WeightGainGirl

||CONTENT WARNING: Now that the kids have moved out, Petyr wishes to explore a fetish he never had the chance to before. Sylvia reluctantly agrees to gain weight so long as he promises to uphold his end of the bargain. As she gains more and more weight, Petyr eventually realises just how taxing the lifestyle can be putting their marriage at risk. Will she continue gaining or will she lose the weight to save the marriage? Contains minor health issues and sexual content as well as some mild humiliation.|| Sylvia had dedicated the past 30 years to caring for her children. Having fallen pregnant with her first child when she had barely even turned 17, her mother had warned her that motherhood would demand a lot of her, but that could never have been enough to prepare her for all the work she would have to put into raising them. Even as they approached their teenage years, the demands remained relentless. Mornings were a flurry of school runs followed by tidying up after her husband and

|| CONTENT WARNING: Magic weight gain, rapid weight gain, extreme weight gain, mild mentions of nudity, immobility. Marge discovers a pot of Gold and is determined to keep it and eventually reveal the gold hidden inside. The leprechaun who lost it, however, is just as determined to get it back. Using his magic he weakens her resolve and diminished her senses by causing her to gain massive amounts of weight. || In the rolling hills of Ireland, Maeve struggled to keep her family farm afloat after her father passed. With no siblings or other relatives to share the burden, she did her best to maintain the upkeep of the farm. But with limited funds and too few hands to help, she could only watch as the land withered, and the fields yielded less with each passing season. When her father was alive, he shouldered most of the work on the farm. Nearby villagers lent a hand, tackling the more physical tasks while Maeve tended to the animals and planted what she could. The fruits of their labour were sold in the village, the profit sustained them reasonably well. However, as time passed, the men grew weaker with age and offered Maeve little assistance. Their sons, robust and eager, had sought out opportunities in distant cities, leaving behind the countryside which offered very little success to those who remained in it. Now, Maeve’s cherished animals had dwindled, leaving her with only Martha Moo, a cow she had named when she was just eight years old. Yet even Martha Moo was frail and worn, her purpose was reduced to offering Maeve companionship in the quiet of the farm. Despite her bleak outlook, Maeve still strived to do all she could for the farm and herself. Each morning, she treated herself to a hearty breakfast, experimenting with different recipes form her grandmother’s cherished cookbook. It was the one thing she had left behind after her passing, but it provided solace and warmth in these challenging times. Dressed plainly in jeans and a t-shirt, Maeve tackled the day’s tasks, no matter how daunting they seemed. As the sun reached its highest point, she returned home to prepare another comforting meal from her gran’s recipes. If the weather was in her favour, she savoured it on the porch, gazing out at the lush greenery that surrounded her. On colder days, she ate at the table once shared by her late father and grandmother, their absence palpable in the silence that filled the room. The afternoon was dedicated to labouring in the fields, sweat and dirt clinging to her skin by the day’s end. A hot shower washed away the grime before Maeve settled in for her third meal of the day, she enjoyed it by the fire while the radio provided a faint background hum. Before retiring to bed, she tidied the house, though it remained largely untouched throughout the day, but she liked to avoid idle moments, fearing her mind might wander to places she preferred to avoid. As she drifted off to sleep, she was transported to the world of her grandmothers’ tales. Back in the day, she was lulled to sleep by the sound of her grandmother’s soft voice as she pushed emotion and expression into every word. Now all she could do was envision it. In the darkness, she imagined Leprechauns and fairies dancing around her room, their ethereal forms flitting in and out of sight. In the land beyond, in the darkness of the trees, Kelpie and Changelings prowled, she didn’t like to linger on those images for long. These stories had always seemed like mere fantasies, woven from the threads of folklore and passed down through generations. She was certain her grandmother had once been put to sleep by her mother who had told the same tales while combing her fingers through her daughter’s hair. But, on a sweltering summer day, Maeve stumbled upon a discovery that breathed life into those ancient tales. Seeking respite from the oppressive heat, Maeve often sought shade beneath the old tree that had stood sentinel over the land for generations. As she settled beneath its branches, she felt a peculiar bump beneath her, disturbing her peace. Intrigued, she investigated further. Upon closer inspection, she found the earth had been disturbed, as if recently dug up and covered again. A patch of bare dirt caught her eye, sparking her curiosity. Rushing to the barn for her shovel, she returned moments later, determined to unearth the mystery. By the time the shovel connected with the object, her muscles ached. Scooping back the remaining soil with her hands, her efforts revealed a sturdy pot, its colour dulled by mud and by age. The lid resisted her attempts to pry it open, hinting at the secrets hidden within. Whoever had buried it had done so with intent to conceal its contents. She took the container back to her home and sought out her father’s toolbox in the garage. Her frustration mounted as each attempt to pry open the stubborn lid ended in failure, leaving a trail of broken tools in its wake. Defeated for the night, she abandoned her efforts and retired to bed, the mystery of the pot weighing heavy on her mind. The following morning, Maeve tried to push the artifact from her thoughts as she went about her morning routine. But the pot seemed to beckon to her from its place on the kitchen counter, its presence impossible to ignore. Unable to resist its pull any longer, she seized the pot and plunged it into the sink, determined to cleanse it of the dirt that obscured its secrets. Scrubbing vigorously, Maeve watched as the water turned murky with grime, gradually revealing the engraved four-leave clover on the pot’s side. Though now stained a muddy brown, it was evident that the clover had once been a vibrant green. Perplexed by its significance, Maeve left the pot to sit in the now empty sink, its mysteries still eluded her grasp as she returned to her daily chores. It wasn’t until Maeve drifted off to sleep that night that a sudden realisation dawned upon her like a bolt of lightning. She remembered her grandmother’s tales of mischievous Leprechauns, sneaky creatures who hid their gold across the land, their pots were easily identified as they were marked with a four-leaf clover. According to the stories, if someone stumbled upon one of these pots, the Leprechauns would stop at nothing to reclaim their treasure, resorting to trickery and cunning to steal it back. Though she remained sceptical of the legends, Maeve couldn’t shake the feeling that the pot she had unearthed might be one of these fabled caches of gold. Determined to safeguard her potential fortune, she resolved to keeping a vigilant watch over it day and night until she could figure out how to unseal it. The contents of the pot could sustain her for the remainder of her days, and she wouldn’t have to worry about the quantity or quality of her crop. With a newfound sense of urgency, Maeve sprang out of bed and darted down the stairs before anyone could dare to swipe it from her. Not even bothering with the light, she searched for it in the dark and was relieved to find it where she had left it. Clutching it tightly, she lifted its heft and cradled it as if it were a newborn baby. Realising the gesture, she tucked it under her arm and ascended the stairs. Back in bed, she nestled it against her stomach and covered it with sheets before falling into a light sleep, conscious of whoever might sneak in. The next day, Maeve abandoned her usual chores, her sole focus now on guarding the pot at her side. Martha the Cow and the neglected crops went unattended as Maeve remained alert, her only respite came during brief moments to prepare meals. Even then, she kept a watchful eye on her surroundings, unwilling to let her guard down for even a moment. Despite her doubts about the existence of the gold within the pot, Maeve clung to the hope that its content could bring much-needed brightness to her dull life for the first time in years. On the second day, she drove to the nearby village, the pot strapped into the passenger side of her truck, to seek assistance. Venturing into the local hardware store, the shopkeeper greeted her with a friendly smile, but it soon faltered once he spotted the bulk in her arms. “Maeve,” he spoke in a hushed voice as she approached the counter. “You’d best put that back where you found it.” “Why?” She challenged; her curiosity piqued by his caution. “It’s best not to meddle with the keeper of that pot,” he warned, his voice tinged with solemnity. Rolling her eyes dismissively, Maeve laughed off his words, refusing to entertain the idea of mythical creatures and curses. However, the fact she had been guarding the pot for twenty-four hours, betrayed her scepticism. “A lot of the stories have roots in truth,” the old shopkeeper continued, his gaze distant as if lost in memories of his own encounters with the supernatural. “I’ve seen things myself.” Though his weathered appearance gave credit to his words, Maeve remained dubious and brushed off his warnings with a dramatic sigh. Determined to seek assistance elsewhere, she bid the old man farewell and left the store. Unfortunately, her quest proved fruitless as no one in the village was willing to involve themselves in what they considered to be a perilous affair. Even the younger ones, who she thought might be just as sceptical, chose not to help. Disheartened and defeated, Maeve returned home with the pot still firmly in her grasp, its secrets remaining tantalisingly out of reach. That night she slept soundly with the container at her side, unaware of the tinkering that was happening below in her kitchen. Her little trip to the village meant that the leprechaun had caught wind of her findings, knowing that the girl was doing all she could to protect the gold, he knew that he would have to weaken her resolve and get her to lower her guard. Upon finding her grandmother’s opened recipe book laid out on the table, the Leprechaun knew exactly what needed to be done. Digging his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a powdery substance, it twinkled in the darkness, even more so when he blew it off his hand and onto the book. The powder had barely settled onto the pages by the time he had snook back out the door. In the morning light, she went downstairs and was puzzled by the faint shimmer that seemed to dance across the pages of her beloved cookbook. Though most of the glittering substance had dispersed with the breeze that filtered through the cracks of the old house. Shrugging it off, she focused her attention on preparing a breakfast of bacon, eggs and sausage along with some buttered toast and hashbrowns. Though she could have concocted the meal without consulting the book, Meave took comfort in the delicate scrawl of her grandmother’s handwriting, using it as a guide to infuse her dishes with a touch of nostalgia and warmth. Unbeknownst to her, the subtle magic woven into the pages of the cookbook had already begun to take effect. As Maeve took her first bite of breakfast, she was startled by a sudden rush of warmth that flooded her body, more intense than any sensation she had ever experienced. It lingered in her stomach and expanded until her entire body felt as though it were on fire. Yet, just as swiftly as it had appeared, the warmth dissipated, leaving behind a lingering tingle that prickled across her skin. Unfazed by the peculiar sensation, Maeve ate every last bite of food on her plate and whatever was left in the pan, it all disappeared at an alarming speed. It was a rarity for her to consume such a big meal, even after a day of labour on the farm. Yet, she attributed her newfound appetite to the anxiety and excitement surrounding the mysterious pot of gold. Afterwards, she returned to her futile attempts at opening the pot. She soon found herself back in the kitchen to prepare lunch. Once again, the warmth greeted her with each bite, coaxing her to indulge in seconds and thirds in the hopes of prolonging the feel. Her stomach bulged uncomfortably against her clothes. In the light of the sun, she sat on the porch and cradled both her bloated belly and the pot of gold. Reclining in her chair, she surrendered to the tiredness that came over her and the humid weather lulled her into a light slumber. But the pot remained tucked into her side, her arm holding it tight. Upon awakening a few hours later, Maeve noticed the sky tinged with shades of orange, signalling the approach of evening. With a now empty stomach, she returned to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Unlike her usual practice of scaling down her grandmother’s recipes, Maeve found herself doubling the ingredients, craving the comfort of a hearty meal that would sustain her through the night. As the days stretched into weeks, Maeve found more and more enjoyment in the recipes, the comforting familiarity of each dish provided her with a small respite from the relentless pursuit of the pot’s secrets. Despite the absence of any Leprechauns, Maeve remained vigilant, clinging to the hope that the gold hidden within would one day transform her life. Her attempts to open it grew increasingly desperate, each blow from a hammer or strike from an axe met with stubborn resistance. The material remained unyielding, forcing her to give in a lot sooner. To stuff her anger down and to ease her anxieties, she would indulge on sweet treats and baked goods. While Maeve was consumed by her quest indoors, nature reclaimed the land outside, the grass grew long and unruly in her absence. Twenty days passed in a blur as Maeve became consumed in her obsession, despite her frustration and her constant failures, she refused to abandon her pursuit. The longer the pot remained in her possession, the more it taunted her with a life she had always dreamed of, one that had always seemed so far out of reach. Yet it was closer now than it ever had been, if only she could open the damn pot. Too engrossed in her task, she didn’t notice the changes that started to manifest on her body. Even as her jeans became snug around her hips and her thighs, even as they gave way at the seams, the fat poking through. Even as her once nimble movements became laboured, the excess weight slowing her down, even as her face became redder and redder from exertion while she worked at the pot, tool in hand. Despite the physical transformation, Maeve pressed on, her determination unshaken. Leaned over the tabletop, her fat arms jiggling with the movements, her shirt rolled up, revealing the pouch of fat that grew in size on her belly. When she became bigger, she couldn’t stand for too long, she couldn’t bend over either as her back would ache and her knees would burn, begging for her to sit down. Eventually she would have to sit in a chair while she worked, regardless, she continued the fight. As Maeve’s appetite swelled and her body expanded, her focus shifted from the pot, she devoted less time to opening it and more time to cooking. Even with the distractions, she still kept a watchful eye on the pot, careful of any intruders who might seek to claim it for themselves. Even though the need to protect it gnawed at her, driving her to a near demented state, the need to eat overpowered it every time. In the evenings, after stuffing herself with many meals, she would retreat to her armchair, the pot nestled against her side, her soft flesh enveloped it until it was nearly obscured beneath mounds of flesh. The rest of the house fell into disrepair as she neglected her usual chores, the rooms became dusty and unkempt. The armchair was her seat, it always had been, just as the sofa had been her father’s. He liked to spread out on it while reading a newspaper or fixing some tool that had broken from overuse. For years she had left it empty, a tribute to her late father, but the armchair could no longer contain her gargantuan frame as the rolls of fat cascaded over the sides. With great effort, she heaved herself up and waddled over to the larger sofa, the journey a testament to the physical toll the obsession had taken on her body. Though she was desperate to sit down again, she couldn’t help but stand a moment and observe the indentation that remained from when her father had sat on it. Over the years the cushion had popped back into place bit by bit, so very little of him remained. With a heavy heart, she slowly turned and lowered her heft onto the sofa, the small indentation was now swallowed by the vast expanse of her own girth. Clad in only stretched-out panties and a shirt that offered little support to her sagging breasts, she settled onto the sofa, her form engulfing the cushions as she sank into its embrace. Despite the discomfort of ill-fitting clothes and the weight of her own body, she remained resolute in her pursuit of the pot that was pressed into her fat once more, its promise of wealth and prosperity was still out of reach, but she believed it would one day be hers. All the while the Leprechaun had watched from a safe distance but, as Maeve grew fatter and more immobile, the Leprechaun closed in, his presence lurking in the shadows of another room or concealed behind a piece of furniture. With each passing day, her awareness waned, her once sharp instincts blunted by her insatiable appetite. As Maeve’s body grew, enveloping the pot of gold beneath layers of fat, the Leprechaun found his prized possession effectively concealed. Her swollen and sluggish fingers clung to the container, her grip weakening with each passing day. From his vantage point behind the armchair, the Leprechaun observed Maeve’s transformation with a mixture of fascination and trepidation. Her once slender neck disappeared into the rolls of fat that now enveloped her chin. Her red hair did very little to hide how rounded her freckled cheeks had become. The shirt she wore stretched thin over her bloated form, so much so that he could see the flesh beneath and the breasts that bulged out of the fabric. Her rolls of fat mirrored the undulating landscape of the hills that surrounded the house, and he would have to climb them to find his pot. As her mobility waned, reduced to little more than a slumbering behemoth confined to the sofa, the Leprechaun saw his opportunity to reclaim the gold. With stealthy movements, he approached her prone form, his eyes fixated on the prize hidden beneath her massive belly that hung to her buckled knees. Looking up at her, he couldn’t see her face beyond her bulbous belly, he then lowered his gaze to the fat that encased her legs, no longer of any use to her. Taking a deep breath, he leapt up onto her stomach and felt the fat gave way under his feet. Too engrossed in whatever she was eating, she had yet to notice the Leprechaun that moved carefully across her expansive body. With a deft hand, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the folds of fat until he felt the familiar shape of the pot beneath. With great difficulty he pulled it out from between the rolls and marvelled at the dull gleam of the pot obscured by the layers of grime and sweat. Noting the glint of something in her eye, she slowly turned her head and her eyes widened at the sight of the Leprechaun. “Hey!” she squealed, though the fat that covered her throat had deepened her voice massively. “Give that back!” Her fat arms moved slowly, and she wasn’t able to grab him before he leapt down and ran off with her treasure. Though she knew it was impossible, she strained the muscles in her legs and tried to push herself up, but there was too much lard weighing her down and she couldn’t raise herself more than inch. Exerted, she fell back down and pushed the air out of her cheeks. Beneath her the sofa groaned, suffering beneath her heft. Angry she shook her fat fist and shouted obscenities at the creature that was now running across the field, his gold back in his possession. From this experience the Leprechaun had learned a valuable lesson, that he had underestimated the power of human obsession and the lengths to which it would drive them. The next time he hid his gold he would have to be a lot more careful of who might find it and how far they would go to keep it. With one last glance at the house he vanished into the shadows of a nearby forest, his pot tightly in his grasp.

|| CONTENT WARNING: contains bloating, alcoholism and its affects and mentions of smoking. Two demons fight to corrupt the same human, Pandora. As a result of her constant drinking and eating she gains weight rapidly. She also embeds herself into the punk lifestyle and becomes a whole other person. Gakoth and Rargeth were two demons who served under the king of gluttony, Belphegor. For centuries they had done his bidding, they had prodded condemned souls when told to, had torn out their eyes and swallowed them whole when instructed, had even spent countless hours throwing people into fiery pits until their screams became tiresome and repetitive, yet they were given no reprieve. At first it had been fun, they had enjoyed the looks of horror they were met with, the contorted mouths and widened eyes had brought them great pleasure. But their heart just wasn’t in it anymore. Every shriek sounded the same, every pained expression had become a bore. They needed more than what the fiery

|| CONTENT WARNING: Slow burn WG, Annie competes with Annie Kim, resulting in her gaining weight. Bad hygiene and gas accompany the gain to the discomfort of the infamous study group. All characters depicted in this are 18+. There is mentions of bad hygiene, sweating, gas, slobbiness, soiled clothes and brief mentions of toilet issues. || Annie Edison strode purposefully through the bustling corridors of Greendale Community college. Easily she navigated her way through the throngs of students, shouldering by them with a surprising amount of force. Idling on by, they were unaware of her current mission, the urgency of it was set in her wide, expressive eyes and in her firm lips, a familiar trait of the overachiever who relentlessly pursued every goal, no matter its perceived difficulty. Clasping her textbooks tightly to her chest, as if they were precious artifacts she couldn’t afford to lose, Annie saw them not just as sources of knowledge but as the keys to her graduation. Without

Pricing: £10(GBP) for every 1,000 words £5(GBP) for mild sexual content £10(GBP) for graphic sexual content Do’s: Excessive/rapid weight gain Slob Gas Bloating Immobility Minor health play Humiliation Fantasy/magical weight gain Mutual weight gain Personality changes (such as dumbification/brattiness) Don’ts: Vore Pregnancy Furry Underage characters Incest Consensual non consensual Real life people (such as celebrities) Scat (will allow brief mentions of it) Any racism/ableism/homophobia, etc. No hateful language (For anything not listed that you have questions about, feel free to ask!) Payment: I will ONLY take PayPal as a method of payment. Once we’ve agreed on the length and overall price of the commission I will ask you for your @ and send you the invoice. Also: To secure a spot, payment