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John rubbed at his eyes as he walked down the block towards his house.

The fifteen-minute walk home from the restaurant had done nothing to sober him. It was too warm, too humid, and it made his buzzed mind feel as if he were practically swimming through the air just to reach the residential district.

He’d been surprised by Marcy’s invite, even more surprised that so many people had come. It seemed like most of the team was there, but that might have just been because John handled his alcohol rather… poorly.

In the same way that the situation at Chernobyl had been poorly managed…

John was a featherweight. A hundred-and-sixty when he was soaking wet, which he felt like he currently was, but he was still chucking to himself as his idle mind wandered back to the Crimson Snake.

While the front-end folks had gathered at the front of the table, talking amongst themselves about ‘market research’ and ‘influencer relationships,’ John sat with his teammates at the far end. They were the coders, the tinkerers, and the sharp magic makers of Aegis Robotics, and a good number of them were terrifically dumb.

David McDermott had made him laugh. Not in a friendly way either. Actually, John had felt kind of bad about it afterwards, but McDermott was too obstinate to realize he’d made an ass of himself. Like John, McDermott was officially a programmer, but unlike him, was more an idea man than a skilled technician.

He’d been the one who brought up Heaven’s Box, the Japanese home AI program that had recently been gaining more and more traction. David seemed to think it’d be a good time to discuss ‘the ethical implications’ of the company pushing their Hikari AI as the face of the program.

‘They’re just trying to reinvent housewives!’ he’d complained. ‘A bunch of shitty Nippon boys, who never had a woman hug them in their lives, just want a pretty girl to greet them when they get home!’

John, who’d hugged only one woman in his life, his mother, had uncomfortably little ground to speak on the subject. Luckily, he hadn’t needed to.

Annie-Bell Page was more than ready to weigh in.

‘Christ on His throne, McDermott,’ the redheaded robotics expert had cut him off by the nose. ‘Somebody makes a program that can turn on the lights, and you turn into a Baptist preacher. There’s a male variant called Hikaru, you know? I could use a butler back at home. Might actually help me stick to this state’s crappy diet foods!’

And then she laughed.

John liked Annie-Bell’s laugh. To be frank, John just liked Annie-Bell. She was a heavyset gal from somewhere down South, despite being gingered and freckled enough to look as if she just stepped off the boat from Ireland or maybe Scotland. Whichever got more cloud coverage this time of year.

She was pale, almost as bright as Monika was, though Annie-Bell burned if the sun so much as shined in her general direction. A pink sunburn had touched her cheeks and her shoulders, which were smooth and chubby over her flannel top.

Very rarely did John even see Annie-Bell, and never without grease marring her hands, but today she seemed to be all over the place. It turned out that she’d been the one to suggest the restaurant, and had been the first to ask for a drinks menu. Which, of course, she poured over for fifteen minutes until copying John’s order for a few s’mores pudding shots, and undoubtedly handled them better.

Which is why he didn’t quite understand what’d happened after that. They were at the table just chatting with the whole group, Annie-Bell trading friendly barbs with McDermott about the size of her order compared to the size of his mouth. John had managed to jump on the conversation, directing it towards cooking. Annie-Bell seemed to fawn over it, bouncing in her chair to chat about bacon-wrapped shrimp that her folks used to make, and she’d even clinked shot glasses with John before he got his phone call.

He’d left to chat with Monika, came back, and the atmosphere just seemed… different. He couldn’t explain it. Not wrong, mind, but it had felt warmer before he’d left and returned.

People were nice. McDermott and Marcy had asked a couple of questions about Monika. When he proposed, how he did it, which John had to very awkwardly field as ‘I think I just did…’ but Annie-Bell’s bravado seemed to fade out.

He’d have to ask her about it later. Maybe McDermott had said something more scathing about her weight. West coasters tended to have good intentions, but could be very short sighted. They didn’t really understand tact or class. Ironic, for people so obsessed with the topic. It made John miss the east coast, where at least people didn’t pretend to care.

The fact of the matter was that Annie-Bell wasn’t even fat! She was… okay, well she was fat. Probably medically obese… John stopped paying attention to that stuff when he found himself slowly growing to like bigger and bigger girls. Monika had practically ruined his scale.

“Heh,” the private joke made him chuff… She must have done that by stepping on it. His big fat Muffin.

While Monika was pushing five-hundred, Annie-Bell was maybe two-twenty. She was big, but not big. But her personality was her best feature. And her voice. The throaty deep southern drawl that hung on her words. It played with John’s head.

John lifted his arms, stretching the muscles and feeling the blood flow achingly slow through his limbs. Was he wasted? Maybe. Probably.

He was thinking too much about girls. Specifically, too much about fat girls. Big heavy ladies, round fatty tummies, squishy thighs.

A part of him wondered if that was okay. He was in a relationship, after all. But it’s not as if he was drooling over anyone either. Was it wrong to appreciate the female form in all of its glory?

Okay, maybe not all of its glory. Nudity was passing by boundaries that made even his drunken mind wince uncomfortably.

But to simply be aware of his hormones and of his own likes made John feel good. Mostly because they brought him back to thinking about Monika.

Big, pale, pear-shaped Monika. Wide, dark, emerald eyes, a soft and full tummy, and the fattest pair of seat-filling hips. Crumbs from her muffins decorating her chin, a dozen marks from her breakfast spread over her soft, weighty breasts. She had been sweating, just from the mere act of stuffing her face!

He remembered her filling out the entirety of his phone. A pink and adorable blush on her cheeks, her husky laugh making her muffintop belly bounce against her desk enough to bobble the camera. John was going to hold onto that image for a long, long time.

When he got to the lane of his house, he found he was smiling. The heady alcoholic feeling was fading, but he could still feel the weight of his chicken sandwich warming his stomach. He walked up the stoop feeling a pep in his step. Despite the strains, today had been a nice day.

And then he ran straight into his own front door.

He hadn’t even tried the handle, just simply pushed and nearly bashed his knee when the door didn’t give way. He blinked at it like an uncomprehending boar before it finally dawned on him that Monika hadn’t opened the door.

For the first time in years, the door hadn’t simply opened when he approached.

John squinted at the handle, pushing down on it without any luck, then looked up towards his porch camera.

“Monika?” he asked it.

In a moment of mild alarm, he wondered if the power had died to the house, but that didn’t make sense. He had solar panels installed for just such an occasion, hooked up to a generator that should keep everything chugging for at least twenty hours. The laptop held his whole world on it, and he’d taken every precaution to ensure it’d survive any rolling blackout.

Then he noticed the small red blink pulse from behind the camera’s lens, indicating it was at least active.

Maybe she’d fallen back asleep. After all, she had still been wearing her jammies when they’d spoke. The realism program meant she had to do all sorts of things, with one of the most biggest needs now requiring she rest. She couldn’t be the omniscient angel always hovering over his shoulder anymore.

Maybe she’d fallen asleep in her chair. Hands crossed over her wide belly, shirt pulled up to just beneath her chest. Crumbs from her muffins clinging to her lips, snoring heavily in a foodie feast.

John felt his teeth grazing his tongue, quickly becoming enamored with the idea. Fat and lazy? He’d have to tease her till she turned bright pink. Fatty Mrs. Muffin, sleeping all day and eating all night.

Feeling drunk and in love, a silly idea played through his head. He went to the porch railing and stood on the bottom, reaching himself up towards the camera. “Oh Muffin~” he sang playfully. “Wake up, sleepy head~”

A moment passed with him mugging the camera.

When nothing responded, he tried again. “Did you fall back asleep?” he whispered. “Or maybe you’re in the middle of eating~”

Still no answer, no click from the door.

John tilted his head, looking up as he tried to remember if the cameras would even play voice from her side. It was hard to imagine a working surveillance system inside of virtual space. Doubly so because he couldn’t exactly play IT on a computer setup that technically only kind of existed.

Imagining himself on her camera system made him laugh.

“I bet you are, aren’t you?” He brought a hand up, tapping the camera and whispering. “You’re stuffing yourself silly. Eating and eating until you can no longer move. Well, open the door, and I’ll feed you something sweet~”

“Uhhh, Sir?”

“Christ!” John jumped, banging both knees against the railing and toppling backwards. He stumbled, hitting his back and catching himself on the archway of the house, hand on his chest. He turned to the person who’d come up behind him, an extremely tall brunette girl wearing a familiar shirt with a pudgy red snake-girl icon over her chest.

“Oh, sorry Sir!” said the delivery girl from the Crimson Snake. “Are you okay?” The bag in her hand ruffled as she held up her arms. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Hoh.... Ya did,” John blew out a gust from his heaving lungs. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay! My fault!” the girl said, looking down. With the bag she also held a receipt. “Are you John…” she paused, squinting closer. “Huh. It looks like they missed your last name.” Then she read off the address beneath.

“Uhhh, yeah,” he replied, still sagging against the stone arch. “That’d be me.”

“Awesome,” the girl said cheerfully. She held out the bag. “You’re all paid for! You know, it’s been years since we’d got a call just for this stuff! Normally people will come down, or at least order food.”

John didn’t respond. He took the plastic bag, noting the paper one inside of it, and peered in to find a large, sealed container. A note written across the top in green sharpie read

S’mores Pudding Milk Shots.

· Refrigerate!

· Serve in Mini Cordial Glasses for 8-10 servings.

· Garnish with Hershey’s Chocolate using bars enclosed beneath container.

John’s amber eyes were wide with confusion. He opened his mouth to tell the delivery girl that there must have been some mistake. He hadn’t placed any order, and especially not one for-

The door clicked open behind him. The motor purred for only a moment, barely cracking the door. From within, he heard her purr.

“Well? Come on, you… Come and feed your fiancée something sweet~”

******************************************************************************

Monika had not been sleeping.

Had she been eating? Probably, but she had certainly been busier working.

“There you are,” she grinned. “Well? What do you think?”

John had left his jaw somewhere behind him on the front porch.

It made her giggle, which made her jiggle, and that did… exceptional things for the five-hundred-pound butterball in her tiny green-and-black cheerleading outfit.

From her light pad, Monika was posing with a pair of pom poms on her hips, which did more to cover her than any clothes did. A tiny top barely held back the weight of her chest, tied into a playful bow with what looked like her usual hair ribbon, and a black mini skirt was fastened around her waist with a deep emerald belt over the swell of her belly.

Her laughter made her belly hop, flexing the belt against a bright silver buckle that had been positioned right over her navel. The high-waisted skirt allowed her belly to sag free, lightly quivering against her flabby thighs, with a pair of stockings pinched in the fat-folds of her knees.

Monika had tied her hair into a bushy pair of partial-twintails with skinny green ribbons, while the rest lay flat down her back. It created an interesting look, her long bangs hanging over her front, either twintail bushing off to the side, and a curtain of brown around her chubby neck, but John would have missed all of that if she didn’t raise up her pom poms to play with the strands.

“I had an idea~” she said, and the lightpad went out.

Another buzzed on and then she appeared, her voice growing more and more excited while her hips quaked as she bounced back and forth with heavy word.

“An awful, wonderful, terrible idea~”

Her breasts bounced as she moved, and in his mind John gave them an auditory jiggle, like the sound of a delectable vanilla pudding slapping. She raised a pom pom, trying and failing to stand on one leg before thudding back down. And this time, he heard it.

The fat plop of her foot thudding against the surface.

“H-how did you…”

Monika beamed, her legs spread to shoulder width due to her lard-packed thighs. “It wasn’t so hard…” One of the pom poms dropped, rolling down her side and subsequently ramping off of her hip to fall off the pad. Her small, fat hand teased the ribbon before falling down to her belly, indenting into herself. “I was putting something together when I had the idea.”

John slowly moved forward until he was standing right in front of the pad. He couldn’t stop staring at her chest, in awe of how even this small part of her could look so huge, and that’s when he noticed her arms.

Not an ounce of muscle, shaped seemingly only by the sleeves that came to mid-bicep. Huge skindentations rolled over the sleeves, and just beneath those, Monika had a roll of fat that had formed where her arms rubbed against the fat of her chest. The outfit was fit to burst.

And in that moment, Monika puffed a tight ‘Heh,’ her smirk growing wicked before she her arm quickly twisted. Several seams popped, tearing from her all the way down from the sleeve to her shoulder, and exposing the fluff that filled this fatty muffin.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard this was to get on,” she said, her tongue licking her bottommost lip before humming excitedly and lightly grazing it. She leaned up on her fatty tip toes, bringing herself only inches from him.

John’s breathing had stopped.

It wasn’t the outfit. And as much as it was, it wasn’t the weight. It wasn’t her playful hair or her ripped clothing or her enormous belly.

It was her wonderful, loving, gushing smile, the brightest twinkling in her bright emerald eyes. She was alive. She was here, right with him, just a breath away. His heart hammered inside of his chest, longing to feel the beat in her own.

Monika stuck out her tongue, falling back onto the flat of her feet and he heard the speaker emit another soft THUD as she landed on her feet in her classroom floor.

She raised a hand to tap the side of her nose, then trailed it all the way down to the clasp that restrained the weight of her belly. With her thumb tucked into the belt she whispered, “I can’t wait for you to help me wreck it.”

And then the light pad winked out.

John’s lungs were empty, though he was breathing so hard.

The drunkenness had returned when he wasn’t looking, feeling so wobbly that he nearly fell over. He had to steady himself, hand over his heart and forcing himself to breathe.

“Well?” she called from the kitchen. “You’re not gonna keep your chubby cheerleader waiting, are you?”

His legs weren’t responding, his mind was too fuzzy. They’d been so close. He could have kissed her. He should have kissed her. He’d missed his chance.

And regained it when she suddenly appeared right in front of his face, popping into existence as the light pad activated. “Hey!” she stomped. “I put on this whole outfit, and you’re making me have to move around too much!”

“S-sorry,” he stumbled.

Monika was pouting, her chin folded into an adorable pair, and drawing his eyes to the almost unassuming silver crucifix she wore around her neck. John remembered making that for her. It was the first thing she’d asked for.

She raised herself on her tip toes and fell. “You’re making me worried! You’ve barely said anything!” Then, she paused, worriedly bouncing her toe against the pad. “Is it too much?” she frowned up at him.

John kissed her.

His mind was spinning as if in a cyclone, thousands of impulses trying to commit every detail to memory, overloaded by the pure gusto of his Muffin, and the final stress of trying to say ten things at once shut his mind down and let his body move.

He stepped forward, toeing the edge of the pad, putting one hand forward to try and catch her soft hip while he leaned down into her lips.

His hand felt nothing but the warmth of the light.

His lips…

When they pulled back, John fell. He stumbled over his own feet, falling down straight on his ass and not feeling a thing but the tiniest spark that had shocked his lips.

Monika stood over him, staring at him with wide green eyes, her fingers raised to her own soft lips. She was breathing heavily, belly puffing and falling as she took in each breath, and then her eyes started to gleam.

“M-Monika,” John stumbled, rushing to get to his feet. “Sorry, I don’t-”

“Shut up,” she said, a chubby tear falling from her eyes. A sob wracked her body and she put her hands to her face, before pulling it back and showing she was smiling. “Why are you apologizing?”

John stood over her, cold sweat streaming down her back. “I didn’t want… I mean, I know we couldn’t-”

“Shut up!” she said louder this time, her belly pulling the belt so tight that the leather whined. She was still smiling as she cried. “You felt it too. Didn’t you?”

It was impossible. She wasn’t really there. She was standing on a light pad in her room inside of a program he was running on his computer. They couldn’t have.

But they had kissed.

John felt his chest heave. He was about to start crying when Monika’s fist came off of the lightpad, disappearing before it could hit his chest.

“You jerk. Don’t you start. If you start, you’ll make me cry,” she flushed as the tears dribbled off of her cheeks.

“I-I don’t…” his eyes fluttered. He took a deep breath before taking a single step backwards and looking at her.

His Muffin glowed. Around her waist and her hips were the faintest ghosts of her weight, tiger stripes that she wore with love. Her girly long hair clung to her body, making her look bigger than she was, and she already looked massive. And she wanted to be bigger. To be playful and fat. To pass her days with him.

She wanted him to help her wreck that damn outfit.

“So,” he said, stepping forward.

She held her hands out and he put his into hers. There was no spark, no true sense of anything but the soft glow of the light, and yet somehow, he could almost feel her presence. The weight of her touch. The power of her soul.

He felt himself reactivating, turning down towards her body. The valley of her cleavage, the hills of her love handles. “What do you need me to do?”

Monika bit her lip, raising herself rapidly up and down on her toes to send ripples of jiggles throughout her whole body. Another thread in her sleeve snapped, and she looked down at her dough-covered arm while her fat grin grew enticingly naughty.