FatspeakDrabble/PokéNEET

[3rd person. Washed-out pokemon trainer. Wardrobe malfunction, stuckage, sweat, fatspeak.]

“Hff… sh-shtupid… gym...” The corpulent 20 year old grumbled under her breath as she lumbered along the chilly Hammerlocke streets, one pudgy hand gripping at the waistband of her sweats in a desperate attempt to keep them covering most of her cellulite-marbled ass.

“Washtin’ mah… b-bluh-- bloody time…  it’sh… ugh, not mah fault ah can’d fit in thoshe… fuuhckin’ uniformsh…” Were her cheeks not already a deep shade of vermillion, thanks to the arduous task of hauling her tubby self back to her flat, the mere thought of being turned away because none of the uniforms would cover her pale, porcine body would have her blushing with indignation.

Then again, the thought of going out onto a pitch, with her roll-covered thighs and saggy chest threatening to reduce her uniform to shreds before the crowd, wouldn't have been much better.

“Who… who fuhckin’ needsh ‘em? Ah dun’... hfff, d-dun’ have ta prove n-nuthin’, ah coulda… kicked th-theeeir asshesh…” Her frustrated muttering and cussing came to a halt as she reached the door to her apartment, propping it open with her free hand as she turned herself sideways, sucking her gut in as much as could be done and beginning the awkward process of inching through the door. Her innumerable rolls and folds slapped and jiggled noisily as she rocked to and fro, sweat drops hitting the weathered lino floor as she inches through the woefully narrow doorway. For a while, it all goes smoothly for her…

...Right up until she was halfway through. Once she reached her widest point, she found herself in a tight spot; in front of her, the doorframe was digging into her pendulous belly apron, which bulged around either side of the frame to ensure she was stuck fast, no matter which way she went. And behind her, though she lacked the flexibility to even see back there, she could definitely feel the frame wedged snuggly between her sweat-sodden asscheeks.

“C-C’mooohn!” Her breathless whining echoed throughout the (mercifully) empty entrance, along with a myriad of grunts, pants and the incessant clapping of her folds. Despite the thick layer of fat around her biceps, she was barely able to heft her arms up, and make them meet in order to grab at the doorway in front of her, her hands trembling as she tried to force herself through the uncooperative passage. Sweat ran in thick rivulets down her face, darkening her already-discoloured top as she put her underused muscles to work.

There’s a laboured groan from the doorway, followed by a small crack as the wood starts to give under her immense weight. All at once, she practically fell into the building, letting out a short, sharp squeal as she staggered forward, outstretching her blubbery arms to try and maintain balance.

Bracing herself against the wall with a little smirk on her face, she rested a hand on the swell of her belly apron, chuckling weakly to herself as she looked back towards the door. Her self-satisfied grin soon turned to a look of dread when she saw a scrap of fabric hanging from the damaged entryway, right where the doorframe was crammed into her cavernous asscrack. Her fears were confirmed when she became painfully aware of a cold draft against her now-exposed rump.

“G-Great… thish ish mah lasht p-pair…” She huffed, hurriedly waddling into the elevator before anyone saw her.