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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

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Eddie x fem!reader. [vol I]

Summary: just a bit of Eddie’s shenanigans 😈

TW: no minors, angst, mentions of hard times.

W.C: 4.7k

A/N: hope you are all enjoy this! Thank you for all the love received on the first chapter 🥰

You spent the rest of the night questioning why you ever placed the ad in the paper to begin with. Certainly you could just go to sleep and you’d wake up to all of Eddie’s belongings gone because this was a nightmare.. right? Of course. You’d wake up any minute now and things would go back to the way they used to be.

////

Oh how you had hoped.

Eddie wearing your robe was just the tip of the iceberg of the stupid shit he would endure for the next 12 hours. After eating 7 slices of pizza, he wiped his greasy hands down the front of it. Settling for that instead of the arms of the couch after you had scolded him. He talked during the entire episode of The Nanny.

“Holy shit, she’s hot, I mean her voice is kinda nasally but woooowwweeeee.. you think she’s into metalheads? I bet she is. I bet she’d love to be wrapped all up in me, it'd be a secret though for her.” He talked with his mouth full, bits of cheese and pizza sauce flying from his lips and landing on his naked chest. His feet were propped up on the coffee table, toes wiggling like he was a child watching cartoons. “Got any chips? I’m hungry.”

He left a mess wherever he went. The chips he begged you for were still sitting open on the couch. Crumbs decorated the upholstery like confetti at a New Year’s Eve party. His pizza plate on the coffee table, holding an impressive amount of beer cans. Instead of hanging your robe back up on its proper hook in the bathroom, he left it on the floor in between the living room and the hallway. You had gone to bed after he insisted on belching “Love Bites” with three beers tucked between his legs. It was at this moment you thought of begging Steve and Robin to move in with you instead.

“For the last time, I refuse to try to out burp you, I will not be duct taping beers to my hands, and for the love of god if you get salsa on the carpet I will skin you alive.”

“It puts the lotion on its skin….”

You stomp to bed, slamming your bedroom door and throwing the covers over your head. You can hear Eddie slurring through your bedroom walls.

“C’mon Tooooty, I thought we were having a slumber party. You didn’t even paint my nails yet!” His small hiccuping giggles turn into a roar of laughter lasting entirely too long.

The next morning you wake up to your alarm, it’s peaceful, content. Today is a new day and you have a busy schedule working at the salon. Saturdays are easily the most hectic at Josie’s. It seems it’s the only day off for most people to come in and get their hair done. You dress in a simple black tank top tucked into a black mini skirt, a form fitting denim vest over top, and black chunky slide sandals. Spritzing yourself with your Exclamation perfume you just have to brush your teeth and grab a little breakfast.

Upon opening your bedroom door you are hit with a stench so ungodly, it makes the hair stand up on your arms. Did a fucking tornado crash through your home? How hard were you sleeping? You felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz only in reverse, while she was mystified by the sights around her you were full of rage, disgust, and sheer anger.

Eddie.

For fucks sake it is almost as if he needed a goddamn babysitter.

Beer cans litter the floor. A silver ball made of duct tape was sitting on the couch, the small tv was still on. All your VHS’s were scattered along the floor by the entertainment center. A plate of what looked like hardened shredded cheese was balancing on the edge of the coffee table. Rolling papers, and two joints were piled on top of it, along with various baggies of god knows what. Chips were ground into the carpet, their sharp edges making the carpet glitter with nacho cheese and tortilla shrapnel. And sitting opened and probably now dry, was the blue nail polish you had gotten with Robin. The whole place reeked of the dirty rotten scent of spilled stale beer soaking cotton fabric, the remnants of weed wafting from the furniture baking into the fibers from the sun streaming through the windows in lazy strips of golden yellow.

Homicide is probably what? 10 years? You could manage that.

You make your way into the culprits room, swearing under your breath and feeling the sweat start on the back of your neck. Pushing through the heap of clothes and worn boots, you find the prince of trash laying on his back, soft snores escaping his slack mouth. There aren’t even sheets on his mattress, just mountains of his belongings.

A beer is taped crudely to his left hand, your brand new bottle of jergens lays next to him along with a playboy— flipped open to a brunette with obvious fake tits and her lips placed into an orgasm. He apparently threw some boxers on during his midnight raccoon shenanigans.

This is comparable to bringing home a dog from the humane society, you aren’t sure how they’ll act but once you go to sleep— all hell breaks lose.

“Eddie,” you yell, loud enough that your own ears are ringing. He doesn’t move a muscle, just a loud snore erupting from him. You kick at his legs, push his body around but nothing. If it weren’t for the snoring you probably should have called a coroner.

One last slap against his bare chest and he finally groans, “gimme five more minutes baby and I promise I’ll rock your world.” Jesus Christ.

Fuck it, just go to work, you can deal with him when you get home. Breath in and out. Nope— the fuse that was lit in your brain from Eddie’s mess inches its way slowly towards the dynamite, licking up the wick. Also like a dog from the shelter, they need to be trained, told when they are doing something wrong, and immediately corrected.

Filling a cup with cold water you waltz back into his room a smile plastered to your lips.

The splash of water against Eddie’s face is music to your ears as he gasps for breath. Spluttering and sitting up, spilling the beer taped to his hand, he looks like a cat that was thrown in the tub, long curls soaking wet, his bangs parted and thrown back from the force of the water hitting him.

“Damn sweetheart, I said give me five minutes and I’d give you all ten inches of my co—” the plastic cup bounces off of Eddie’s head. “Okay, ow. Goddamn what was that for?!”

“What was that for?! Look around Eddie!” You motion around the house as he stands up holding his head and pressing the palm of his right hand into his eye, dragging it down his face to wipe the remnants of cold water away, “this place is disgusting!”

You begin to list off everything wrong, as you walk around the house, Eddie following begrudgingly behind you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. You point out the chips in the carpet, the hardened cheese plate, the vhs mess. Each and everything you show him your voice gets higher and higher and louder and louder. The rage bubbling up in your body as you huff around. A large hand and the odd sensation of a rubbery plastic mass spin you around, holding onto your shoulders.

Eddie’s face is so close to yours, you can see the sun reflecting off the usual darkened browns of his eyes, bringing a goldmine to the muddy surface.

“Tooty— it’s far too early for this shit,” he speaks slowly, the Cheshire Cat like grin on his stupid face spreads across his lips revealing his straight white teeth, “you need to relax a little bit.” He notices the weight of the beer can and tips it back into his mouth, chugging the rest of it and smacking his lips when he’s done. Adding a deafening belch upwards to the ceiling.

You curl your lip in disgust and shove his arm off of you. “What? Hair of the dog baby, gotta keep drinking to avoid a hangover.”

Crossing your arms and taking a step back from him, you take a deep breath, “I don’t know how you lived in the trailer park, and frankly— I don’t give a fuck—but, you will not, make a mess of my house. Either, clean this shit up before I get home from work, or I’ll personally move your crap out to the lawn. Got it?”

His smile fades, and his eyebrows pull together, eyes squinted. The hum of the ceiling fan is the only noise in the house. “Are you threatening me at 7:30 in the morning?” he asks, checking his watch, towering over you. No doubt he is trying to freak you out.

It takes everything in you to not slap him upside the head.

You stand your ground, not letting his carved jaw and mean eyed demeanor get the best of you.

“Damn right I am. I’ll have your shit lying on the lawn like a horrendous Halloween yard sale. Just because the whole town thinks you're some psycho, bastard doesn’t mean I do— you don’t scare me, Munson,” his surname falling from your lips like agent orange, thick and heavy painting the air around you both. Your head held high, eyes glaring back into his. His bravado falters and he also crosses his arms, matching your energy.

“Maybe you should pull the stick out of your ass before it splinters, babe.” Eddie chides back, lips spreading manically across his face.

Neither of you will let the other win, and if you didn’t have to go to work, you would stand here all day arguing with him. You poke a manicured nail into his chest. “You owe me a new bottle of lotion.” With that you push past him and make your way into the bathroom to finish getting ready.

“It was either that or the mayonnaise, sweetheart!”

You had always found comfort working at Josie’s. She had taken you on immediately after finishing Cosmetology school at Empire Beauty School in Indianapolis, giving you full time hours and helping you buy your supplies. Nancy had dropped down to part time, working for both the Hawkins Post and cutting hair on the side. Josie was like an older sister to you, and you loved her dearly.

After doing matching perm sets on a mother and daughter, a trim on your regular client, Audrey, and catching up with the latest gossip from Molly about her date that ended with them making out in his car—it was time for your lunch break.

The leftover half of a tuna salad sandwich stared you down from its cellophane wrapper, begging you to ingest the soggy yet stale bread. A stomach ache waiting to happen. Tossing it into the trash, you settle for Marlboro menthols and a Diet Coke. The sun is high in the sky, begging you to enjoy it.

You shed your vest as you sit on the back patio, leaning your head against the neon pink and white striped plastic pool chair lounger, stretching your legs out and kicking off your sandals. You accept the sun’s rays into your skin. Sunglasses poised on your face and a cigarette tucked between your mauve painted lips, you pretend you’re in a movie.

But you’re not— you’re in the middle of Butthole, Indiana. The only exciting thing that happened here was the possibility of hearing the latest town gossip about someone’s cousin, friend, or ex getting knocked up by the high school football star.

You longed for a day off where you and Robin could enjoy the once luxurious but not desolate woods of Lover’s Lake. Nothing but the peaceful breeze to fill your mind and the light rustle of the leaves.

Nancy pulled the blue matching chair up next to you, curling her legs beneath her as you silently pull your lighter from your pocket and hand it to her. A small cloud of smoke dances around your face as she lights her cigarette inhaling deeply.

“Ready for the honeymoon?” You ask her as she inches her way down the seat, a slight squeak to the rubbery plastic as she settles her body in.

Nancy and Jonathan had gotten married two months ago. The wedding was pristine and beautiful in typical Nancy fashion. Her glorious curls in a French twist, soft tendrils framing her youthful face. A pearl colored lace gown billowing behind her and sleeves puffed around her shoulders with dainty lace decorating down her delicate wrists. She looked incredible.

You cried standing beside Holly and El in your peach colored satin gowns, wiping your eyes when they read their nuptials, vowing to be together during sickness and in health. Will, Argyle, and Mike stood beside Jonathan trying like hell to stand upright as the bachelor party spilled into the midnight hours, Mike, paler than usual and Will, drenched with sweat under the beaming lights of the church. Argyle was the only one smiling through the entire ceremony, moving his head to the rhythm of the organ.

Karen had wept and gathered you into a tight hug for helping style the bridal party’s hair that morning, and for being such a wonderful roommate to Nancy. Ted checked his watch every half hour, and kept an eye on the punch which seemingly looked to get darker and darker throughout the night.

Joyce and Hopper held each other close and danced slow to every song played. Their undying love for one another evident on their faces.

A very drunk Murray Bauman hollered obscenities behind the bar, obviously taking advantage of the open bar night as he mixed drinks for the Wheeler and Byer wedding guests, heavy on the liquor. It wasn’t until grandma Wheeler grabbed the mic and started singing Frank Sinatra that someone caught on to Murray’s antics.

You had danced and laughed along with your high school classmates all night, spilling champagne and beer onto the community center floor, the bottom of

Nancy’s dress turned an ugly smoke gray. It was a perfect summer wedding, one that all of Hawkins would be talking about for years to come.

Nancy stretched her back and twisted her neck to look at you, blue eyes peering over round colored lenses, “Yes, I can’t wait to dip my toes in the ocean,” she says beaming, “we’ve been going to the pool pretty often these last few weeks trying to tan Jonathan a little bit so he doesn’t burn like a piece of bread in Cancun.”

A giggle bubbles on her lips as you laugh along with her. “Any luck on finding a roommate?”

You had been dreading this conversation. Originally you had hoped that Erica Sinclair or even Max would maybe want to be your roommate. Sadly they were both either starting college or finishing up their degree this year—Lucas turned down a full ride basketball scholarship to be with Max. Even the boys had places to go. Dustin and Suzy were finishing their summer internships and moving in together—he had plans on proposing after summer’s end. Will lived in Indianapolis, he became a teacher’s aid after finishing his Bachelor’s in Fine Arts, hoping to one day become a professor. Mike and El lived in Hopper’s cabin, tucked deep in the woods. Celebrating being together for almost 10 years. It was quite literally just you— single, and desperate for a roommate.

“Yeah— I uhh— they moved in last night actually,” you said through a wall of smoke nonchalantly. Lighting another cigarette to power through this conversation.

Nancy is picking at her cuticles and flipping through Cosmo as she asks who answered the ad.

A nervous laugh surpasses your lips, “Eddie,” you say in almost a question.

Nancy stops moving entirely. The ash from her cigarette threatening it’s length. She shakes her head and corrects herself, “Sorry, I think I had a stroke… did you say Eddie? As in Eddie Munson?”

You throw your arm over your eyes and slip further into the chair, hoping it would swallow you whole. A groan escapes your lips followed by your confirmation.

“There was no one else! Everyone is off at school, or getting engaged— he was the only one to show up and look at the house! Plus he forked out more cash than I had originally been asking for so obviously he can afford the rent.”

“Probably drug money,” Nancy coughed.

“Honestly I don’t care if he robbed a bank, the money is there and right now—” the threat of what your life could become stings like a wasp in your brain, red ink showing final notice, light switches not working due to the electricity being shut off, before Eddie moved in— you were well on your way to that lifestyle. “that is what matters.”

Nancy huffs in disagreement, taking a breath to settle her nerves. “I don’t know him personally— but just be careful. Wait, wasn’t he friends with—”

“Yup.” You quip, tight lipped and short, “Robin and Steve know him too.”

“That's what I had thought, well at least he’s not like, a total stranger then.”

Nancy listens intently to the horrors of the past 24 hours at the house she once lived in. Twisting her wedding ring around her small fingers, she had never been more thankful to be married.

The work day ended later than you had hoped, a last minute client showed up begging for a “quick perm” — as if there were such a thing. You waved goodbye as you reminded her of the strict no washing policy when it came to maintaining her curls in place. You sweep the floor in a rush and place your combs and scissors in the blue barbicide. Putting away the perm rods and wiping down the surfaces. Switching over the laundry so at least the towels would be dry by the time you opened on Monday morning.

You were tired and your back felt a little stiff. You shut off the radio, still humming Material Girl, to yourself as you turned off the lights and locked the door.

The drive home was short, your small Ford escort a blur through the streets of Hawkins. You could hear your bed calling you, maybe you’d make yourself a grilled cheese and do some laundry so you wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow. But when you pulled into your driveway you realized you wouldn’t be relaxing at all tonight.

The garage door was pulled open, a makeshift banner with red and black spray painted letters on it spelled out “Corroded Coffin”, a better glance at it and you could see it was the same pattern as your spare bed sheets that you kept in the linen closet. The garbage cans were moved out of the way and tossed into the front yard. Cords from amps and a microphone were plugged into every outlet your small garage could offer. A drum set was in the back beside the shelf that held old paint cans full of lead. The floppy blond haired idiot slammed a Busch Light as he twirled a drumstick in his hand. Two members of the band were head banging along to the guitar solo that Eddie was plucking away at. His fingers moved fluidly over the fretboard. Years of practice evident in the dexterity of his hands. The muscles in his arms tight and flexed, veins protruding around them. There were beer cans scattered all around them. Another dirty thirty, no doubt. Fries were spilling out of empty fast food bags and greasy burger wrappers were littering the ground. The push mower was laying on its side, in the middle of the driveway. The rake snapped in half.

The slam of your car door goes unheard.

The unhinged quirk of your jaw starts to ache as you clench your teeth, stomping towards the garage band. The guitar solo ends just as you get to the garage. They’re all hollering and cheering as Eddie whips his head back, long sweaty strands of his curls whipping around as he tries to catch his breath. Holding the beer at arms length, he pours it into his mouth, light amber colored lager flowing down his chin and the expanse of his neck.

“Fuckin’ told you Jeff,” Eddie says, throwing the beer to the ground at the other guitarists feet, “don’t matter if its been five or fifteen years— I can still play that Master of Puppets solo.” A smug smile spreads across his mouth as he pulls a joint from his back pocket, and lights it between lips.

Jeff swings his guitar off his neck and places it on one of the amps, “yeah, yeah whatever man— you gonna share that or just keep gloating?”

You are standing on the driveway, hands on your hips, weight balancing on one leg, the other straight out, foot tapping in annoyance, waiting for the band of rejects to notice your throat clearing.

“Tooty!” They all yell in unison.

Your expression doesn’t fade. Jaw unhinged, lips pressed together tightly. The icy cold of your stare burrowing into Eddie’s beer and sweat soaked skin, a hazy film around him as he exhales the joint.

“Aww, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” He says with fake concern, a smirk curled on his lips, “you mad you missed the jam sesh?” Eddie croons, the tip of the joint goes red as he inhales again and passes it to Jeff, “don’t worry we do this every other night I’m sure you’ll catch the next one.”

The garage fills with echoing drunk laughs and the asshole on the drums hits a ba dum tss. Causing Eddie to choke on his exhale and start a coughing fit. He’s doubled over laughing as he forces the smoke from his lungs.

“Not here you’re not.”

He looks from you to the guys, all four dumbstruck by your words.

“Please tell me, Tooty, why I, a paying resident of this house,” he says, gesturing wildly around him, taking long legged steps towards you, head dipping and turning to catch your gaze, “am not ‘allowed’ to practice with my band, in a garage that we share?”

He’s lowering his head down to you, the ends of his sweaty curls licking your cheeks as he closes the gap between you, rubbing a hand across his chin, that same smirk on his face as always.

“Hmm?”

You let out an exhausted sigh. After a long day at work the only thing you had wanted to do was relax— not deal with Eddie’s antics.

“I’m not going to entertain your little half-witted dreams from middle school on being the next Kirk Hammett— find somewhere else to play rockstar, and get this shit out of here.”

You shove past him and the band as you stomp through the door leading into the kitchen, hanging up your keys. A quick look around made your head spin.

The house looked worse now than it did when you left for work. Dishes piled along each surface on the counters and into the sink, the microwave was open with what looked like the remnants of a spaghetti-o explosion, a beer can pyramid was starting in the living room. A burnt aluminum pan of jiffy pop sat on the stove, charred on the bottom. The trash bag suitcases Eddie had packed his belongings with, were now thrown in between his room and the hallway.

You were fed up with this bullshit, it had been 24 hours and he was already on your last nerve. Dragging both hands down your face in sheer fatigue, you grab a roll of trash bags from under the sink. Walking heavy footed back to the door, making as much noise as possible, you fling open the door, four pairs of wide eyes stare you down as you shake open the garbage bag.

“Here, let me help you because apparently you don’t have any common fucking sense.” You stomp over to Eddie and rip another bag free from the roll and toss it to him.

In the best condescending tone you can muster you explain, “This, is a garbage bag. Oooh, ahhh. Cool right? See? When you are done with something and it’s empty,” you educate the gaggle of degenerates, “you pick it up, and throw it away! Wow.” You demonstrate for them, picking up an empty can of beer and placing it in the bag.

“See how easy that is? Now,” you say turning towards Eddie your eyes lost of any endearment, “Do you think you big boys could handle that? Or do you need written instructions?”

A scoff is heard from behind you, as it’s now your turn to smirk, stomping back up the steps and into the kitchen, slamming the door hard behind you.

Huffing and puffing, you know that the house will never get clean if you don’t do it yourself. You change into a faded Hawkins High shirt and a pair of old worn cotton shorts with paint smears on the hips from when you and Nancy tackled painting the living room last summer, as you set to work on the kitchen. Pulling on a pair of rubber yellow gloves, you make work on cleaning the mess Eddie had made. The soft hum of your kitchen radio plays as Pearl Jam invades the background. You first fill the sink with the hottest water the faucet allowed, dousing the dishes with dish soap. You’re carrying around the garbage can, picking up empty beer cans, cigarette butts, and the charcoal mess of black popcorn on the the stove.

You don’t hear him enter the kitchen, your mind far away to another time, when Nancy lived with you and the only problem she caused was paying rent a week early. He advances towards you and stops in front of you, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath.

“What’s your fuckin’ problem? You can be a bitch to me all you want, but the guys don’t deserve that.”

You set the garbage can down by your feet, a rubber glove shoved into his chest, “If you think I give a fuck about what they deserve, you are sadly mistaken! I deserve to not have my house completely trashed every time I turn my back!”

“I didn’t know I was living in a fucking convent, Sister Tooty.” Eddie argues, proud of his comeback he leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest, “that why you never get laid?”

You roll your eyes, “fucking yourself with a beer can taped to your hand isn’t exactly getting laid, Munson. But keep it up, you won’t be living here for long if you keep acting like a fucking pig!”

“Again, with your empty threats, sweetheart. Isn’t it tiring being so mad all the time— careful, looks Iike you’re already getting wrinkles.” A throaty laugh escapes his mouth and he sweeps his thumb between your eyebrows, trying to joke around and diffuse the tension growing between you both.

You swat your hands at him and pull away, a look of disgust and frustration planted on your face.

“Jesus,” he says irritated, “Harrington told me that your family moved away— didn’t know it was because you’re such a stone-cold bitch.”

Without even thinking, you shove him hard in the chest. He goes crashing backwards, the rest of the cluttered items on the counter cascade to the floor with loud thuds. Your cheeks are heated, and your eyes glisten with tears, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall. You look at your socked feet and back up to him. Your lip quivering, head held high.

His expression is stunned, not angry like you thought he would be. A look of worry washes over his face as he realizes he crossed the line. Anger ran its course as he recognizes that he hurt you.

“Ah fuck,” he breathes, putting his head down and shaking his long mane. He looks back up to your face, still steady, not daring to let those traitorous tears fall.

“Tooty, I’m— I’m sorry.”

You pluck off your rubber gloves and toss them to the counter, making a dash to the bathroom and locking the door. Eddie doesn’t hear your crying, drowned out from the shower head as he starts to clean up his mess.

vol iii

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A/N: thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed! If your name is crossed out on the Taglist it means your settings are more than likely set to private and you’re not allowed to be tagged!

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#eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #Eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x f!reader #roommate!eddie #roommate!eddie munson

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voraciousthunder · 4 months

Text

Got invited to a birthday party of a friend. As you can propably guess. It didn’t take long until I was sitting on the couch, my huge gut spilling out from my waist, filling the room. 30 people squirming and trashing. Twitching in all directions with visible kicks and punches. Hand and face imprints appearing on the surface. The trashing gut knocked out a few lamps and the couch beneath me broke under my weight. *GRRRRROOOOAANNN* my stomach kept making loud noises as it tried to digest the huge loud of meat. Muffled screaming filling the room with low growling. I can’t help but moan and burp in pleasure at the meal.

”*BUOOOORPH* excuse me! I just couldn’t help myself. The feeling of you all squirming in there just feels so good! *BELCH* Oh! And if you can hear me in there friend , Happy birthday!” I say and give my gut a huge meaty slap

#mass vore #pred #same size vore #vore belly

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bigwishes · 1 year

Note

I hope you grant my wish:

I wish to be a muscle stud, but I want to be the stinkiest and slobbiest guy to ever exist.

Sure bro and I think I got the perfect transformation from you.

You lean back in your office chair shortly after sending your request when you feel a strange sensation was over your body. You begin to feel you body pump itself up. Your veins become visible and blood rapidly pumps around you body trying to get oxygen to your inflating muscles. You hear your office chair squeak as you feel yourself getting bigger. You try to stand up and got check yourself out in the mirror but as you try to stand you feel a pain in your gut. You watch as a cut six pack forms on your body, the six pack continues to push forward as you become painfully bloated, you hadn't even fully stood up yet before you fell backwards into your office chair. You began to sweat slightly, rubbing your six pack to try and ease the pain you can't help but burp trying to release the pressure building up in your gut.

Your wish came true, well most of it. There was practically no B.O, you were just a bit sweaty from transformation, and a bit bloated. But as the minutes passed that passed too and soon you were able to get up out of your office chair and walk around the house. You were a bit disappointed, you were expecting some hot B.O and sweaty.

You got up from your chair and began to walk around. You walked down your hallway and began to feel heavy. Like gravity was increasing on you, you began to slow down as sweat dripped down your skin. You looked down, it looked like you were getting bigger? but you weren't sure in the dark hallway, one thing you did notice was the wet feeling in the carpet, it was running off your body and seeping into the carpet. You walked down the hallway, slowing down with each step. You found yourself in your lounge room totally out of breath. You stomach grumbled as you began to feel bloated again. You flopped your new jock body onto your couch. You felt the sweat intensify, running down your back, soaking your underwear and seeping into your couch. Suddenly a controller appeared in your lap. but you don't remember buying the latest console, you look up at your TV and see a shooter loaded up, suddenly there were earphones in your ears and a voice coming through.

"hey anyone got a mic?" a guy asked

You couldn't take it anymore, you had no control and you just...

"BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRP" you released an enormous belch into the open mic

"broooo, don't fuckin burp into the mic" another guy said

"-UUUURRRP, sorry bro *hic" You couldn't help yourself from burping into the mic again.

---- After the game was over you found yourself no longer feeling bloated, but instead starving, right as you went to stand up suddenly a blender filled with ice cold protein shake appeared in your hand, and a bowl of chicken and rice resting on your thigh, there was no need to get up, you meal was right here. You chugged your shake, only stopping to take a breath and let out a small burp, in between massive gulps you practically inhaled mouthfuls of chicken and rice.

After your miraculous meal you once again found yourself so bloated you couldn't get up, so you played another game, and had another meal, and another game, an another and another. The sounds of people complaining about you burping into the mic didn't bother you, you didn't even notice yourself swelling with size after each meal. The longer you played the bigger you got and the worse you stunk, you didn't even notice your rank stench most of the time, only when you would reach down to scratch your ass drenched in sweat and lift up your fingers to be grossed out by your stink and laugh into the mic about how bad you reek.

"BUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRP, aah fuck, so blo- *hic* ted...ahh my protien shake, right on time..hey is that a second one on the coffee table? mmmmmmmm and a nice big plate of pasta for after my chicken, oh cool and a whole box of protein bar's to snack on whilst I game"

enjoy your muscle bound life bro as a big slobberish gamer meathead

#male transformation #muscle #muscle transformation #male tf #gay transformation #tf story #reality change #transformation #musk #muscle morph

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octuscle · 1 month

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Hey man, there's this one guy I'm tutoring who's a total jock, like an absolute dudebro. But the thing is he won't stop belching, and it's disgusting! Could yoy help me teach him a lesson by having him get a little fatter and harrier every time he burps?

Phew! Your tutor student is actually pretty damn hot… Do you really want that? I mean, I could just teach him manners? Then everything would be….. Buuuuuuuurp! Shit, does he always stink like that? Okay, your wish is my command!

BURP! Short but intense. There's a slight shadow of a beard on his smooth cheeks… That his body fat percentage has increased? That's a gift! He's still so defined that his six-pack isn't noticeable. He has burped three more times by the end of the tutoring session. The last time right in your face as a farewell. The bad thing is: Somehow it makes you horny. Especially as the beard, the longer hair and the slight paunch don't look bad on him at all. BUUUUURP!

Two days later, you bump into him at your favorite burger joint and you hear him. You recognize the burps. You almost didn't recognize him. "Bro, cool to see you here, have a seat!" He offers you his greasy, ketchup-smeared hand. You're a little disgusted. And fascinated. The beard suits him. The longer hair too. And you've always liked the hair on his forearms! Okay, it's not so cool that the T-shirt is a little tight around the stomach….

A few days later you get a message. "Bro, I've got a new job. Don't need your help anymore. School sucks". Do you have to get in touch now? Is it your fault? You already have a bit of a guilty conscience…

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP! Oh my goodness, you think! Was that a foghorn? You walk past a cheap and greasy snack bar. And sitting at a table is a greasy, fat, hairy guy. He sees you, he waves. It's your tutor student. You go into the snack bar and say hello. He grins and says "Cool that we're meeting, have a seat!" He spits small pieces of hamburger across the table. BUUUUURP. He laughs and his fat belly jiggles like Jell-O. "Yo, that one was straight fire, am I right?!?"

On the one hand, he has learned nothing and perhaps even deserves it. On the other hand, the question is whether that's not an exaggeration… Think about it… And let me know if you want me to change anything!

#Weight gain #male tf #chronivac #ai image #belching

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bellyasks · 5 days

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Hey! Maybe ways that an inflator/filler can tease their feedee/inflatee when they're about to burst, and conversely ways that the feedee/inflatee can respond through a gut full of pressure and mouth full of belches?

FEEDER:

"Oh, you are so cute, I'd love to just give you a big squeeze right now but I don't think your belly could take it!"

"Aw, you can hold in that burp just a little longer, can't you, cutie pie?"

"Ooh, there is so much pressure in your poor tummy right now, I'm surprised your belly button hasn't popped out yet!"

"Let's see which is gonna pop first, your shirt or your belly."

"All that rumbling must mean you're still hungry, hm?"

FEEDEE:

"Wait--can y-uurp-can you unbutton my pants? P-urp-please…"

"Ooh, my belly… I don't think I can hold any more…"

"Oh, god, please be gentle, I feel like I'm about to burst."

"Oohh-urp- d-urrp-don't squeeze me so tight!"

"I can't even thi-urp-think about another bite… My belly's about to explode…"

#belly kink #tummy kink #stuffing #stuffed belly #burst mention #burst teasing #burst tease #belly #prompts #my post

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pastel-beez · 9 months

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"Oh, baby" I croon down the phone to you, sending an immediate tingle down your spine, "You sound out of breath...what's the matter?"

You gulp and struggle to reply, your mind clouded and deliciously groggy. Instead, you stifle a belch that sends your free hand straight to your middle, gingerly massaging the packed-solid dome of your gut.

But I catch you.

"Ohhh~" you can hear the smirk in my voice;

"Has someone been a little greedy today? I should've known, really. You're never panting from doing any sort of meaningful exercise anymore..." I trail off, and you hear the sound of fabric rustling.

"How I wish I could see you..." I'm cut off by an audible gurgle, and you can't stop a stuffed burp from escaping you this time. A blush flushes your face and you squeeze your legs together.

"Oh, honey..." I giggle, breathy myself,

"You sound *glutted*. Let me see you. I want to gauge just how much room there is left for me to fill."

"Eat up, sunshine."

#female fat admirer #ffa #bloated burps #stuffed piggy #full belly #editedtoaddtags #you need to know #im very cockney #like “ello” levels

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ruelpsen · 11 months

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any favourite sentence starters you have for writing about eructo?

Absolutely! Some might be arguably kinda basic, but man can these set up some great shit...

Some for a variety of situations, generally in which some stuffing/bloating/etc. has already happened:

"That was a good one, but I'm sure you can do better than that."

"Now to try for a record-setter."

"My belly is tighter than a drum... could you give me a hand? I really need to burp, but they're stuck."

"Hang on, I really need to belch."

"Oh god, theyuuuRRRP won't stop!"

"Come on gut, show me what you've got!"

"God, you've never looked bigger... how much did you eat?" (bonus points if the response includes a list of what was eaten, interrupted by stray belches)

"Mind your manners, please, as this behavior is unbecoming of someone in your position..."

"Pardon me! Sounds like my belly's telling me there's plenty more room in there."

"I knew I should have stopped trying to test my limits a couple bottles ago, but it's just so good!"

(Any burp onomatopoeia can make for a good, versatile starter too!)

And some spicier offerings...

"Please, fuck, burp there again."

"Oh, look how wet/hard you are... are you really so turned on by belching?"

"So that's why you really wanted to do oral..."

"What a horny, burpy mess you are. What ever shall I do with you?"

"I think it's time to fuck the rest of those burps out of you."

#once again sorry it took me forever and a half to finish this one #might add more in the future #we shall see #ask #answered #anon #burping #not sfw

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studmuffint0p · 2 years

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Ice cream deliciousness

#fat #bhm #belly #weight gain #fat belly #fatso #fatty #belly fat #bhm belly #burp #belch #burps and belches oh my!

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zin-fan-del · 5 months

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Orange Inflation Afterparty

2,500 word story written over the course of a day. Features two men startled by an expansive beginning to their lazy morning after a huge house party.

“Hey, dude,” I nudged the husky boy asleep on my couch. He tossed and turned as my prodding continued throughout the minute, lulled into drowsiness by its gentle suede texture. I sighed, pulling myself back to admire the snoring slob: his short but stocky frame curled admirably into the loveseat, strange wine stains dribbled down the white wife-beater stretched across his chest and tucked into red track pants. Still seemingly asleep, he lifted his shirt with a slow hand and scratched at his happy trail. My eyebrows raised.

“Yo, Austin.” I pressed harder against his arm, and the thick eyelashes hooded by dark furrowed brows parted lightly. “Oh, shit, man. It’s even worse.” “What’s worse?” His hoarse, deep voice creaked out as the man gradually climbed out of slumber. His body jolted before he erupted into a belch loud enough I was forced to wait for it to end. After he recovered with a deep breath, I launched into my explanation:

“There’s some stuff spreading on your face.” It was succinct but accurate; the sweaty athlete hunkered down on this chair in the middle of the sofa and went basically comatose. I could smell alcohol on his breath as the burp pervaded my general area, which explained his roaring gut—but orange…?

“Stuff? The fuck?” Austin, ever the wordsmith, quickly leapt into action with a curious arm, shuffling his digits all over that sleepy freckled visage. “I don’t feel anything. But man, what a party, right?” Beneath the discoloration, I could tell that my eyes burning holes in our star player brought a lively rosiness to his slender pale face. Between burps, he tried to give me a reassuring grin.

My brows furrowed as I watched him sit up, dipping his face down as he pulled his center of mass upward. When he raised it, I gasped: his entire head was bright orange, minus the worried hazel eyes that darted about and those pearly whites. “You look like… well, like an orange?!” My arms crossed and my mouth fell open as I guffawed at the deeply discolored athlete surveying his body on my couch. By now, whatever this effect was had slid down his thick trunk enough to be noticeable even by him.

“What in the hell…?” His muscular arms stuck out as he watched the hue spread down them as though someone had taken an airbrush to his skin. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow as his breath began to quicken and the rumbling of his belly churned even louder. The confident smile on his face mutated into a surprised, inquisitive glare as every last inch of his skin was doused in what looked like beaming neon orange paint.

It would seem that things were at a head to the two of them: this transformation alone was bizarre enough to be simply inexplicable. How did this man, who has been sleeping for hours, just get turned into a walking orange highlighter? If it wasn’t for the clothes wrapped around his nearly fluorescent body, the beaming glow amplified the luster of his rough skin. I was pinned to the spot, admiring this abnormality as he lifted up his arm and took a heavy whiff of the hair in his armpit. At first, he pulled back as though reacting to the pungent body odor he expected; but he froze, lulled into a sense of curiosity, and went back to sniffing himself.

“This is insane, man. What just happened?” I asked him, finally composed enough to assemble a functional question.

“I smell so fucking good,” he muttered. “Good God,” he reclined into the cushion and closed his eyes, ignoring my inquiry outright. He puffed out his gut with a heavy breath in, his hands sliding down the front of his torso to gently dig his fingers in his abdomen. Austin’s pot belly was the talk of the fraternity after he ballooned up 50 pounds in weight within a year, fattening himself up with an insane diet that expanded him seemingly faster than pregnancy could have. He would slim down considerably as years passed, but beneath the wrinkles of his sleeveless shirt I could spot the plump paunch that time left behind.

“Are you… are you okay?” I began to wonder what merit these questions of mine even held at this point, since he seemed preoccupied by moaning and groaning. “You’re not in pain, are you?” I stepped towards the human nightlight, concerned his writhing was out of pain.

“M-Mitch,” he gasped between breaths and deep belches. “I’m gonna pop… H-help…” From that belly beneath the off-white tank, sounds of gurgling as vicious as boiling water erupted.

“Pop?! What, what, are you horny or--?!” My question would get answered not with words but with yet another astonishing sight. At first, I thought Austin’s heavy breaths were causing his body to expand with air. But as he rumbled away, moaning uncontrollably, he seemed to fatten up at an insane rate. What remained of his Adonis belt melted as every last pound he lost over the years were immediately reverted.

Austin must have been stunned speechless, because the only thing coming out of his mouth was dribble seeping from the corners of his pursed lips. He ballooned up as though someone shoved an air compressor up his rear and cranked it up without warning: the little belly Mitch noticed before swelled round and tight, pushing out over the lap between his spread legs. The front of his shirt was pulled out from under his sweatpants, unable to remain tucked as the hunky man’s gut filled it out in seconds. The deep voice he spoke with seemed to quiet as his cheeks filled up, puckering his bright red lips and forcing his pitiful moans up an octave.

Mitch could only watch in shock as his friend’s dramatic growth spiraled out of control. It appeared as though his belly was growing into a nice, fat orange all on its own up until the expansion began to spread. Whatever was pumping him up seemed to have no intention of letting up anytime soon and this world-record-sized ball gut surely couldn’t fit much more in it? Austin groped at it with his hands vigorously, pressing against himself to try and empty his growing body before he loses all control.

He felt a heavy surge of liquid fill his bottom and stretched his neck out to confirm it by sight. His thin but nimble legs had puffed up into ridiculous water balloons in his pants, stretching the seams of his pants to their limits. The bubbling had spread throughout him wherever he seemed to swell; as his wide breasts fattened like beach balls, his head sunk behind them and his moaning drowned in the orchestra of noises his huge body was letting off. Periodically, gas would release from either end of the humongous boy’s body at a rapturous volume but the pressure filling him tight refused to ease whatsoever.

I watched him widen, his wide butt ballooning up enough to spill out from behind his thick legs. Any slack in those track pants had stretched out to its limit, struggling to contain the burgeoning fat within. Before my very eyes, his expanding body transformed like a balloon animal, filling up with girth enough to shove his limbs out. Austin grumbled and groaned as he strained against his own frame, appearing to be drowning in the expanding pool of weight centered around his waist.

His groin lifted his belly up like an auto lift as it grew, twisting the seams of his pants and fully pulling his stained tank out from under their waistband. His furry gut bulged out from beneath his shirt enough to reveal a dense happy trail leading up to his belly button. Surely, his weight had doubled in an instant. The growth appeared to crawl to a stop, leaving the quarter-ton balloon pinned to the couch in a resigned starfish pose.

I strained my ears as the vicious roiling subsided somewhat, having stepped forward and placed the side of my head against his swollen paunch. Were it not for the rough touch of his skin, which sent shivers up his spine when pressed into, there could have been a weather balloon puffed up under that raggedy top or some other exaggerated inflatable costume. He even sounded like a water balloon, the surge of growth from earlier having quieted into a gentle glug, glug, glug…

That explains the ripe orange smell tickling my nostrils, and the syrupy citrus flavor his skin imparted on my curious tongue. The pool of liquid building up beneath him, the bright blotchy stains around his nipples and groin, the relentless bubbling and gurgling… it suddenly all made sense. But, this has to be a dream, Mitch rubbed his own belly, concerned that the effect might be contagious only after tasting his friend’s engorged belly. He could see the orange stain left behind on his tongue but otherwise felt normal; what did Austin do to turn into a fat piece of fruit all of a sudden?

As that thought crossed my mind, I realized that my focus had been lost. Somehow, in the instant I looked away, the rapid expansion that seemed to have been quelled resumed in full force. If there was a hose up the vivid athlete’s rear as Mitch once hypothesized, whoever was its cruel master dialed its pump up to the max. With a troubled yell, muffled by the juice filling his face, Austin’s growth exploded in rate. The boy rocked back and forth as his ass, swelling with the rest of his waist, raised him out of the relaxed pose he assumed on the couch. Buuuuurp! With a splatter of juice raining over his breast down upon my head, the overblown blob of a man belched, likely in response to the rumbling of gas bubbles rising within his distended stomach.

I barely recognized Austin in the mass that bellowed like a fluorescent hot-air balloon. I could see the top of his freshly-shaven head, the floral tattoo running down his right arm, the clothes he’s been wearing all night. But this was barely a human any longer: his skin stretched beyond its natural limits to contain the juice being crammed into it. The lower half of his body grew from a bloated pear-like shape into that of a teardrop as his midsection ballooned out around his waist and sucked in the thick legs beneath it. His socked feet, dirtied by an evening of partying, pressed tight against the flesh that swallowed them up. The overblown remnants of his legs shoved were apart by the mass expanding between them and filled with enough juice to bring them flush with the curvature of his fat waist.

“No, no!” I could barely recognize the words beneath the goop sealing his trap. Austin’s growth refused to slow as his chest similarly forced his arms out to the side and swallowed them up. Slap, slap. His bare hands struck what little they could reach, immobilized and enveloped in big fat arms fit for a nice, round orange.

“What the fuck,” was all I could say as I scanned the human blimp. Just moments ago, I expected the nimble athlete to slink off the couch and crack open a beer like usual. In fact, I came here to ask if he wanted my lunch leftovers, since he slept uninterrupted straight through midday. “Um.” Needless to say, I was shocked into speechlessness throughout almost the entirety of Austin’s sudden inflation. But surveying his new plump body was exhilarating both to the eyes and to my curious digits.

At the base of his shirt and near the fattest area of his waist, the seams of his clothes lost their valiant weight against his girth. But shockingly, the orange was still wrapped in clearly undersized apparel where it counted: juice spurted from his wide nipples gently, the fountains of liquid pushing through the cotton tank squeezing into his torso. The imprint of a penis sprayed it to the side as though his polyester track pants were hardly present, right where it should be at the base of his groin. Wordlessly, I sated my curiosity by pressing my upper body into the blimp, marveling at its immense heft and soft texture.

“Mmmph!” Austin’s eyes rolled as he moaned, the streams surging from his round frame intensified only slightly by my prodding.

“Shit, Jesus, man,” I stumbled back, winded. “You’re gonna fucking blow.”

The boy before me clocked in at least several tons. The couch beneath him began to fold as juice pumped him ever fuller with each passing second. Despite having fattened into a nearly perfect sphere, his extremities only sunk deeper into the hyperventilating athlete’s zeppelin of a belly. The flapping of his hands and feet grew even more rapid until he was too plump to even be mistakable for a living being any further.

Ten feet, I guessed he must have grown to in both height and width. Folds formed where his arms and legs ballooned up around smothered hands and feet. His face pointed straight up at the ceiling yet his yellow eyes still darted from point to point as though searching for help. I could hear his periodic cries for help beneath the surging, bubbling, straining orchestra unleashed by his impossible growth. Juice gushed from every orifice on his body, dribbling on the furniture and floor messily beneath him.

Boom. Preemptively, I must have plugged my ears and forced my eyes shut, because the earth-shattering bang I was expecting sounded like a distant sound effect. A tsunami of warm liquid showered over me in an instant, forcing me to hold my breath in the heavy deluge for several seconds. But as the dripping of drops transitioned from intense rainfall into a gentle shower, I creaked one eye open toward the scraps of the man once known as--

Austin? My eye took some time to adjust to the brand new paint job the late athlete provided us with during his explosive end. At least, during what I assumed was an explosive end, prior to finally focusing on the camouflaged orange figure lackadaisically louging on a sofa stained the same color as him. Instead of anguish, his flushed face sported closed eyes and a hearty smile, alongside a militia of sweat drops. He, too, opened an eye and spent a moment getting his bearings on the situation; his belly rose and fell with heavy breaths and the arms and legs I watched rise like dough in an oven had reverted to their slender forms.

“Guh…” I guffawed eloquently at my slim friend, whose fate I feared was sealed by his own unending girth.

“G-gotcha.” Austin’s shit-eating grin grew wider.

#myart #body inflation #blueberry inflation #male belly inflation #body expansion #expansion #male #male blueberry inflation #blueberry #blueberryinflation #writing

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cheeseburgersinparadise · 3 months

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Not the person who asked Abt the face belching, it's not really my thing either, but what IS my thing is when someone stops and quickly turns their head away to belch to try and save some face

heheheh trying to burp behind their hand or something because oh gosh oh no it’s just coming up and you can’t stop it, maybe you shouldn’t have eaten so much so quickly at dinner, hm?

but here, let me get a few more of those out for you so you feel more comfortable, don’t be be embarrassed, it’s only natural. I’m just glad you enjoyed my cooking so much 😘

#:33333 #love this thank u #burp kink

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bigwishes · 1 year

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I’ll take the risk! I want to be big, beefy, muscular… the whole package. Who knows how big I’ll end up!

Of course, of course bud. I got something special in mind just for you.

You said big and 'beefy' sure thing I can make you beefy bro. Huge arms, thunder thighs, bulging pecs and, one other thing....

A bit of a raging muscle gut. Lucky for you I skipped on the insane amount of B.O and sweat I was considering dishing out. But don't worry I didn't forget to give you some slobby habits. That muscle gut of yours is constantly building up pressure, within less than an hour it'll be so bloated and tight you'll be forced to burp till its all out. But that isn't the special thing I have planned.

---------

You decided to go to the gym to try out the new beefy bod you'd been gifted with. You really started to feel that muscle gut build up pressure on the way. By the time you were in the gym parking lot your tank top had begun to ride up. Walking towards the gym door you began to let out small hiccups and burps. You just wanted to hold it in until you got to the change room, then you could release all this pressure.

You walked inside, each step the bloat becoming more and more unbearable, a loud embarrassing burp slipped out of your mouth.

There was a young gym employee at the service desk "Hey big guy, just need you to sign in"

You waddled up to the desk, the bloat becoming painfully unbearable, you there was no way you could ho- BUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP

unable to stop yourself you let out a roar of a belch right in the gym employee's face but something more. It was strong enough to push the employee's hair back and the smell was so strong you could see a cartoonish mist leave you mouth and cover him. Right before your eyes the young gym employee transformed from a lanky young runner to a massive buff sweating bodybuilder.

"Ugh, wh- what the fuck happened to me??" the young dude yelled taking a moment to survey the damage.

You wanted to say something, sorry was the first thing that came to mind but as soon as you opened your mouth and even larger belch came out. There was no stopping it this time the pressure escaped from your gut transforming the poor innocent guy in front of you again.

In the blink of an eye he went from a bodybuilder coated in sweat to something more, his muscled bulged even larger, his sweat increased and began to drip on the floor. His B.O became a rancid stench that filled the room, protein stained covered his shirt and every second he got worse.

"oh wha- BURRRRRP what happened to me *hic* BUURRRRP, fuck I stink, I stink so fucking ba-UUUURRRRP, ugh I'm so bloated *hic*"

You could feel your stomach still wasn't empty and you didn't wanna stick around to see what would happen to this poor guy if you unleased the other half of it on him.

----

Well bud, I hope you like my spin on the Midas Touch, or rather the Midas Belch. Any guy you belch on will turn into a hulking slob freak, and you'll ruin any objects too, nothing is safe from your cauldron stomach mate.

#male transformation #muscle #muscle transformation #male tf #reality change #gay transformation #transformation #muscle morph

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its-complicateed · 5 months

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Full, Fuller, Fullest

Part 3: Fullest

The ride back to Andy's house seemed to take forever. In the passenger seat, Sammie was laying back, engorged tummy bulging into the air. Even though her shorts were unbuttoned, Andy could see they were still tight around her massive belly. Every bump they hit caused her to moan then, belch.

The bottle of wine sloshing about in her tummy had been absorbed by all the food, so she wasn't as drunk and hiccupy as she had been.

Though, that made the few hiccups that popped out of her mouth even hotter because Andy knew it was her full belly that was causing them.

At long last, they reached Andy's apartment. He hurried around to the passenger side and opened the door. When he pulled Sammie into an upright seated position, it compressed her belly and she burped loudly.

"Oof—URRRRRP—oh Andy...oh my belly...oohhhuuuuuurp...I'm so full..." she groaned as Andy pulled her to her feet.

Her wrapped one arm around her waist and began to lead her into the building. "Let's play a game," he whispered. "Every person who asks if your pregnant means more tummy rubs for you."

"Huuurp...how will they know to—URP—ask?" Sammie grunted.

"Easy," Andy replied, "You're going to play it up. You're not full, you're heavily pregnant. I'll be your doting husband." He patted her tummy then stepped aside. Sammie staggered but quickly took up her part. She put one hand on her tummy and the other on her back. She waddled—though she wasn't playing up the waddle at all—into his apartment building.

She stopped at the elevator and stroked a gentle hand down her tummy. The woman next to her looked over and smiled. Sammie smiled back, giving her tummy another rub. The woman didn't say anything, however.

Andy grinned to himself as Sammie began to play it up even more. The next person to enter the elevator was an elderly woman. Sammie puffed her belly out and arched her back even more. Andy could see a bit of sweat on her temple and decided to help.

He patted her belly gently, and asked, "Doing okay, dear?"

Before Sammie could reply, the older woman asked, "First baby?"

Sammie nodded, her smile relieved.

Without another word, the woman stepped over and began feeling Sammie's belly. "Ooh carrying high I see." She squeezed Sammie's sides and then thumped her upper belly. "Definitely a boy." She smiled at them proudly then stepped out when the elevator reached her floor.

As soon as she was gone, Sammie let out an enormous belch, one she tried to cut off when a couple stepped onto the elevator.

They gave her a disapproving look, but when one of the men noticed her bulging belly, he smiled. "How far along are you?"

"Six months," Sammie managed.

The other man reached out a hand and patted her tummy. "Congratulations," he said, "you look wonderful."

The next stop was Andy's floor and he guided his stuffed date out of the elevator and straight to his apartment.

She collapsed, belly up on the couch, moaning and belching uncontrollably.

Andy headed straight to the kitchen and brought back a bottle of Port and two small glasses.

"A toast to a successful dinner!" He cried.

He pulled Sammie into a sitting position and put a glass in her hand. He clicked his against hers then drained it.

Sammie was just staring at the glass, one hand fruitlessly rubbing her swollen stomach.

"Just one little drink" Andy murmured. Then he brought the glass to her lips and with a push tipped her head back. She was forced to swallow or get port poured all over her.

She moaned while Andy refilled the glasses. "Good stuff huh?" He said, purposely misinterpreting her moan.

"I—HUUUOOOOORP—" Sammie began, but Andy put another glass in her hand and when her burp was done, pushed it into her mouth.

He sat next to her and began to massage her tummy, and kept handing her glass after glass of port. When she tried to refuse the alcohol, he stopped rubbing her belly.

She was enjoying this though, he could tell. The way she squirmed on the couch and the way she only pretended to resist the next glass.

He got 2/3 of the bottle into her before deciding she was full enough. He helped her to her feet and she staggered belly-first into his bedroom.

When she flopped down onto the bed, he helped her pull off her shorts. He then began to kiss his way up her turgid tummy. She moaned at each kiss, and gasped when he slipped his tongue inside her belly button.

"Feels good, huh." He whispered

"Oooh...Andy....hic don't hic stop." She panted.

He continued kissing his way up her tummy, praising her and her appetite the whole time. She moaned and belched and hiccuped, gasping with desire the whole time.

He made his way back down to her tender belly button and began kissing and licking it in earnest. "So full," he murmured between kisses. "Such a full tummy. You did so good for me, Sammie. You ate so much."

She bucked beneath him, whining between the moans and burps.

"Andy—Urrrrrp—oh please, ple—UUURP—please...hic....ohhhh."

Her belly bulged so high that while Andy was kissing his way down from her belly button, he couldn't see any of her, just her stuffed tummy rising above him like the moon.

"Flip over," he said huskily.

Sammie struggled to and finally came to her hands and knees. Her back was arched and her belly almost touched the covers of the bed.

Andy slapped it gently and shook it back and forth, mesmerized with how little it jiggled. "Oh fuck, Sammie, you're so full and tight."

Sammie just moaned, too full, and turned on for words.

"Here," Andy whispered. "Let me make you feel good. Let me fill you up even further."

#belly kink #stuffing #intox belly #preggo kink #fake pregnancy #tw intox #bellies #stuffed belly #stuffing kink #kink fic #my writing #stuffing fic #full fuller fullest #part 3 #so sorry this took so long!!#i hope you all enjoy

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anonsickficker · 1 month

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{blade x kafka} four days [short_scenarios]

CONTENT BENEATH THE CUT CONTAINS MENTIONS OF {ERUCTATION}, {STUFFING} PLEASE BE WARNED!!!

Kafka kneads Blade’s slightly puffy abdomen, registering the vibrations of the contracting muscles of his stomach, processing every bite that he’s being fed.

She knows he’s not full— at least not as full as she’d like him to be.

“Kafka… no more, please…”, he pushes at her shoulder, turning away to choke out a stifled belch. Kafka frowns a little at the disregard that he shows towards his obvious discomfort, but returns to her straight face when Blade decides to face her once again.

“You’ve neglected four days' worth of sustenance, as I’ve heard from Silver Wolf. What exactly do you do with the allowance that I grant you?”, Kafka loops the last few noodles around her chopsticks, cupping her palm underneath them as she lifts the bite-sized portion to his mouth. She pushes the tips of the chopsticks against his bottom lip with unwavering, steady fingers.

The noodles do indeed slide through Blade’s lips, which he parts only in fear of soiling Kafka’s pristine white shirt. From one of his many concealed pockets, he produces a stack of bills, handing them to her. She eyes the bills, then shoots a dissatisfied look back at him, balancing the chopsticks onto the rim of the now empty bowl as he chews, without so much as a word concerning the unused currency betwixt his battered fingertips.

“I gave that to you to use. Not for you to act as my personal bank account.”, she scowls, reaching for yet another dish. This time, it’s fried rice, prompting her to pick the spoon, allowing the chopsticks a brief moment of retire.

In a moment of dissatisfaction, she digs the utensil into the rice, but nudges the spoon to his mouth tenderly as always. Though the reluctance in Blade’s eyes is apparent, he accepts the food, only swallowing when Kafka nods, and decides he’s broken it down enough in his mouth not to choke.

Blade eats without a word, only ducking away to swallow any burps that had threatened to escape his lips, and to reduce any hiccups to subtle hitches of breath. Kafka’s worry only grows, yet her expression refuses to let such debilitative emotions show themselves.

“Kafka— urp— please… I’m so full…”, at this point, they’d made it through seven different dishes, all of which had been selected by Kafka herself.

“We still have another five to go, Bladie.”, she coos, pressing a palm flat on his now noticeably distended stomach, “To make up for all of those missed meals.”

And right then, Kafka feels as if she’s gained true understanding of the phrase ‘expect the unexpected’.

Blade falls into her, leaning his forehead into the junction of her neck and shoulder, resting his hands on her trim waist. And, for the first time, he properly whines into the crook of her neck, quietly, begging for her to cease. She can only blink in surprise for a few seconds, freezing up to register her current position.

“Oh, alright.”

Blade exhales softly as he’s wrapped in warmth, and lifts his head when Kafka calls his pet name once more.

The groaning of his insides have become unbearably loud at this point, and Kafka confirms her previous worries as she pushes lightly into his side, the action immediately forcing a thick belch from Blade’s oesophagus. Blade stutters in response to his lapse in manners, eventually settling on lowering his flushed face and muttering a ‘sorry’ in an amendment to his rudeness.

Blade swallows down the next burp that threatens to leave his lips, but it remains somewhat audible nonetheless. Kafka does not take kindly to his seemingly polite behaviour, taking hold of his lower jaw and fixing it in place.

“You’re keeping this open.”, she glowers, freeing him from her grip. Much to her content, his jaw does not move from the position she’d set it in. Kafka uses this opportunity to push both palms into his previously nonexistent underbelly, fingers enveloped in the groaning mess it had become.

She feels the movement of his innards, squirming to dislodge another bout of air as it makes its way up his throat. She watches his Adam’s Apple bob, before he parts his lips, just a little, ducks his head, and releases a long, satiated belch, something that manages to shock even Kafka for a split second. She massages any smaller after-burps out of him, focusing on the underside of his abdomen, as he clings onto her, refusing to allow their eyes to meet.

“No worries, Bladie.”, Kafka smiles, as she’s finally able to witness the effects of her endeavours, stroking firmly on Blade’s stomach now, each moment of pressure on his hopelessly over-capacitated abdomen displacing another section of air, eliciting another string of deep, satisfied burps, which the man can only dip his head down to stifle. Blade grasps at Kafka’s shoulders when he gets a little too out of breath, and she rubs reassuring circles into his broad upper back before moving onto another tight spot, working every little pocket of excess air out, each low, heavy belch from him soothing her aforementioned worries just a little bit more.

Once all of his helpless burps have been reduced down to stuffed hiccups, she lets him off, giving his now firm, distended upper belly a few final pats. She cards the fingers of her unoccupied hand through his tangled hair, scratching her fingernails against his scalp gently. He instinctually moves away, before relenting to his natural reaction to the comforting act, by leaning into her touch.

Kafka basks in their now shared warmth for just a little while longer, before moving to clean up the empty dishes. Honestly, he’d done a number on all of the food she had ordered, obediently finishing off enough for a family of four, and then some.

“Kafka…”, his fingers wrap around hers, effectively shackling her in place. Though he doesn’t say much, Kafka doesn’t need another word from him to know his desires. She picks a throw blanket from the pile, prioritising covering him before shifting herself beneath it as well.

Their hands are still joined as she watches him finally fall into a much-deserved slumber.

another 1000 words of weird stuff.. thank you for reading this far 🙇

this is based on {tumsnstuff}'s kafka and blade post.. i recommend it.... without that this writing would not have been made 🙇

i chose 4 because 4 and die/death in chinese are similar sounding (for blade), but its also a convenient number

#gutshin impact #honkai star rail #stuffing #burping #eructo #sickfic #hsr #blade #kafka #i still dont know how to tag 🙇

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