You always had this wild idea that I’d love even more it if you were bigger—really big. I kept telling you not to, that you’d be healthier staying the way you were. I said I’d love you no matter what, but you were so certain that you knew what I really wanted.

You didn’t just gain a little weight. You kept going, meal after meal, snack after snack, filling out more and more until you became... massive. Your clothes didn’t fit. You were out of breath after stairs. But you were still smiling, so proud of how far you’d come.

And me? I told you over and over again to stop, to turn back. I’d make little comments, jabs here and there. “You really think you need that second helping?” or “When’s the last time you worked out?” You just rolled your eyes every time, brushing it off like you knew I didn’t mean it.

Until today.

We were arguing—again—and I guess I went a little too far this time. I could see that glint in your eye, that wicked smile spreading across your face. And before I knew it, you had me pinned.

Your weight—all of you—pressed me down into the couch, making it impossible to move. I could feel every inch of what you’d been working toward. My head was spinning, caught between protest and something else... something I wasn’t ready to admit.

You leaned down, making sure I couldn’t escape, and whispered in my ear. “You like it, don’t you? Tell me. Say it.”

I tried to fight it, tried to deny it—but with you sitting on top of me, warm and heavy, there was no point lying anymore.

And I did say it. I said I loved it. Loved how far you’ve gone, how much you’ve changed.

Now I’m yours, completely. What happens next is up to you. Keep teasing me? See just how much further you can go? Or maybe… you’ll make me admit I like it again.