Going With A BF Who Always Tries To Work Out But He Lets Me Prepare His Pre-workout And Protein Shakes

Going with a BF who always tries to work out but he lets me prepare his pre-workout and protein shakes for him. So naturally, after a while I start trading out his protein shakes for mild gain shakes. At first it's not that noticeable and he's still able to burn most of the calories he's taking in, but as time goes on, I keep upping the severity of the gain shakes. And he soon begins making excuses as to why he's skipping his trip to the gym. And no matter what, you know his genuine reasoning is always that for him it's two embarrassing to go to the gym after he develops a muffin top over his sweat pants. His abs turn to flab and then rolls and he begins mumbling about needing to up his workouts on the few days that he does actually go out to the gym. But by this point since he's mostly at home and it's easier for me to pack him full of calories, you don't think it'd help much. Offering him food when he's not fully paying attention, giving him sweets but claiming the calorie and sugar intake is lower than it is. Eventually he just stops caring and the pounds really begin to pack on. Outgrowing almost all of his clothes till only his sweatpants fit him, and even those are hanging on by their last seams. Every trip up the stairs leaves him grunting and panting as if he'd just done one of his old routines. Every drive past the gym leaves him embarrassed, but the shame doesn't seem to last, as he scarfs up the 6 double cheeseburgers and two large sodas I just got him. I tease him but he insist he's just bulking for whenever he starts going to the gym again.

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you guys work almost faster than i can draw! here's the second part, the poor boy's so hungry now :33

first part

Along the same vein as the bloating singer, but imagine someone's standing behind a podium and they have to keep stalling and talking because the minute their speech is over, they have to leave the podium. The only issue is that something's been disagreeing with them for the past half hour, letting air bubbles find their home in the round curve of their belly. Maybe it might not have been noticeable at the beginning of the speech, and if they'd been quick, they might've finished the speech and gone away without much fuss about the subtle curve of their stomach. But now their stomach is tight enough to cause discomfort as they fight to not unbutton their expensive suit. Every sentence is a gradually losing battle against the chorus of burps that attempt to leave their mouth anytime they utter a single syllable. It's getting bad now, nearly every other word is beginning to be a glutinous burp that resounds into the podiums microphone, and they can see the confusion or disgust from the audience. But their bloated stomach looks akin to a puppy with a belly full of worms now, and they're hoping with every fiber of their being that their suit can hold on a little longer and all of this will just go away. Their forehead is beaded with sweat as they belch into the mic again, attempting to stifle it with their palm before eventually getting the burp to stop. Though rather than silence, they're met with a disproving groan and gurgle from their stomach before the lowest button of their suit shoots off, hitting the podium with a soft plink as their stomach pushes forward with the trapped air bubbles.

Gotta be honest I think ‘gluttonous belches’ is gonna be stuck in my head for the next few days, that is a great descriptor-

Also this is some good imagery anon 👀 Generally I’m not that into professional characters belching unless under very specific circumstances but I do like the idea of them trying to hide their growing stomach under a suit 👀

write about someone being blackmailed to gain weight and hating watching it happen to themselves? ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

That stupid letter.

"68kg by the end of the month. Or else I air your dirty laundry."

Dread had been clear on your face as you reread it half a dozen times. Truth be told, you were convinced you could work off the pounds the minute the black mail ended, whenever that would be.

You'd bulked up your shopping list to includes chips, cookies, brownies, cakes, milkshakes, processed and sugary foods practically dripping with calories. After nearly 10 minutes of staring, you'd finally begun working your way through the calories.

Now here you were, 3/4s of the way through the month and your pants had begun to ache on your waist. Each chew brought your newly made double chin bobbing on your collarbone and a disgusted grimace on your face. Your shirt has ridden up a good deal now, showing your potbelly that had swollen to rest on your legs. Friends had shot you dirty glances and judgemental stares and you were well aware why.

Before, you'd have been being praised for your slim figure, but here you were, laying on your couch with a stomach that felt like a stone weighing you down in place. The box of donuts rested on the crest of your swollen gut and the cream filling had dribbled down your chins, but you knew you still had a dozen or so pounds to go. With a strained groan, you got up to grab your phone and order a pizza. Nothing fit any more, and a pair of sweatpants had gone from "barely used" to "hanging on by a thread" as your body bloated from all the unused calories.

Your belly swung as you stumbled forward, grabbing a table for support as you moved with sluggish steps to your phone. The minute this was over, you'd be right back at the gym, working off every pound, fighting to get yourself back to that slim figure you knew so well. Then you wouldn't look a bloated swine.

Though the end of the month came. And all you got was another letter. And this one proclaimed no release. Instead, proclaiming:

"70kg. End of next month. Make it happen."

I'd make you a grilled cheese @ 3 am