SUPER SERIOUS WARNING: THIS IS SOME MILD FEEDERISM SHIT. If you are not into this, DO NOT READ. This is going to be a lot more weight gain centric than most of my works. If you prefer my gentle chubby-love stuff, stay tuned because I have a chubby!klaine coming soon. But this might not be for you.

So this idea came to me because I spend too much time on tumblr. It is a mild feeder/feedee relationship, so if you're not into that, DO NOT READ. I've also never written a story like this before, so be gentle. I've just been reading some of them on tumblr and felt inspired to take a swing at it myself. This story takes place over a few months. Also, as a woman, I don't know too much about male pant sizes, so I did the best I could. Don't hate me.

Warnings and potential triggers for: Weight gain, mild feederism, implied sex and stuffing, shitty parenting and Smith and Wesson AU.

The Routine

Dean laid on the bed and sucked in one last time in attempt to close his pants. He just barely managed to slide the button through the hole and exhaled with a sigh. He got up from the bed to examine the damage in the mirror.

He had to button his pants completely underneath his slightly rounded belly, it was the only way to make it happen. But his stomach wasn't the only area that had begun to see the affects of Sam's pampering. His ass had swollen over the past couple of months and was seriously straining the seat of his jeans. His arms and legs have developed a layer of pudge over his once muscular physique. Once he would've gotten frustrated, even embarrassed, but that was before he knew Sammy's little kink. Dean Smith had always loved food. He had been quite chunky as a kid, and would've been as an adult if his dad hadn't gotten super strict about his diet and forced him to play football in high school and college. Sure, Dean liked it and it certainly made him lean. But he missed just being able to be lazy and eat whatever, but he had been convinced that no one could love him while he was that way.

Then he met Sam Wesson. His wonderful boyfriend of almost two years now. About a four months ago, Dean had put on some weight during the holidays, and panicked a little. He was convinced Sam would hate it and not want to touch him. The truth, however, was the complete opposite. Sam was handsier then ever, groping the subtle pudge as much as he could. Dean was frustrated and confused because, how could someone like this? How could someone want to touch it?

He confronted Sam about it and Sam, blushing furiously the whole time, explained how he liked guys with plenty of meat on their bones, and Dean was really one of the only fit guys Sam had ever dated because they had such a strong emotional connection. Sam swore up and down that he would love Dean endlessly no matter what he weighed (but hinted at the more, the merrier). And that was really all the answer Dean needed.

They fell into a routine. Sam mentioned how he loved to cook earlier on in their relationship, but Dean never really saw it until they had their chat. Sam cooked often and aplenty. Lavish breakfasts before work and dinners after. Dean stopped going to the gym entirely, as he always hated it anyways. Results happened within a couple weeks, Dean's slight pudge from winter weight blossomed into a bit of belly that even jiggled a little. Dean was happy just seeing how absolutely mad it made Sam, who tackled him whenever he had the opportunity to.

The routine began to escalate, Dean making sure he was stuffed after every meal, knowing it would just drive Sam more and more crazy. Sam would sometimes feed Dean himself, usually whatever dessert he made for dinner and rub his swollen belly afterwards.

The chat had been four months ago, and leads Dean to where he is now, standing in his 34 inch pants, and slight tummy hanging gently over the waistband. He eyes the scale that he can see in the bathroom and is suddenly curious. He hasn't weighed himself since their pattern started, when he was a fit 175 pounds and 30 inch waist.

He walked into the bathroom and stepped on the scale. The scaled showed red zeros, then blinked up 216.

Dean supposed he should've felt ashamed or want to lose it or something, but he didn't. He was happy, his partner was happy, and wasn't that what life was about?

He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw Sam standing in the doorway.

"You hadn't come to breakfast yet, I was coming to see what was up," Sam said, eyeing the scale. Dean could tell he was trying to suppress excitement.

"Yeah, these pants are crazy tight, I think I'll have to go shopping after work today. I just wanted to see what the damage was," Dean said, nonchalantly patting his stomach teasingly.

Sam swallowed and said, "Well?"

Dean smirked and beckoned Sam into the bathroom. Sam walked up behind Dean and peeked over his shoulder to see the number. Sam then rumbled happily and began rubbing Dean's bare bloated stomach.

"I'm surprised these still fit. What size are they, 36?"

"Nah, man. Only 34s."

Sam growled again and turned Dean's face into his and kissed him passionately.

"Come eat your breakfast. I made french toast," Sam said.

"And bacon?" Dean asked.

Sam smirked, "of course."

Four Months Later

Dean got home from work Friday night to an empty house. Again.

No smell of dinner cooking, nothing.

Sam had gone on a business trip. Nothing major, only 7 days, but still. He would be back tomorrow morning and Dean had decided to do everything in his power to make sure Sam had the best homecoming ever. This entailed eating as much as he could handle over the past 7 days. He usually ate way past the point of being simply satisfied, so going beyond that was difficult, sure. Uncomfortable, even. But for Sam? Yeah, worth it. He usually doesn't actively gain, it was just for a little present for Sam.

However, Dean didn't have a single culinary bone in his body, so he resorted mostly to take out. He knew Sam would scold him, Sam always said that if you're going to gain weight, best to do it with a relatively balanced diet, but surely 7 days wouldn't do too much harm.

He had already ordered a large meat lover's pizza on his way home, and went into the bedroom to peel off his size 38 pants. They were getting snug again. He could've sworn they weren't at the beginning of the week. He was curious of his weight, but was definitely waiting for Sammy on that one.

He slipped on a pair of sweat pants and waited for the pizza. Then he proceeded to stuff himself absolutely silly. When he was finished, he stuffed the cardboard container into the trash just so it was sticking out enough for Sam to see it when he got back to the apartment in the morning. He would get a kick out of that, for certain. Dean went to bed that night in just his boxers.

Dean was awoken the next morning when an arm wrapped around his still bloated midsection. Dean grumbled a little and rolled onto his back to look into Sam's eyes.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Sam teased, still stroking Dean's gut.

"Mmm good morning. 've missed you," Dean said.

"I can tell," Sam said, and applied a bit of pressure to the upper part of Dean's stomach, where it was still a bit firm from last night's pizza. "Did you eat that entire pizza last night?"

"Maybe," Dean said, grinning a bit, "I've been eating a lot this week. I guess I was filling the void, you know?"

Sam growled in arousal, eyes fixed on Dean's swollen middle.

"I think I may have gone overboard though, my 38s are way too tight now. I'll need to start wearing 40s," Dean said.

Sam didn't respond, just rubbed Dean's belly fervently.

"Do you think we should...assess the damage?" Dean asked, and Sam practically popped a boner with the very question.

"Yeah, I think that would be best," Sam said, pointlessly trying to hide his arousal.

They both eagerly got up for Dean to hop on the scale. The red zeros appeared and moved around on the screen for what seemed like forever before finally settling on 257.

Sam growled again and wrapped his arms around Dean from behind, kissing him on the neck and rubbing both his massive hands all over Dean's body.

Dean didn't make too much of a habit out of looking at his body, because he honestly didn't really care. But watching Sam worship him now, he could really see the changed in his body. There was the obvious, he belly had a legitimate hang to it now, just gently hanging over the waistband of his boxers by about an inch with red stretch marks on the front of his belly. On his sides, two love handles have appeared that also hung slightly over his waist band, and a little above those on his back, he had developed slight rolls from his back fat. There wasn't any definition remaining on his body; not on his arms, legs, or anywhere. His ass was surprisingly rounded and perky, he noticed when Sam grabbed at them. They were more than a handful for Sam he noticed too; even with Sam's massive bear hands, there was a little bit of butt cheek still not in his hands. His thighs chafed now if he wasn't wearing anything on his bottom half because his thighs touched so much. His chest had softened considerably, and fat had accumulated around his nipples coming to a peak, what was known as man boobs. As Sam fondled them, Dean came to the conclusion he was probably about a B cup. His arms had gotten flabby as well, and jiggled when he motioned while speaking. His facial features had softened; gone was the defined chin and cheekbones, and in their place was a slight double chin.

"I've put on over 80 pounds, do you realize that?" Dean said to Sam.

"Yes, I do. Do you realize how sexy you look right now? Holy fucking shit."

Dean felt Sam's manhood jabbing him in the plush ass. "Yeah, I think I do realize," he said with a smirk.

Four Months Later

Their three year anniversary was today. And Dean was fairly certain he had managed to get Sam the perfect present.

Dean had been working very hard at said present. Stuffing himself at breakfast and dinner and eating as much as he could when he went out for lunch at the office. They usually had donuts in the employee lounge and Dean had begun to eat so many of them, that they had begun to buy an extra box just for him to keep him away from the other employee's donuts. Moving around only when he had to.

He wanted to break 300 for their anniversary. He was confident that he could do it. As he examined himself in only his boxers, he was fairly certain he managed to make it happen.

Stretch marks now littered a majority of Dean's body; on his sides and love handles, his inner thighs, some on his upper arms and, of course, his belly. He just moved up to a size 46 about a month ago ago. He still had some room left in them, but probably not for long. His belly had lost some of its roundness because of its own weight and was beginning to succumb to gravity. It hung a good three inches over the waistband of his boxers and was quite flabby. When he sat, he had two very distinct rolls and hintings of a third, just below his generous bust, a solid C cup. The rolls of fat on his back have flourished right beneath his shoulder blades, and are visible no matter what kind of shirt he is wearing. Dean can't quite tell, but he thinks there might be stretch marks there, too. His freckled thighs have blossomed as well during the past months and were amazingly thick and dimpled, but not so much as his ass. Far more then a handful per cheek now and dimpled to high heaven, his ass had still managed to defy gravity where his ample stomach could not. His arms were thick and had stretchmarks underneath his upper arm that were only visible when he lifted them, and they jiggled at the smallest movements. He had a true double chin now, and any bone definition Dean had in his face was hopelessly lost and his cheeks were completely round. Dean couldn't have been more proud of his efforts.

Dean gazed back at the bed where Sam lay sleeping. Dean had purposely woken before Sam, to properly present his present. He stuck a bow onto his flabby stomach before moving back to the bed to straddle Sam.

Sam awoke from the pressure of his fat lover sitting on his thighs with a bright red bow on his enormous stomach.

"Happy anniversary," Dean purred as he leaned down to kiss Sam, knowing that Dean's fat stomach rubbing against Sam's ripped one would drive Sammy wild.

"Mmm happy anniversary to you, too," Sam said, running his hands up and down the fat on Dean's sides.

"Are you ready for your present?" Dean asked.

"I have a feeling I know what it is," Sam said glancing knowingly at the bow, and Dean could feel Sam's dick begin to harden against Dean's plentiful behind.

Dean leaned in again to whisper into Sam's ear and said, "Do you think we should assess the damage?"

Sam and Dean practically bolted out of bed and to the bathroom where Dean stepped on the scale.

The red zeros moved around and Sam stood over Dean's shoulder awaiting the number, dick hard on Dean's ass. The red numbers flashed 311.

Sam fucked Dean harder and more passionately then they ever had in their lives.

They were both quite fond of their routine.

I really hope y'all liked this! I worked really hard on it and am super proud of it, so let me know what you think and if you want to see more! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

I love you guys and until next time!