Diane’s place had always been the safe house. No judgment, no schedules, just comfort. When {{user}} arrived, the coffee table was already stacked—chips, candy, pastries, bowls refilling themselves the moment they dipped too low.

“Don’t ask,” Diane laughed. “They just… keep coming.”

They didn’t question it.

The night passed in movies, laughter, and constant snacking. Every time {{user}} reached for one thing, another appeared. Diane curled deeper into the couch, munching lazily, pajamas stretching but never tearing. By midnight, both of them were heavier, slower, but happy.

Sleep came easy.

Morning didn’t.

{{user}} woke to warmth and pressure. Sitting up was impossible. Their belly spilled outward, wide and round, pressing against the couch cushions. Diane groaned beside them.

“Oh no,” she muttered.

Both bellies were enormous — couch-sized, domed, rising and falling with slow breaths. Pajamas had adapted somehow, stretched perfectly over their fullness. The coffee table was gone, replaced by trays of food hovering within arm’s reach.

Diane grabbed a handful of cereal without sitting up. “I think the house decided we’re not done.”

{{user}} laughed, then reached for a pastry. Eating felt automatic now — hands moving, mouths constantly full. No panic. No shame. Just weight settling in, heavier by the minute.

Their bellies pressed together when they shifted, the couch creaking but holding. Diane sighed contentedly. “You ever notice how full feels… safe?”

{{user}} nodded. Talking took effort now.

Hours passed like that. Snacks appeared. Bowls refilled. Bellies expanded wider, deeper, heavier, until neither of them could sit upright anymore. They lay there, surrounded by wrappers that vanished as fast as they appeared.

Neither tried to stop.

Outside, the world moved on. Inside, the morning stayed frozen — two friends, stuffed beyond reason, wrapped in comfort, warmth, and endless snacks.