jade/dave male wg stuffing

TG: okay so let me get this straight
TG: you've finally decided you're sick of playing robinson curiso and want to get in on the whole functioning member of society thing
GG: yes!
TG: and your first thought is to somehow fly out here and use my couch as a nesting ground or den or whatever the fuck the word is
TG: permanently
GG: pretty much!
TG: first of all last time i checked flying around was johns thing
GG: well duh, that's why i'm taking a plane!
TG: and you managed to afford this
GG: shenanigans.
TG: right
TG: secondly while i can totally understand why youd want to live in the house of strider
TG: being nineteen and sensible and also having breasts
GG: swoon! <3
TG: im in the process of actually moving out right now
TG: as in this very minute
TG: im carrying a box of swords with one arm and typing with the other
GG: again, swoon!
TG: jade theres this thing called advance warning
GG: i know that!
GG: but you said you were moving out anyway so i thought maybe we could pool resources and live together!
TG: and get married
GG: i didn't say that! :B
TG: you implied it
GG: bluh.
GG: seriously though, it's better than being by yourself, isn't it?
TG: i was kind of looking forward to not tripping over inconceivably placed mountains of plush rump every time i turn around
GG: well now you can trip over my plush rump! :D
TG: okay now youre doing that intentionally
GG: so is that a yes??
TG: can i say no
GG: nope!
TG: fuck
TG: alright whatever just make sure you dont shed on the carpet
GG: yessss!!! <3

-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 09:41 --

TG: im going to regret this arent i

---

You are Dave Strider, and you never regretted it.

Ever since the game ended, you'd kept in closer touch with your ensemble of friends-slash-demigods than ever, to the point where your first week back on Earth consisted solely of cross-state trips. You wouldn't admit it, but those first few months were some of the most exciting months of your life, not counting prior time spent being thrown down stairs by your Bro or fighting demons in alternate dimensions. For the first time in a long time (relatively speaking; time as a whole is still a bit of a clusterfuck for you), you really felt alive.

When you finally hit nineteen, you'd decided to ride the wave of stoic euphoria and step out of the nest, so to speak. Bro was fine with it; he'd made sure you didn't leave without a few good spars, and the realization that he was actually proud of you had sent warm shivers down your spine. No sooner than you had secured a small yet spacious apartment, however, did Jade hop on the bandwagon. For all the fuss you kicked up about rooming with her, you really didn't mind; it was hardly a secret that the two of you were as close to being a couple as you could be given the trials you had suffered through together, and while John and Rose had been more than a little open about it (you're surprised they hadn't gotten hitched yet), it wasn't until the first day you woke up and found the cute island girl curled up alongside you in bed that you realized what you were in for.

Life moved on, though, and you took a regular DJing job downtown to make ends meet. The two of you hardly needed a high income to sustain yourselves, what with Jade's bizarre yet useful technology and your own lack of costly hobbies. Jade didn't have an actual job; she was still learning the ropes of society, and she was perfectly content to stay at home and tinker, cook and chat while she figured out how currency worked. She was at least aware of her more sedimentary lifestyle compared to your own hectic pace, and on more than one occasion you came home to find her miserably failing at attempts to do aerobics, her self-image seemingly flipping between perky confidence and sheepishness of her visibly pudgy frame. And, hell, she probably got more than enough exercise in bed; even after the first sloppy makeout session it was clear her table manners weren't the only animalistic traits she had.

Life was pretty good.

---

One night, you came home late, sweating yet energetic from another wildly successful night at the turntables. Walking straight to your room from the front door to deposit your equipment, you didn't even notice the smell until you were in fresh clothes and halfway to the bathroom.

There was a strong yet homely aroma in the air, the scent of spices and meat heavy against your nostrils. It wasn't long before you found the source: Jade, wearing a dainty apron over her regular attire, poring over a small yet substantial roast chicken on the countertop. As you leaned against the wall nonchalantly, she turned to you and gave her usual infectious grin.

"Hey! Check this out!" She gestured to the bird, eyes twinkling with happiness. "Rose gave me the recipe. I've always wanted to try oven-roasting! So, what do you think? Wanna try some?" Before you could respond she had plopped it down on the small kitchen table and was rummaging through the refrigerator for milk. You settled for just giving an amused snort and pulling up a chair.

It was clear that whatever this mysterious recipe was, it was something that had been proven and perfected countless times. Just looking at it made your mouth water; the meat was tender, the scent was practically orgasmic, the spices were succulent and powerful, the smell of plants you'd never be able to name blending in with the chicken's natural aroma. You were about to grab a fork and dig in when Jade returned, dropping two glasses on the counter alongside a pitcher of apple juice and a carton of milk. She gave a warm smile, which you responded to with a smirk, before lifting her fork...and dropping it, opting to simply grab a large haunch of the fowl with her bare hands and ram it into her face. By that point in your stint as her roommate, you were wondering if she was actually that oblivious to the etiquette of meals or if she was just fucking with you.

Regardless, you followed her lead, hacking off a sizable portion of chicken with a knife and ripping chunks off with your fork, eager to simply taste the delectable dinner. To say it met your expectations would be an understatement; whatever Jade had put into this bird was some kind of miracle seasoning. You sure as hell weren't a gourmet, but it was clear you were eating something special. As you continued eating the meat on your plate, Jade began talking about the recipe she used, words muffled by the cheekfuls of food and drink in her mouth, and you settled for just nodding as your brain tried to discern just what sort of witchcraft she had done to the bird. It better not have been that green slime shit the clown always liked, no matter how miraculous he made it out to be.

Eventually, your plateful of food dwindled to nothing, and you sighed slightly in contentment. Across the table, Jade had apparently finished as well, downing her fourth glass of milk before belching in satisfaction as a testament to the half of the chicken she had scarfed down and happily rubbing her stomach under her apron. There was still a good amount of meat, but as amazing as it was you were pretty full. Of course, as soon as you pushed your second empty plate away, Jade turned to you with curious eyes. "What's wrong? Is it okay?"

"Shit, Jade, I'm pretty sure that was the best fucking chicken on the continent." You'd ask for the recipe, but that would mean clueing her off that you weren't paying attention the first time. Before you could stand up, though, the plate was pushed back, now filled to bursting with the leftover chicken. Biting your lip, you looked up at Jade, who was leaning over the table to your half with a hopeful expression. "Are you sure, Dave? You didn't eat much..."

"Compared to you, maybe." At this, Jade flushes a light red, but continues inching the plate towards you. At this point, it's clear you aren't getting out without eating your - or rather her - fill. With a resigned sigh, you fork a mouthful of delectable meat into your mouth, as Jade coos happily. Even though your stomach is screaming at you, the taste is just as amazing as you were expecting, and before long you were stuffing your mouth, idly aware of Jade getting up and cleaning away the now-unused silverware.

Eventually the remaining meat was  gone, forced into your stomach, and the discomfort came flooding back. As you forced yourself to stand, Jade dropped the last plate into the sink, before giving a gurgling yawn and sidling up to you. It wasn't long before the two of you found your way to the bedroom, falling into a food-induced sleep and curled against each other happily.

---

You are Jade Harley, and you love cooking.

Back at home, with Bec as your only company, you cooked all of your meals with the technology your grandfather had amassed. The cookalizer was great for making quick dinners, and it certainly tasted good, but it was nothing compared to this. Now, you had an oven, and a microwave, and at least six different bookmarked websites about recipes, and while it wasn't as easy as just pushing a button and receiving your food, the payoff was worth it ten times over.

After your first attempt at landing a steady job failed miserably (how were you supposed to know what a cash register is?) you took up cooking as a pastime. Before long, it had blossomed into a hobby, and then a full-out obsession. Tarts, roasts, pies, cakes, stews, pastries, steaks (probably the only thing you wouldn't share), pasta; you probably churned out enough gourmet meals to put the entire TV cooking network to shame, and yet you still managed to find new and incredible recipes. You even dipped into Alternian culture with the aid of the more social trolls, although the prevalence of mushy grey tasteless nutrigrit and colorful yet acidic semi-cooked insects was more than a little off-putting. If that was the typical meal for their species, it was no wonder the majority of them had become plumper since discovering Earth food.

Then again, it wasn't just them. All the food you cooked had to go somewhere, and while you really didn't have a problem with gorging yourself on the fruits of your labors, you were cooking for two. After the first ten months and countless failed cooking lessons, Dave had resigned to letting you handle the household meals while he continued to rake in increasing revenue from his career as a local turntable celebrity. Even though it was just the two of you in the apartment (unless Bec was feeling particularly social and simply appeared in the living room for a short time), you still loved cooking grandiose meals that would easily feed a family of four.

Sure, you ate your fill (and more), but you also loved cooking for Dave. He rarely showed open emotion as it was, and to make him visibly happy with the exotic tastes of your foodstuffs was exhilarating. You soon learned his favorite foods and tastes, and often preferred to cook for him rather than for yourself. The effect was rather prominent; despite his energetic occupation, your roommate had put on more than a few pounds.

He hid it fairly well; the slick red coat he often wore did well to draw eyes away from his body, and in the frenzied heat of a nightclub most people he interacted were too busy drowning in his thick beats to take notice of his thick appearance. Only at home did his growth become apparent; without the tension of the club and the suave jacket, it became obvious how much extra baggage he was carrying. Most of the extra flab had gone to his stomach and legs, giving him a remarkable pear-like figure. His gut was prominent, going far beyond a mere beer belly and forming a soft, warm sphere above his lap. Below, it was balanced by the sheer mass of his butt, two pale orbs that stayed close to his frame yet weighed him downwards in a way that became apparent when he was seated. Often times you would hug him and let your hands trail down, trying and failing to grip the heft of his ass, even when you stretched your hands out and leaned the fleshy shelf against your wrists. In comparison to his voluptuous stomach and rear, his chest retained it's fairly lithe appearance, just barely constituting moobs, while the thick of his arms and slight curve of his face seemed almost misplaced on the bottom-heavy boy.

It hardly seemed to bother him, with his endless reserve of energy, and while you had softly teased him about his waistline at first, you quickly learned to shut your mouth when you realized the effects his gains had on your more intimate moments. In bed, you were the unchallenged top, often being able to rest your own butt on his wide thighs, and curl up around the swell of his belly. If he ever minded being the bottom in both sex and size, he never showed it, and it wasn't long before you realized just how much you enjoyed his figure. Naturally, this had the effect of encouraging you to cook even larger meals for Dave, and by the time the first year anniversary of moving in together had come around, you were more than happy with the lifestyle you found yourself in.

You are Jade Harley, and you love cooking more than ever.

---

After spending almost sixteen months living with him, you can hear Dave entering the apartment despite his instinctive attempts at stealth. You fail to stop grinning as you put the finishing touches on your little project, before quickly heading towards the door to intercept the coolkid. Mentally, you're both shrieking in excitement and quaking in nervousness; on the outside, you miraculously manage to keep yourself from blurting out what you'd done in one fast-paced river of words.

"I'm not even sure I want to ask." He's barely even looked at you, and he knows you've got something for him. To be fair, you were never the most subtle girl.

"Da~ave! Come here!"

Without another word, you grab him by the wrist and drag him into the living room. In front of the couch, you've set up a meal fit for a king; a bowl of mashed potatoes and a platter of fish fingers in tartar sauce accentuating the extra-large plate of what you know to be Dave's favorite spaghetti. Another plate, holding delicately-cooked spicy chicken, rests on the side, opposite of a steak, extra-rare. A pitcher of apple juice serves as the centerpiece, with a large slice of triple chocolate cake for dessert.

For his part, Dave is silent as he sits down on the couch, frame creaking under his weight. His mouth is twitching slightly, and after knowing him for so long you can tell he's buckling under the sight of the food spread out in front of him. "Shit, Jade." You plop down next to him, grinning at him with wide eyes. "This had better not be all for me."

"Normally it wouldn't be, but I already ate." You pat the slight curve of your stomach; it isn't even a lie. You made sure you were nice and full beforehand to make sure you wouldn't start eating Dave's meal. "So? What are you waiting for?"

Dave stops, staring at you behind his dark glasses, before giving an amused huff and picking up a fork. His first target is, predictably, the spaghetti, which he twirls around his fork before lifting the now-spooled clump of pasta and practically forcing it into his mouth. At the first taste, he shudders visibly, and you can't help but shiver in excitement as well. His pace quickly picks up, having convinced himself that he is definitely hungry, and before long almost half the spaghetti is gone, as is the first glass of juice. You sneak a glance over of his gut; he doesn't look any larger, but you know he's almost as big an eater as you are.

When he reaches for the mashed potatoes, you have to bite your tongue. He shovels the mushy, butter-drenched food into his waiting mouth, and hardly stops to chew before swallowing. You know he likes butter, and made sure there was more than a lot. His rapid pace slows down as he nears the bottom of the bowl, and he gives a deep exhale before setting his jaw in determination and diving back in. A few more moments later and he gives a shaky, content sigh as he drops the now-empty bowl unceremoniously. After another few seconds of respite, he focuses his attention back to the spaghetti.

By now, you're squirming in your seat, watching with bated breath as the remaining pasta empties into his stomach. The red and white shirt he traditionally wore began to ride up, exposing a sliver of flesh above his waistline, and it takes every ounce of willpower you have to stop yourself from leaping onto Dave and snuggling him with all your might. Patience, Jade, just let him finish.

As you struggle with your hormonal urges, Dave reaches forward for the fish, stomach forced between his chest and lap. He gives a slight grunt of discomfort, before ignoring it as he practically drowns the seafood in tartar sauce and crushes the whole stick into his maw. As he chews, cheeks bulging slightly, the second fish meets it's saucy doom in time to replace the first. Soon another plate is empty, and after downing a glass of juice he leans back into his chair, gasping for air. You can't control yourself anymore; you lean forward, gently rubbing the crest of his belly, humming happily. "Are you okay, Dave?"

"Shit...yeah, I'm fine. Jesus, this is..." Dave's voice trails off, and he pushes himself back into an upright sitting position. You decide to make yourself useful and reach across the table for the chicken, bringing it close enough that the fatter teen can pick a wing up and bite into it. Sauce dribbled down his chin, but he hardly seemed to notice too preoccupied with keeping his mouth full. With one hand you hold the plate within reach, and with the other you caress his stomach. Under your touch, you can feel a definite firmness, alongside the faint churning of his digestive system trying to cope with the amount of food inside it.

When the chicken is gone and washed down with another glass of juice, Dave holds a hand up, scrunching his face momentarily before falling back against the couch. The fullness of his belly seems to flood back to him as he breathes heavily, and you shift your weight against his, wrapping one arm behind him and hugging his swollen stomach with the other. "Okay?"

He only nods, to which you grab the plate of cut-up steak and place it at the edge of the table. In response, he gives a slight whimper, body tense in discomfort but eyes and mouth vainly searching for the delicious meat. You quickly cut the steak into manageable pieces, before picking one up between your fingers and raising it to his mouth. Obediently, he opens, and you softly push the tender food inside. His eating is slowed, and for good reason; below, his stomach is bulging out immensely, audible gurgling mixing with his own slight moans of bliss at the taste of your cooking. His scratched-record shirt had risen up, exposing everything from the top of his navel downwards, and from your angle you can even see his body expanding sideways from the food packed into it.

"Okay...okay...fuck..." Dave gasps, swallowing the last strip of steak. "Fuck, Jade, I-"

You shush him, one finger raised to his sauce-covered lips, before turning your gaze to the lone slice of cake, and his eyes widen behind his shades as you slowly bring it towards you. Seeing the lack of space between his belly and the table, you gently push him back into the cushions before easing yourself onto his lap, your breasts almost resting on the top of his tummy. The cake is placed between you, resting atop Dave's gut, and as he looks up to you with a mixture of fear, pain, want and hunger, you smile down at him, lifting the entire click of cake in your bare hand.

"Open up, Dave~!"

Slowly, with his remaining strength, he eases his jaw open and gently sticks his tongue out. In response, you press the fluffy cake against his face, making sure most of it goes into his mouth. By now you're fully aroused, your pants moist where they rub again his fat thighs, and you can feel his own erection raising despite the angry cries of his belly. As he forces himself to swallow, cake slowly and visibly sliding down his throat to be packed with the rest of the enormous meal, his entire body shudders. One more gulp and it's done, the majority of cake vanished into Dave's ravenous belly.

As he looks up at you, dazed and sleepy from his efforts, you gently slide the glasses off his face before leaning over his gut and kissing him on the lips, the taste of icing and sauces mingling with the unmistakable taste of Dave himself. Truly and fully stuffed, he can only respond in kind, taking your kiss and reaching his hands up to grasp the curve of your back. Underneath your body, his gigantic tummy churns, warm and energetic as it digests it's burden as you continue making out with the boy of your life.

You know that you'll wake up the next day, still on top of his soft body, head lolled on his chest as he sleeps off the gorging. His belly will be smaller, still somewhat taut from the night before, and neither of you will have any intentions of doing anything but snuggle and kiss for the rest of the morning. It always happens, and you wouldn't have it any other way.