Them Gerudo Gains (Patreon)

Sorry for the delay on this, for reasons unknown to me it took a few days to finish instead of knocking it out in one day like I hoped! Just me out here applying the clown makeup whenever I say "oh this will be a quick thing, I'll have it done by X. 🤡" I never do, twas I the fool.

ANYWAY, my argument is that Hyrule and the LOZ series is unintentionally ripe for projecting fetish fiction scenarios onto. You recover health with food. You cook a lot. A lot of weight motivated puzzles and switches in dungeons. Various items and ingredients have different varying effects on your body. Providing offerings to deities / spirits / fae. Using magic tools to lift and move objects way larger than possible. It gives me a lot to play with.

I suck at trying to write short quips and I'm trying to get better, but the urge to clarify a place setting is a potent one. Still, wanted to drum up SOMETHING for this because man I had some THOUGHTS. Honestly wanted to write more, but didn't want it to end up more TL;DR than it is, but GOD it's fun to write details for this sort of stuff. Fuck, I could do that shit all day.
--------------------------------------------

    A travel adventure through Hyrule sampling the fine cuisine of the cultures can be a challenge in itself, particularly when one of said cultures doesn’t allow men into their town. The mounting desire to try one of the famous “Noble Pursuit” drinks from the canteen was insurmountable, but he quickly found he was not the only male desperate to do trade with the illustrious desert warriors. As no shortage wheezy stuttering simps loitered around the oasis just outside the city gates, Ceran encountered a young man who, after giving him a thoughtful once over, suggested the advice of traditional Gerudo garb as a disguise. The young man seemed so unassuming, just some simple tow-headed twunk, who for reasons not established seemed able to come and go as he pleased. Was he androgynous enough to pass undetected? Did the Gerudo simply choose to pay no mind as long as you presented yourself well enough? The thought churned within the elf’s head, but he sought out the recommend garments all the same.

   Ceran did his damnedest to parrot the look, to pass with all the powerhouse appeal such colorful silken garments and glittering baubles could replicate. Still, despite his tapered waist and naturally generous hips, his confidence was challenged by his square-jawed features and treasure trail of downy soft body hair. Conveniently, the blond hylian young man still lingered around the bazaar’s bar and pitched the suggestion of “the way of androgyny through a few good meals.” It was a curious statement, but so assured was he that the blond knew something he did not, he conceded to a few rounds of hydromelon pie and a rich poultry curry seasoned flawlessly with the perfect dash of goron spice. Who was he to complain? He came here to experience the local delicacies after all, a little gluttony to achieve a task was not unreasonable.  

    And so he experienced….and kept experiencing, said decadent dishes.
Did you know Hyrule had fried chicken? Ceran didn’t! At least not until the lingering adventurer-twunk introduced him to it with such enthused fervor. It was a forbidden treat with its savory flavor and greasy CRUNCH to the skin! The young man, who’d come to scooch closer and closer to him as they reclined indulgently at the inn’s pillow-laden conversation pit, was quick to recommend experiencing the fried delicacy with a smattering of honey, a good helping of glossy butter to spread the sweetness. He advised this while a stray hand of his innocently ghosted over the growing swell of the elf’s middle, fingertips playing just around the plush plumpening crease that started to deepen around his navel. What were once the cobbled steps of activity hardened abs had begun to descend into a mound of doughy belly flab that careened over the sparkling golden chain of a belt— so aptly smothered from view.

     Occasionally Ceran would chuckle out some excuse about how he best be heading out before he gets to comfortable to move, but somehow this precious little swordsman was able to expertly dismiss it before following up with another recipe he’d been working on— a cheesy meat & rice bowl! Overloaded with glistening savory gourmet protein, dripping its mouth watering seasoned oils to the fluffy rice bedding it, all while quickly getting blanketed in a waterfall of smooth melty cheese. The larger elf’s stomach rumbled in a guilty hunger-lust, and he quickly found he was in no position to object.

   What was supposed to be but a few days of rest was turning into a week, and Ceran promptly found the effects of the swordman’s culinary comforts as he tried to sit up from his bedroll in his spacious lent tent. He was supposed to be a big intimidating sell-sword, offering his expertise as a warrior to under-trained hyruleans in exchange for a few nifty recipes. Instead? He had to actively grunt and roll himself out of bed to his feet, feeling the rotund slosh of his overfed glutton’s gut as he did so. He groaned with complex emotions as he hefted the mass of his middle up with both hands, feeling the soft undulating lard loll about between his mashing palms. The gerudo apparel the swordsman fetched for him was quickly becoming a snug fit, with the meager silken top doing little to bind the gelatinous jugs that had started to stretch the material thin. He knew with the wrong vigorous motion those swollen hills would spill free, and with perverted curiosity he did a little bounce in the tent’s gracious standing mirror. Well, at least the plumped up pecs in their bloated state would add to the “fem passing” effect he was aiming for to enter this down. Still, the shudder of jiggles that quaked down his body with a simple heal-bounce send a forbidden corrupting thought, one he’d hoped to neglect on this trip. Alas, that was proving difficult to do, especially as the scrumptious scent of eggs and sizzling meats wafted from the tent’s entry. Was that little sneaky samaritan cooking breakfast??

    Beat by beat, the plan to “fill out just enough to appear more buxom in order to enter the city” was becoming less and less the goal. So much so that he’d actively make the occasional good-natured mannish quip about his state— getting into the town? He’d be lucky if he could still fit through the gate! This was usually followed by a boorish guffaw paired by an open palmed slap to the side of his big blubbery belly. Little did he know these “jokes” had developed into little more than foreplay dirty talk, and that handsy little swordsman was feral for it. What started as a politely quiet but helpfully assisting fellow traveler had escalated into a dutiful but lurid feeder, one who was more than happy to serve up some salt grilled surf & turf and then assertively seize an overflowing handful of billowing belly roll to confidently assert that “he still had room.”

A lot of the veneer, the kayfabe, that was worn at the start of their meeting had started to wear away. What begin as a plot to sneak into a woman-only town to score quality drinks had somehow to descended into a specific strain of debauchery. One could argue that that had always been the plan from the start, at least one of them, one of them who knew a handsome closeted glutton when he saw one— and he knew how big he wanted to see those displayed pecs get. He knew how much he wanted to see the big formerly-fit warrior try to roll his way to a sit where the majority of his vision was obscured by the mighty dome of overfed fatness and creamy swollen tits that wobbled and spilled  vulgarly out of their pretty little top each time the hylian clapped his horny hips into the mountain of his ass or the enveloping ocean of his buttery belly.

Everyone gets thirsty in the desert, just sometimes in different ways.