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And My How You've Grown

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Martin leaned back huffing, red in the cheeks, and for all intents and purposes, making a scene. Julia looked up from her sketching in irritation. For all of the tense lead up to their meeting, Martin had proved to be a roommate on par with a stereotypical teenager: she never knew what mood he might be in, he was up all hours of the night, and he frequently gorged himself on junk food. Currently he was doing the last one. Unlike a teenager, however, Martin didn’t really have the metabolism to keep up with his appetite and it showed.

This, Julia reflected, had been an unexpected perk of kidnapping the terror of Brakebills. As irritating as it was that he perpetually wanted her attention while she was working, she had to admit that the sight of his clothes stretching to cover his gain was worth looking up from her books for.

“So, what? Fillory doesn’t have bakeries?” she quirked an eyebrow. Martin, sprawled on the couch, set the empty sheet cake platter aside before responding. “They *hic!* haven’t quite figured out *hiccup!* refined sugar yet”

She smirked, “Apparently you haven’t either. If you don’t slow down you’ll outgrow that suit”. Martin scoffed, refusing to acknowledge that his clothes were, in fact, perilously tight. His belly protruded into his lap, buttons revealing flashes of his undershirt and his pants were almost impossible to get up in the morning.

“That ridiculous,” he huffed and propped himself up on his elbow to better address her, “I could quit anytime I want”. The statement was punctuated by his slacks button popping off and making a bid for liberty.

He looked so shocked that Julia, despite the thought of catching Reynard gnawing away at her mind, she laughed. Color tinged Martin’s cheeks, his soft, plump belly now ever so slightly exposed to the cool air. “That- that means nothing. I’ve had these for years. They were bound to give out eventually”

Julia doubled up laughing, making Martin blush and protest even harder. Finally, once she calmed herself, she stood up and pulled Martin to his feet. “Come on fatty. Let’s see just how wrong you are”

Irritably he allowed himself to be led to the kitchen where Julia opened up a drawer and pulled out a measuring tape. As collected as a doctor examining a patient, she undid his vest and shirt then lifted the tshirt below to reveal his stuffed swell of a tummy. Even clinical, the way her hands felt made him grateful he was already blushing.

“Are you going to tell me your waist size or do I need to check the tag?” she smirked. Martin felt the blush reach his ears. The last thing he was prepared to handle was her hand anywhere near his pants. He mumbled, “34 inch waist”

Her hands were shockingly warm on his skin and as humiliating as it was to get measured like this Martin couldn’t bring himself to tell her off. Even when she cinched the tape around the doughiest point of his gut he found that his heart rate well out paced his temper; especially when he saw the change come over her features. He hiccuped again and his belly jiggled out of the tape measure and into Julia’s waiting hands.

He leaned down, panting a little from the sudden arousal, “Well luv? What’s the damage?” Instead of answering Julia looked him in the eye, smirked, and squeezed the flabby muffin top, “wouldn’t you like to know”.

Martin had to physically swallow a moan. He cupped her jaw, tilting her head so she looked him in the eye, “Lust is a lovely color on you Miss Wicker”

She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him, retreating only to take a breath. Even as she dropped back onto her heels he could still feel her teeth dragging gently over his lower lip. She ran her hand through his hair one more time, body pressed firmly against his, then whispered headily into his ear “Funny, I was just think of how good you look in gluttony”

Gluttony. He pondered the word hazily and found that it fit him much better than his clothes currently did. “Did I gain that much?”

“39 inches fatty” she kept a hand on his waist, “There’s cookie dough in the freezer though. We’ll have you in some 40 inch pants by tomorrow morning”