell he was holding himself back as he did. He released your lips and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, Mouse, you look so good like this…”, he panted as he stood up. “I’m gonna help…”

He dropped to his knees between yours and pushed your shirt up over tour belly, kissing and mouthing his way up. You watched him with wide eyes, and it dawned on you what he was planning.

“Frankie? What are you gonna-“

“Gonna make it better, mama… gonna help you.”, he grunted again, pushing your shirt your breasts and pulling it over your head.

He sat back on his heels and looked you over with a ravenous ferocity in his eyes.

“Fuck... yes, mama... look so good...”, he groaned, his hands going to your swollen middle. “No idea what it does to me to see you stretching out your shirts because you're so full of my baby... tits looking amazing....”

He dove his face forward, kissing your belly again, moving up to mouth your nipple through the jersey knit fabric of your bralette. It felt amazing, but also completely confusing and overwhelming. The only time Frankie had expressed this much admiration for your swollen body was when he was drunk; he would get handsy and needy and would whine and beg you to ride him or let him fuck you in front of a mirror so he could see you. He was never this demanding and gropey and domineering. This was new and you were not mad at it.

“Frankie...”, you whined as you panted when he nipped just a bit too hard at your breast. “Please! They’re so sore... please be gentle!”

“I know... I know, mama... I’m gonna help.”, he cooed, sucking your nipple lightly through your bralette.

You sucked in your breath and your hand went to his head, gripping his hair, and you winced as he added pressure with his hand to your other breast, causing it to leak a bit. When he felt the warmth of your milk saturate your bralette, he sat back and stared. His pupils were so blown out, you could no longer differentiate where his irises were, and his eyes were fixed on your clothed, leaking breast.

“Frankie... are you gonna...?”, you asked quietly through heavy breathing.

His eyes didn’t move as he nodded slowly and licked his lips. His hands came up and pulled your bralette off, releasing your heavy breasts, and his mouth immediately grasped one of your nipples and sucked. You let out a breathy whine and once again gripped his hair, this time with both hands. The pinch and pull of him sucking to get your milk moving was almost too much until you felt a release. You sighed at the relief that washed over you and Frankie groaned as milk spurted into his mouth.

He swallowed mouthful after mouthful of milk, grunting as he suckled, despite his belly already being full from his big dinner. He didn’t care about the ever-tightening feeling in his middle; his mind had a singular focus and that was what he had in his mouth.

When he felt like he couldn’t get more from that breast, he released your nipple and licked it, looking up at you with dark eyes and panting. He moved over to your other breast, now leaking even more, and nudged it with his nose and his tongue darted out, licking up the escaped milk.

“Jesus... Mouse... you taste so fucking good...”, he grunted as he lapped up the warm liquid. His voice sounded deep and primal, like your weeping tits had unlocked some deep seeded need Frankie hadn’t tapped into yet.

You locked eyes with him again and he made a low growl as he pulled your nipple into his mouth and began sucking on it greedily.

You leaned forward a bit and one of your hands slid down, looking for his hard cock, but his belly was in the way. You knew he was full before, but now his belly would rival yours. It felt tight and as your fingers rubbed and prodded him, and you felt his body move as he rutted his hips.

“Poor baby... bet your dick is just aching... but you’re too big for me to get it... I can feel how full you are, Frankie baby... belly’s getting big... but you like this, don’t you... getting fat because you put a baby in me... that’s it... good boy...”, you cooed, stroking his hair.

A low moan emanated from Frankie and his grip on your thighs tightened and he panted through gulps. When he finally drained the second breast, he sat back, and you released his hair. He looked like he was in another realm of existence, with milk dripping down his chin and his eyes blown out. He was panting and fell back and laid on the floor, his extremely full belly prominently jutting out above him and groaned.

It took some work, but you got up off the couch, pulled on your sweater, and stood above Frankie, gently rocking back and forth, rubbing your belly.

“Baby... your belly’s bigger than mine right now.”, you smiled, nudging his lovehandle gently with your foot and noted the wet patch on the crotch of his sweatpants. You grinned, knowing exactly what that was.

He lifted his head and looked at his swollen middle and dropped it back down again. “Fuck, I’m full.”, he groaned and closed his eyes.

“I’d get on the floor and give you a belly rub, but...”, you grinned, motioning to your baby bump. “We both don’t need to be stuck on the down there.”

Frankie huffed a laugh, his eyes opening as he looked up at you. “How are your boobs?”

“Much better, thank you.”, you chuckle, as he struggles to lug himself upright.

Once he stands up, you can see his back arching to accommodate the weight in his belly. You reach forward and rub his tummy and smile.

“Kinda over did it, huh?”, you asked, giving him a pat and leaning towards him to press a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”, he murmured as smiled and splayed his hand on your belly, feeling your little one moving around.

“So, you came in your pants, huh?”, you said pointedly with an eyebrow raised.

He huffed a laugh, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and pulled you to his side. “Yeah... I came in my fucking pants.”

“Sucking on my tits was so good that you came in your pants? You kinky bastard...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah... ”, he grinned, nudging you towards the bedroom and swatting at your backside.

You stopped and grinned, biting your lower lip, as you felt his belly press into your back, and he wrapped his arms around your middle.

“Watch your mouth... carrying my baby can only save you from so much, Mama.”, he growled into your ear as he guided you down the hallway and int your bedroom.

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