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Chapter Text

Akira takes his sweet time lining up his shot— no tricks this time, just a careful execution of the fundamentals. A press of force and... there. The nine ball sinks into the corner pocket, nice and tidy. A victory five months in the making.

'And that's game! Well done, Kurusu.'

He beams as Akechi goes on. He's usually pretty liberal with praise, but Akira knows he earned it this time so he allows himself to bask. As they get ready to leave, anticipation settles over the heady feeling of his win. He had promised to face him with everything he had if Akira ever beat him, whatever the hell that meant; it can't have been about billiards, right? Then again, Akechi is the only person he knows that talks like that about everything, so it's a mystery.

If he's planning to whoop Akira in some other ultra-specific sport without giving him time for a comeback before he gets a bullet to the brain, then fuck it. He has his own arsenal of useless talents at his disposal. He can at least try and get the score to 2-0 before he "dies." That'll piss Akechi off for sure.

It's cold and dark by the time they leave Penguin Sniper, so fishing and batting practice are out. But as they walk down the main thoroughfare in Kichijoji, Akira spies Option #3: the newest Big Bang Burger franchise, just opened to the public one week ago.

'You wanna grab a bite before we part ways? My treat.' So casual. So gracious in his victory! No ulterior motives here, nope.

Akechi follows his gaze, considering. A pause.

'It's not my usual fare, but I am quite famished. I'm game if you are, Kurusu,' he smiles indulgently. They had been playing billiards pretty much since school let out that day, so Akira's starving too. He holds the door for them both as they walk in from the cold.

Unbeknownst to Akechi, he has developed an anaconda-like aptitude for eating massive meals in one sitting with relative ease. Without giving his unwitting opponent time to consider the menu, Akira signs himself up for the Big Bang Challenge— Captain Level, of course. He's already gotten his badge from the Shibuya location, but that's for Akira to know and for Akechi to die mad about later.

Akechi's eyebrows launch up into space as he takes in the nutritional info from the menu board. It seems like he wasn't lying when he said he didn't usually eat here, but sometimes it's hard to tell when he's spouting bullshit. Now that he's had time to process the fact that Akira is issuing a new contest, his shock is quickly replaced by a determined glint. Challenge accepted. Not to be outdone, he goes straight for the Captain Level too.

'You sure about this?' Akira feels compelled to ask as they settle into their booth, tucked in the back of the dining room. 'It's a lot, especially if you don't come here often.'

The look of smug judgment Akechi levels at him in response immediately curdles any concern he had on reserve.

'No need to worry, Kurusu,' he simpers. 'I'm sure I can handle it if you can.'

Akira just smiles in response.

I am going to make you eat those words after you fail to eat this fucking burger.

---

The burgers, if you can call such monuments to Man's Hubris mere burgers, arrive within ten minutes, piping hot and picture-perfect. Akira won't deny feeling a little intimidated himself, but he's done this before (once) and he's committed to kicking Akechi's ass twice in one day.

Their server lays the ground rules as she sets their trays down. 'To win the title of Captain, you need to complete your entire burger, pickles and all, within 30 minutes! Good luck you both! Aaaand launch!!'

Akira tucks in straight away. He knows from experience that every second counts. He hears Akechi do the same after a moment's delay. As with billiards, Akira narrows his focus to the task at hand. He can't afford to get distracted.

He's a quarter of the way through his burger when he reaches what he considers "normal fullness;" the kind of full you feel after indulging in a big meal, like at New Year's. He takes a sip of Manta and can't help but glance up at Akechi to see how he's doing and he nearly chokes on his drink at the sight.

There's only a second to process what he sees before he wills himself back to his burger, but Akechi is...not doing well, from the look of things.

His burger is down by a third or so, but it's obvious that he pushed himself too far, too fast. They're only eight minutes in and Akechi looks like he wants to die. His face is flushed pink and sweat is beginning to bead around his hairline. In a stunning display against decorum, his mouth is open and panting in, Akira guesses, an attempt to deliver more oxygen to his lungs.

The problem, he knows, is that Akechi is probably so stuffed that it feels like his stomach is pressing up against his lungs, as though his air capacity has been reduced. It's a shame, but it's the natural consequence for such a rookie mistake. Akira'll be surprised if he can even make it halfway through after this. 

It goes on like this for the next bit. To his credit, Akechi never stops trying to eat, but it's clearly an exercise in frustration now that he's lost control of his pace. Condiments spill out haphazardly onto the tray and his shaking grip tears at the bun. Akira feels a little bad, but he also needs to beat him, so he wrenches his attention away again. He's only done this once before, and he only just made it that time. He feels his stomach being stretched to its limit. He won't need to eat for days after this.

20 minutes in, and he's about 80% of the way through while Akechi is lucky if he even broke 45%. They lock eyes during another drink break, and he looks positively murderous. Akira knows Akechi plans to kill him, yes, but the effect is ruined somewhat by the streak of mustard currently on his cheek and the sprinkling of breadcrumbs on his shirt and loosened tie. His cheeks are still pink and the hair framing his face begins to stick to his sweat-dampened skin. Akira can't resist a smirk as he bites into his burger again— final stretch.

'5...4...3...2...aaaand time!' Their server returns to judge their performances once the 30 minutes are up.

'Oh shoot, we forgot to check for your other badges, I just realized. I'm terribly sorry for the error but you did indeed complete the Captain's Challenge,' she says, facing Akira. Akechi's burger remains in tatters on his plate, maybe half-finished.

'In honor of your achievement, we bestow upon you your very own Captain's Badge. Congratulations!' The other three Big Bang employees and two nearby customers golf-clap while the server affixes the badge to his shirt.

Akira grins back sheepishly as he turns his attention back toward his dining partner, only to see Akechi stalk off toward the restroom. He could use a hand-washing himself, so he gingerly lifts himself from the booth and follows, mindful of his churning stomach.

By the time he enters the men's room, Akechi is divested of all crumbs and smears, though he still looks queasy. They're alone.

'Congratulations, Captain,' he seethes while shooting a disdainful look at Akira through the bathroom mirror. The image is muddied somewhat by the way he holds himself, posture hunched to alleviate the pain in his gut; Akira knows, he's doing it too.

He opts for the caring response over gloating. 'Are you feeling ok? I know that was a ton of food, so I worried you might be sick.' Wrong move. Akechi turns to face him, and this might be the first time he's allowed himself to look so over it in public. 

'Are you going for a hat trick tonight? I don't know of any contests in sympathy, Joker, so please spare me.' Aaaand busted.

'I'm sorry, I thought this would be fun. I got greedy.'

'Yes, well, I think I understand you a bit better now, so at least there's that.' He pauses, places a hand on his midsection, 'What would you do if I had won? We would be 1-1 if we count by event type.' He starts rubbing soothing circles against his side while he talks. Is he doing that unconsciously?

Akira feels his brain short-circuiting, is compelled to provide assistance with his own hands, but he endeavors to focus on the question. The truth, then:

'I'd probably find something else to compete over with you.'

Akechi barks out a laugh and his mouth curls cruelly. 'You would say that. I'm the same way. That's why I can't fucking stand you. Losing to you like this just pisses me off more.'

He straightens up, hands back at his sides. 'Let me know when we're heading back to Sae's Palace. I probably won't have much free time otherwise, but I'll see my obligations through to the end, as promised.' With that, Akechi steps gracefully around him and glides out the door.

Well, that could've gone better, but Akira can't help but feel a bit giddy at the confession. Under the vitriol, Akechi admitted that they were alike. He thinks so too, though through a rosier lens than Akechi, if his words are anything to go by. He stifles a burp into his fist as he goes to wash his hands. He needs to go home and sleep this off. He needs to challenge Akechi however he can during the time they have left. He wants to rub the tight drum of Akechi's stomach to ease the pain until it softens into something new.

Chapter Text

Today marks day seven of Goro's sabbatical from both the media and police work, and he's celebrating it the same way he celebrated days one through six: holed up in the safe room of some rando's palace and biting into another Supernova Burger (everything on it, extra onion rings, please). He'll follow that up with a handful of fries and a deep pull from a large chocolate shake. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

While he can let everything else fall to the wayside during his convalescence, his "obligations" to Shido are absolute. It's a mixed bag, really. His apartment is pretty spartan, but at least there's no Metaverse grime to contend with. On the other hand, he feels no obligation to clean up his wrappers and spills here; they're always gone by the time he returns. That, plus the fact that time flows differently in the Metaverse. He can lay about for hours here, and it will only cost a small fraction of his day. All he wants is to get some proper R&R for once, so making daily camp here is a net positive.

Goro squeezes the small roll of fat that threatens to spill over his waistband, reveling in the evidence of his recent excess. It's training, he thinks as he runs his right hand down the curve of his distended stomach. He had already proven himself superior to Kurusu when he lodged a bullet in his stupid skull a week ago, but his victory won't be complete until he also overwrites his defeat at Big Bang Burger. One measly Captain's Big Burger Challenge? How about two in one sitting, three? Kurusu could never, will never. Never again. He burps around his straw as he sucks down more shake.

Following his humiliating defeat earlier that month, Goro secretly began a rigorous training regimen to right such an obvious wrong. The only reason he was defeated in the first place is because he was caught unaware and without the same level of experience. Aside from planning Joker's demise by his own hand, Goro's number one (1) goal for November was to out-eat Kurusu in half the time and earn his own Captain's Badge.

Up until then, food was a means to an end. He had likes and dislikes, same as anybody, but he was used to treating food as a tool for furthering his goals. A meticulously balanced diet to keep his figure immaculate for TV and magazine appearances. X number of selfies a week uploaded to Instagram next to a photogenic parfait or baked good to build parasocial relationships with fans. Even picking up food from favored eateries did wonders toward ingratiating Goro with TV crews and civil service workers (Sae excepted).

Afterwards, he harnassed all of his energy to work in service of stuffing his face whenever he was conscious. He took it as an opportunity to find out what he truly enjoyed. Even so, he never lost sight of his original goal to thoroughly beat Kurusu at his own game.

Only...by the time Goro had stopped being apoplectic with rage at losing, they were out of time for anything outside of training in Mementos or preparing for the big heist. When he finally shot Kurusu in his fucking face, all he had to show for his efforts was an extra 20 pounds and a restricted wardrobe. Thank god it was sweater season. In the Metaverse, the Phantom Thieves were too distracted with more pressing matters to notice his costume rest more snugly against his frame, or the slight curve of his torso. As far as they knew, he was as svelte and as dangerous as ever. Kurusu may have caught a glimpse of his new belly straining against the waistline of his slacks just before he shuffled off this mortal coil, but Goro's not 100% on that one.

So, where does that leave him? Officially, he's on vacation. The new interim director of the SIU seems more than happy to keep him out of the office indefinitely. He's still unused to the weird shit you have to put up with when you work alongside politicians. Even Shido had little issue reducing the number of upcoming "appointments" as a reward for his recent success in killing the leader of the Phantom Thieves. He need only bother with a few critical between now and the election.

Every morning, he loads his phone with media for offline play, and loads a knapsack full of food. Bread was a morning favorite; universally filling, but the flavors were variable enough to keep things interesting. Corn mayo pan and yakisoba pan straddled the line between sweet and savory and were less dry than other fillings; tsubu anpan and chocolate cornets if he wanted something completely sweet. He ate them all with cans of sweetened coffee to wash it all down.

For lunch and dinner, he usually dipped back out into the real world for takeout. He always ordered enough that the delivery workers gave him enough utensils and napkins for groups of four or more. Pizza, katsu curry, noodles, and the obligatory burgers, of course; mustn't forget why he's doing this in the first place. He would also replenish his snack stores from the nearby convenience store before making his way back down. Sweet biscuits, chips, soda, and chocolate.

He took full advantage of his time in the Metaverse by tackling impossibly huge portions. He had all the time in the world to eat and wait for his stomach to settle before heading home each day— after which, he'd top himself off with something from the fridge. No matter the food, he set to devouring it with ruthless efficiency. He ate until it hurt, throat raw and insides stretched unnaturally to fit everything. When he first started, it took almost no time at all to reach this point. He spent his evenings clutching at his cramping, overfull stomach, skin clammy and flushed from the exertion, willing himself to eat just one more bite.

Rather than the constant snacking, the massive meals were what helped him to overcome his limitations. Eating such large portions in a single sitting pushed the boundaries of his stomach, reshaping it to something larger, increasing his capacity to cram more food inside the next time he ate.

As time passed, he luxuriated in the attention he paid himself. He learned how to massage his constantly over-full stomach to alleviate the pain that came from stretching his body past its natural limits every single day. He ran his hands down his body as he took long showers, tracing stretchmarks and squeezing at new bulges of adipose as they appeared. He examined himself from every angle in the mirror and pressed his softening body against the hard surfaces of his apartment to marvel at its malleability.

All Goro has to worry about is eating and taking care of Shido's errands, and he can take care of those no problem, no matter how fat he gets. And he is getting fat, he can admit that much. Or is he already there?

---

It's Day 24 of his sabbatical, and 42 days total since Akira—Kurusu, started all of this. Shifting from his repose to an upright sit in view of his bedroom mirror, Goro peels off his t-shirt and arranges himself to survey the full extent of the damage he's wrought in just six weeks.

For starters, he's got tits. He didn't used to have tits and now, when he looks down at the place where his flat, lightly muscled pecs once were, the skin slopes gently into two small mounds, a handful each, both adorned with a plush, pink nipple. He squeezes one for science and the fat of his breast practically oozes through the gaps between his fingers.

It only gets worse from there. Softened arms frame a midsection that's wreathed in two distinct rolls of fat. It's more pronounced now when he isn't completely stuffed to the gills with food. If he were, he'd be a lot more... spherical. That's probably worse, but god, rolls! When he sits like he's doing right now, his lower of the two melts downward, smothering his dick as it seeks direct purchase on his lap. If he were wearing pants, it would pour over the waistband. He grabs it from the sides with both hands and gives it a violent shake, marveling at the ripple that spreads throughout the rest of his body. He doesn't miss the way his thighs jiggle either. With this much pure fat added to his torso, his legs have widened considerably to accommodate his blossoming gut and ass.

As he takes in the corpulent tableau that is his body, a gentle pressure under his jaw calls attention to the second chin nestled there. Goro crawls on all fours until he's kneeling directly in front of the mirror. He looks up and runs a finger along his softened jawline, turns his head to admire his rounded cheeks in profile.

'I'm so fucking fat,' he whispers reverently to the empty apartment as he runs his hands up his thighs, over his rolls and chest, then back down again. He memorizes each fold, every softened part. He leans forward to drag his nipples against the cold glass, gasps in pleasure when he makes contact, and shoves his briefs down as far as they can go in this position in order to free his rapidly hardening dick.

'Please,' he closes his eyes, right hand squeezing his breast roughly while he begins to thrust into his left. 'Please, Kuh—Akira,' breathless now, building as he twists his hand to graze his thumb against the frenulum and over the head. He moves to brace his other hand directly against the mirror so he can curl his body inward and fuck his hand in earnest. He watches his stomach and tits slap against one another with each thrust and whines at the sensation of his fat parts in motion.

'F-fuck, touch me...' Goro shuts his eyes and pretends it's Akira's hand reaching down and around his stomach fat to stroke him, imagines Akira's lips on his face, his neck, his chest. 'It's' —breathes —'so much, Akira, I need—!' He curls his body further around his hand as he rides out his orgasm.

'Haaah, ahhh...' he tries to catch his breath as he comes down. He opens his eyes to see the fine mess he made on his floor, and casts his gaze back up to the mirror to meet his reflection once again. It hasn't even been ten fucking minutes and Goro has already made himself even more disgusting— his hair is mussed and sticking from sweat, his face is blotched red, and he's panting obscenely like an animal.

After a few minutes, he catches his breath enough to pull himself upright, using nearby furniture. He gives the floor a cursory wipe with a wet rag, then heads to the bathroom for a shower. He grabs an open bag of Jagariko as he passes the kitchen, and he already has a mouth full as he closes the shower door.

Goro Akechi is fat, pathetic, and alone.

Chapter Text

Goro Akechi is fat, pathetic, and is about to be alone like he's fucking supposed to be, because Akira motherfucking Kurusu didn't take to dying the first time Goro's bullet made jelly out of his gray matter. He can't even begin to think while overwhelmed by all of these feelings. Relief and rage break over him like ocean waves.

It was stupid. It was a moment of weakness, of spontaneity that brought him to Yongen-Jaya after how many weeks? He didn't even bring his phone, having walked to the convenient store next to his own train station for snacks. From there, he got on the train as though in a trance. It was late and Goro was feeling sentimental, whatever!

Being a fatass in Tokyo will earn you plenty of second looks, but there are few passersby still out at this hour, so Goro is able to maintain a shred of dignity as he shuffles around in clothes that technically stopped fitting him 80 pounds ago. That he can still wear them at all was because they were designed to be fashionably loose when worn. So much for that! Now, everything clings to his body like a second skin. The drawstring of his sweatpants has long since disappeared into the depths of his waistband, which cuts painfully into the meat of his stomach. His hoodie molds against the fat of his back and beneath his chest, holding it all in place; it emphasizes his rolls but it also keeps his body from jiggling as he moves, so he tries not to be bothered. 

All the same, it's going to be a bitch peeling himself of these clothes when he gets home. He is intimately acquainted with how much his body has changed, and yet he still can't bring himself to shop for something, anything, that can accomodate his fat self. If it doesn't involve stuffing himself or enjoying the spreading growth of his body, Goro can't focus. Coming to Yongen tonight is the first thing he's done in a while that has deviated from his routine.

Despite the quiet, he's still cagey about approaching Leblanc from the front. God knows if he'd even be recognized anymore if either of the Sakuras were still downstairs, but his detective training compels him to case the area properly. He walks down the road just before the one that houses the cafe, running parallel with a mix of dwellings and businesses along both sides. If Goro leans against this garden wall on his tiptoes and lets his belly graze against the rough stone as he stretches upward, he can juuust— there! He's certain the window framed between these two houses is Kurusu's.

He only had the opportunity to visit Kurusu's room once or twice when summer was in full swing. His traitorous brain wastes valuable memory on the image of the furin that hung there, chiming gently in the summer breeze, and the kayari buta nested in the adjacent corner, warding off mosquitos with its incense. Why the fuck is there a light on?

In Kurusu's room, a light. There is a light and it's on. As though a retiree like Sojiro Sakura has spare cash to burn by lighting unoccupied shitholes that were only good for housing attic trash, his attic trash?!

Goro feels his blood pressure rising as he hustles back down the road, belly bouncing against chafing thighs, until he stands before Leblanc. He can't tear his eyes away from the lit window as he catches his breath after the sudden effort. He finds the smallest pebble he can find and hurls it directly at the offending window, then ducks behind a nearby concrete partition. He can just keep the window in view while maintaining cover.

He waits.

............

He is about to pick up a larger, pointier rock when he hears and sees the window slide open. He forgets how to breathe.

He would know that hair, those glasses, that CAT, anywhere. He hears Morgana say something about birds, but it's cold as hell outside tonight, so Kurusu almost immediately slides the window closed again.

Kurusu.

Kurusu is alive.

Goro's going to kill him (again) and this time he's going to cut his head off to make absolutely sure.

Chapter Text

It's natural to have the jitters a few nights before fighting the cognition of the next (definitely evil) Prime Minister of Japan, Morgana said so. This is doubly true since Akira's (evil???) not-boyfriend that works for said future-Prime Minister will hunt him for sport if he ever realizes he's still alive. Somehow, just knowing this doesn't calm him down. His heart currently threatens to escape the confines of his ribs and make a break for it.

'It was probably just a bird! I've seen crows out front loads of—wait, scratch that. Sentence cancelled! It was definitely a raccoon, or maybe Futaba. Want me to go down and see?'

He laughs. It's a bad save, but Akira can't blame him. He's seen crows, bird crows, down there plenty of times too.

Somehow, Mona's abject failure at comfort does make him feel better. A little. He give his head a noogie and slides the window closed. Back at his work desk, he sets to finish last-minute preparations. Tomorrow, they will secure the fifth and final letter they need to access Shido. The end is in sight.

---

Is it just him, or does Akechi look... different? Really different. He's looked at his backside (platonically :^)) enough times while playing pool that if you held a gun to his head, Akira would swear that Goro Akechi did not have an ass. Or a gut, or thick thighs, or—!

And yet, here stands Goro Akechi, looking as juicy as a ripe berry and full of much-less-enticing homicidal rage juice. His entire body looks like it wants to break free from his regalia. Curves bulge against the fabric like his body is testing the Metaverse's craftsmanship, looking for a cognitive seam to burst through. Akira does his best to quell the part of him that is looking respectfully so he can focus on the parts that are filled with fear and hope — he can do something publicly with those feelings. 

---

Ok, well. As near as Akira can figure, the simple fact of the matter appears to be that Akechi...gained some weight since they last saw each other. He really doesn't have the capacity for arithmetic right now, so he's not 100% sure how many days it's been, but it feels like the difference is negligible when it's definitely been fewer than two months. How the hell did this happen?

He can't let himself think about the logistics, or why it excites him so much to see him like this, not right now. For as much weight as Akechi has gained, it doesn't seem to affect his physical capabilities here in the Metaverse. And it's clear now that he was holding back when they worked together in Sae's Casino. He and the rest of the Phantom Thieves need to fight with everything they have to get Akechi the help he nee-

He hears the sound a cell phone camera shutter coming from Futaba's direction, and he is trying so, so hard to hold on to his sanity. He's never been more grateful for his mask because it at least partially obscures the mortification written all over his face. Can they all please focus??

Now Akechi's screeching at them following a wardrobe change that does even less to disguise the recent changes to his body. Akira is almost certain he heard that fucking shutter sound again, just as they were going into battle. He's going to Hell. He prays for a breakdown for himself, he can't take this anymore.

---

They keep it together long enough to fight Akechi as he deserves. Akira aches as Akechi claws the most painful vitriol out from the darkest recesses of his heart to hurt them— before he collapses in on himself like a dying star. He wants to take Akechi, Goro, into his arms and start paying the debt the universe owes him. He'll give him everything.

And then, the universe decides it's not through with him just yet. His cognitive double appears and levels his pistol at the real Goro lying prone on the ground. Akira turns his gaze to Shido's Akechi and starts. This one looks just the way he remembers back from the beginning of November: thin, polished, and monstrous. Akira realizes just then that they're not the only ones that haven't seen Goro in the last month and half; Shido hasn't either. Could that mean anything?

Maybe so. He hears the sound of retreating footsteps behind him and turns to see Futaba out of range with Yusuke and Morgana, right as she cracks open a Goho-M. Before they fully disappear, Oracle's support channel crackles out a faint, 'Joker, stall for time! I have an idea.'

Akira's nerves have been fried since Goro got here, and he wishes he had the slightest hint of the hell anyone else is thinking. He can only operate with the tools he's been given, so he holds his hands up in the air as he takes a step toward Cognitive Akechi.

'Is your offer from earlier still on the table?'

Cognitive Akechi's gun stays trained on Goro, but he looks toward Akira. 'My offer? Ah, to trade places with this filth?' He gestures at Goro with his gun. Goro looks like he can barely keep his eyes open and the way he clutches his side bodes ill.

'I don't see why you would. As low as you Phantom Thieves are, you still have more value to the Captain than this dreck.

Akira moves closer. 'My reasons are my own; all that concerns you is that I'm willing.'

'Hmph,' Cognitive Akechi pauses, considering. 'Fuck it, you know what? I deserve a treat. Killing this fat sack of shit after you've all had your way with him is much less interesting than starting from scratch with you.' He swivels his gun to face Akira. 'How shall we start? I could flay the skin off your body, inch by inch. Sic my most vicious shadows to tear you to shreds until there only bones left. There are so many options! Any suggestions, Thief?

Click

He's shaking from the exertion, but Goro's got his own pistol trained on Cognitive Akechi now.

'Joker,' he wheezes, 'is not in a position to negotiate on my behalf.'

As much as he enjoys the sound of Goro's voice, the whole point of this exercise was to distract Cognitive Akechi away from him. He wracks his brain for something, anything , that'll draw the cognition's attention again. But he looks even more intent on taking Goro out within the next few seconds than he did before; the only thing stopping him is the barbed repartee they keep lobbing at one another while Akira panics internally.

'Did it work?' Oracle whispers, suddenly to his right against as though she had never fucked off without explanation. Fox and Mona were back in position as well, looking at the scene before them with great interest.

He didn't anticipate a full explanation, never with Futaba, but he is still compelled to ask. Akira barely got the chance to start asking "Did what work?" before Cognitive Akechi screams and clutches his head with both hands, gun fallen to the floor.

'What did you to do?! To the Captain??! What are you doing to me?!' He forces out. This Akechi's rage is as palpable as the real one's, but he seems paralyzed; he clutches at his stomach like he just got stabbed. In his periphery, he sees Morgana and Ann dash over to Goro to stabilize him. He's going too, but first—

'Would one of you tell me what's going on...? His eyes flick from Oracle's to Fox's.

'Simple, my dear Joker!' Oracle pulls out her phone and holds it out to him. 'Fox and I both noticed how this guy and that guy don't match up!' She gestures to both Akechis. 'So, we took pictures of the real Akechi, went back to the real world, and texted them to Shido.'

Akira looks down at Futaba's phone to see the least flattering pictures of the teen that may exist on this planet. His Goro may be fat, but this photo was taken with such strange angles and lighting, it looks for all the world like Goro's even bigger than he is now. The black and blue of his suit melds with the shadows and stains of the floor. There are tears in the fabric from their fight where soft flesh oozes out. 

Wait. 'You took these pictures before Cognitive Akechi got here,' he says flatly. He remembers the ill-timed shutter noises.

'I...uh...that is— Fox! What's our theory on what'll happen with this guy!' Smooth.

On cue, Fox steps up, 'Shido's perception of people is so twisted and his standards for his followers is so exacting, any kind of deviation would be heavily exaggerated. For someone like that, we believe even a little extra weight may as well be a few hundred pounds. For someone like Akechi, well...'

Akira looks up from the phone back to Cognitive Akechi and sees their hypothesis proven right before his eyes.

In the time it took Fox and Oracle to explain, this Akechi is already considerably fatter than his real-world counterpart. The cognition is paralyzed as every part of him swells into uselessness. His widened face is wreathed in soft, supple chins that smother his neck. The stomach juts out in a proud arc, ending in an apron of fat that reaches his knees. Full breasts hang down to frame the sides. Pillowy arms and legs completely obfuscate any bone or musculature that lies beneath. In no time at all, he is transformed into a quivering mass of flesh.

'W-why is t-this..,' he gasps, clutching at his stomach, his tits, as though he could push the fat back in with enough force. He was panting hard and his thick legs were quivering with the strain that comes with multiplying his body weight iso quickly. Miraculously, his clothes kept up with the growth, though the fit seemed incredibly tight; it's like Shido can't reconcile his original perception of Akechi— perfectly manicured and image-conscious— with this new one that allowed his indolence to shape him.

'C-captain, I'm too fat and disgusting to be of any service...' His legs finally give way and he thunders to the floor. 'So fat,' he breathes. 'All I can do is waste your valuable resources.' This is getting weird, even for Akira. He turns and runs over to where Goro lies.

'He's unconscious, but he's stable,' Mona says before he can ask. He sinks to the floor in relief next to Ann.

'What do we do now, Joker?' Ann looks completely lost, but he sees her holding Goro's gauntlet with both hands and is suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for her, for all of them, for taking this shit in stride like always. 

'We need to get him back to Leblanc. Oracle's gambit worked, but it compromised Crow's position with Shido.'

Chapter Text

When Goro finally wakes up, he's in a dark and unfamiliar room. Is it unfamiliar? Yellow light from the street lamps outside filters through the window at his side, and he can picture the furin and kayari buta that used to be there. Akira's room.

He's sore all over but healed from his Metaverse injuries. He heaves himself up from the sorry excuse for a bed. He's still wearing his uncomfortably tight sweats and the t-shirt he had worn under his hoodie. A clink of dishes draws his attention toward the stairs, where light filters from down below. He can't hear anything else, but he smells what can only be curry. His stomach rumbles on cue and he places a soothing hand there to shut it up. He needs to think.

Ah, but that's dangerous. If he thinks, then he remembers what he did. If he remembers what he did, then humiliation settles into the space where his homicidal urges toward Akira once lived. They saw him. Akira saw him. He, idiot, told them every awful thing about his life, like it was their fault, and he did it all while in his stupid fucking Metaverse costume! He looked like a striped sausage. What has he been doing for the last six weeks?!

'Ah, you're up!' The top half of Akira's head pokes up from the stairwell to interrupt his panic spiral. Why does he sound so cheerful, doesn't he remember what happened???

'I..am awake, yes.' Goro hangs onto neutrality for dear life.

'Come downstairs, I made curry for us. You've been asleep for a few hours. It's just you and me here, Morgana's with Futaba tonight.'

Okay. 'Okay.'

He walks carefully down the stairs, painfully aware of how much more they creak when he walks down them compared to Akira. He looks around the dining area when he reaches the landing. The lights are dimmed and the curtains are drawn. Rather than the bar, Akira set their meals at the booth closest to the stairs.

Akira is still puttering around in the kitchen alcove. Goro slides onto the closest bench and is relieved to see ample space between the table and his stomach. He can only take so much embarrassment in one day.

Akira sets two glasses of water on the table and slides onto the other bench across from him. He smiles warmly at him, like he's genuinely glad to see him or something. 'Let's eat!'

Goro wants to be moody and push his food around his plate like an asshole so bad, but he's genuinely hungry for the first time in a while. Going from six weeks of stuffing yourself 24/7 (more, really, thanks to the Metaverse) to skipping a few meals will do that. He dutifully scrapes a heaping spoonful of rice and curry and deposits it into his mouth. It's perfect.

If he focuses on his meal, he can ignore everything else around him, especially Akira, so he sets aside his last reservations and eats in earnest. The carrots are soft and sweet. The chicken is supple. And the curry itself is the perfect complement to the rice, warm and satisfying. All too soon, his spoon scrapes against the empty dish. His stomach cramps, signaling for more. It's like he hadn't eaten at all.

'You want some more?'

Goro looks up, the spell broken. 'Huh?'

Akira jabs a thumb toward the kitchen, 'I made a whole big pot.' He reaches over to grab his bowl. 'Here, let me—'

'No, thank you, Kurusu, but that was plenty,' Goro interrupts and yanks the bowl back. He needs to get out of here, out of this building, and away from Akira. He pushes himself out of the booth and his traitor stomach growls loudly. Can you die from embarrassment? He thinks he may find out.

Akira laughs— giggles— at him. 'At least one of you is honest.' He grabs his bowl and heads back to the stove. Goro sinks back down into the booth in defeat. If it wasn't completely impossible, the look on Akira's face seemed....fond? It's not, it can't be.

Akira places the newly filled bowl in front of him and sits back down. His jaw is set. 'I'm going to try and be honest now too.' He locks eyes with Goro.

'I think you look good, really good, with this extra weight. I don't think you would have gotten this way if you didn't like it too. I want to make the food you eat, and I want my hands on your belly so I can feel it get full. And I....,' he swallows, 'like you. A lot. I have for a while.' His face turns beet-red at this and he turns his gaze back towards his own half-eaten curry.

'You—,' Goro chokes. Maybe he really did die back on Shido's ship. But he seriously can't tell if this supposed to be Heaven or Hell. This has gone on long enough for him to get his bearings, at least. He clings to the vestiges of his cruelty for strength:

'You can look me in the eye and tell me you like me fat and want me to get fatter, but you lose your nerve when it comes to actually confessing? Really, Kurusu?' He shovels a mouth full of curry into his mouth, doesn't miss the way Akira's eyes hone in on his lips as he chews. Swallows thickly and exhales. 'I expect better from my rival.'

Akira's up from his seat and stands, looming over Goro before he can blink.

'Move over,' and it's Joker talking, that confident timbre that leaves no room for argument. He scooches himself back to the corner of the booth and feels the wall and bench push against his back.

Akira slides into the booth, body poised on one knee to give himself more height. His left arm is braced against the table, which lets him lean in closer. He takes his right hand and places it firmly on Goro's thigh.

'I still can't believe it,' he says, drawing his hand up his leg, leaving a white-hot sensation in his wake. His fingers dip under the stretched hem of his shirt. 'Just six weeks to make all—' he grabs the roll of fat and squeezes, '—all of this?'

Goro lets out a strangled breath he didn't realize he was holding. He doesn't know what to do with his hands.

'Why aren't you eating?'

'I—?'

'You're still hungry, aren't you? I heard your stomach.' Now both hands push against his belly for emphasis. 'Eat,' he commands.

Goro extends a shaking hand, picks up his spoon, and scoops a heap of curry rice. As he brings the spoon to his lips and fills his mouth, Akira hums approvingly and his hands stroke the sides of his belly. He eats another spoonful, and another. He is still hungry.

Their angle in the booth makes it hard to transport the curry all the way from the table to his mouth, and he keeps spilling onto his chest. It's impossible to eat fast like this. After a minute trying to make it work, he gives up any remaining dignity and lifts the bowl up to his face. He uses one hand to brace the bowl against his collar bone and the other to shovel food into his open mouth. He hears Akira groan and feels what must be his tongue drag against the expanse of his stomach, hands grasping at his sides, but the curry blocks everything from view. He moans around the spoon in his mouth. Everything feels so good. He feels his dick start to harden against his thigh, and grinds uselessly against the seat in an attempt for friction. 

His spoon clatters against his empty bowl, again, and Akira is on it before he can say anything.

'More?' It's practically a formality. Akira's already backing out of booth, but Goro nods anyway. He can't think enough to actually say "Yes." He sees Akira palm his own erection as he turns to the kitchen and thinks he might die.

Now that he can look down, he sees that Akira pushed his shirt as far as it will go, up to his armpits so his chest and belly hang freely. The winter draft has got his nipples hard, and he pinches them for relief. Akira also pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants, leaving an angry red line that bisects the fat above his belly button. The fat of his lower belly nestles in the space between his wide thighs, bearing down against his own hard-on. He grinds against the booth again, hands still occupied with his own tits.

Akira's back, but this time he's brought the whole kitchen. He places the pots of rice and curry on the table, ladles a massive heap of both into the bowl, and presses it against Goro's chest for him to grab. He pulls Goro's leg further up onto the bench so he can straddle it as he lowers himself back into the booth. He starts bowl #3 while Akira grinds against his leg and sucks on his tit, grazing his teeth against the nipple, rubbing at his dick through his pants.

That feeling of fullness is reached and surpassed as he finishes his fourth, fifth, sixth bowl. By the time both pots are scraped clean, his stomach juts out from his chest, firm and full. His rolls lose definition as his entire middle is pulled taut. The skin near his navel is pink from the stretch. Akira can't stop running his hands up and down, looking in wonder at the fat blob he's turned himself into. He tries to breathe deeply but it feels like even his lungs are packed with food.

'K-Kurus..Ah, Akira, I'm so—hhhurrrrhp, so, full.' He clutches at Akira's hands. 'I've eaten so much. Please, help me...' Help with what, not even Goro knows. But he's at his limit. It hurts. He feels too much, even the draft brushing against the tight skin of his stomach is too much. But he still needs, is still so greedy.

Akira's hands rearrange to curl around his, squeeze them reassuringly. 'You're okay, Goro. You're wonderful,' he says, and kisses his stomach. He looks down. Pauses. Looks back up to Goro's flushed and panting face.

'Can I suck your dick?' Akira asks, 100% serious.

'N-Now? Why?' Goro can't see his dick, doesn't know if he could even reach it with his gut in the way. He's so overstimulated already, but no, he's been hard pretty much this whole time, hasn't he? How has he lasted this long, much less forgotten about it? Was the haze of his gluttony that strong? Reign it in. Akira's asking very nicely to suck your cock, you may as well let him. He feel delirious with everything that's happened up until now. He looks at Akira, sees him want too.

He nods, eyes screwed shut with the effort. He can't bring himself to say it. But Akira knows. He stands and leans over him, careful to avoid brushing against his oversensitive stomach. He lingers when he's close enough for their noses to touch, looks at him, then kisses him square on the mouth.

'I've been meaning to do that since you woke up, but you keep distracting me,' he says, laughing at Goro's shell-shocked expression. Then he pulls back from the booth, sinks to his knees, and slides under the booth's table to position himself in front of Goro.

Between the table and his distended belly, he can't fucking see! He's still seated at an angle in the booth, and he wonders if he can even move to grant Akira better access. He holds his breath. Hands snake up his right leg, featherlight. When they reach the waistband of his pants, they circle around toward the back, just above his ass. Goro can feel Akira's hair brush the underside of his belly. Akira hooks his fingers into the waist band and pulls, slow but forceful to avoid shaking his belly. He pulls the pants just low enough to do the same in the front and release his dick. Without anything to keep it in place, it rubs against the underside of his packed stomach, smearing it with precum. Goro finally exhales but it comes out as a whine, reedy with want. 'Ah...kira,' he pants.

Akira's head appears from around the curve of his belly. 'Goro,' he says back. He smiles and and places a gentle kiss on the part of his gut that his face can reach from that angle. He looks back and gives his thigh a reassuring squeeze. 'I'm going to suck your dick now, ok?' And he disappears.

He feels a hand wrap around at the base and gently guide it away from his stomach. The soft huff breath against his shaft is his only warning before Akira runs his tongue along the underside and envelopes the head in his mouth. Goro wails. It takes everything in him to stay still, and Akira does his part by pushing Goro's thigh down against the bench to keep him in place. But he doesn't stop. Instead, he pulls back, keeping his lips taut so they drag up to the tip of his dick. He laves it with his tongue before sinking back down, taking him further in. All Goro can do his lay there and moan, hands fluttering uselessly at his side.

When Akira can finally reach far enough to brush against his pubic hair, he hums in victory against the cock his mouth, writhing against Goro's leg. 'Akira, ...ah! Akira!' His hand can just reach the longest wisps of Akira's hair if he stretches.

'Hmmmm?' Akira hums in question as he slowly drags his mouth back up.

'You too—' his breath hitches. 'Touch yourself while you— I want you to...' He has to pant openly to catch his breath after that, but surely that was enough. He senses Akira pause for a moment, but then he withdraws his hands, lightning-fast, presumably to pull out his own dick. He picks Goro up again with his right hand and trails kisses down the shaft. 'Goro, you're so good,' he whispers like he's telling his penis a secret. Then he gets back to business and wraps his mouth back around Goro, drawing himself down as far as he can go. He can tell Akira does exactly what he asked by the quiver of Akira's left arm against his leg. Neither of them have very long.

Goro's arms reflexively move to cradle his aching stomach. The pressure send sparks of pain and pleasure downward, contributing to his building orgasm. Distantly, he thinks he might be moaning, crying out for Akira. His awareness is entirely focused on the boy below him, fucking his own mouth with Goro's dick and making the sweetest noises he has ever heard. He can't fully stop his hips from jumping when he comes but he's well past the point of caring. He feels Akira on him, swallowing everything and lapping at his dick from base to tip as he finishes into his own hand.

He slides out from under the table to rejoin Goro on the bench. His face is a mess; whether it's red from exertion or from being sandwiched between Goro's fat thighs, who can say? Goro has just enough energy to lift his hand to reach for him. Akira obliges by catching it with his own and cupping it against his cheek as he leans in, kisses him again.

Chapter Text

Before he can submit to unconsciousness, Akira makes the unfortunate point that they should really clean themselves up first. Goro is inclined to agree. Even as he is now, he prefers to keep tidy. Thankfully, there's a bathhouse just a few doors down that's open late.

After resting for few (dozen) minutes, Akira helps him up to his feet before he runs upstairs to grab some towels and toiletries. Goro sets a load-bearing hand on the bar and looks down to assess himself.

His stomach is impossibly huge. When he steps forward, it brushes against one of the bar chairs well before he thinks it should; a testament to how his gut has expanded in just one meal to accommodate everything he's stuffed inside himself. He doesn't have the energy to pull his pants back up over his stomach. He's honestly not sure if he could at this point— the abused waistband rests where the fat of his stomach folds over at his hips. His t-shirt isn't long for this world either, having barely contained him before they ate. Droplets of curry roux decorate the fabric at his chest and the hem rests well above his belly button, exposing the rest of him to the elements. And while his growth from that night is limited to his midsection, the shirt feels tight all over. He can't help but notice the way the sleeves cut into his soft arms, or the how the fabric tents between his tits. Even the collar feels increasingly restrictive against Goro's thickened neck. Fat, fat, fat.

Akira bounds back down the stairs, hands him a towel, and guides him outside toward the bathhouse.

It's a weekday, it's late, and it's cold— more than enough reason for a residential neighborhood like this to be deserted. Goro is grateful, though he still clutches the unfolded towel to his front for modesty, just in case.

As they slowly make their way to the bathhouse, Goro has the devestating realization that he is waddling. He's not that fat, but he has put his body under so much strain and in so little time, that the rest of him can't keep up. His legs and hips naturally fall into a wider stance to let his rounded gut fall in-between. He's forced to tread delicately to avoid jostling it as much as possible— and so, he waddles. Empty streets or no, he is completely mortified by his present state. Akira seems none the wiser. He is focused on matching his pace to Goro's, while keeping a warm hand on the small of his back.

Two minutes takes 100 years, but they arrive at the bathhouse. Akira pays for them both (such a gentleman) and leads him inside. Thank fuck it's empty in here too. He's been here with Akira once before, but he truly does not have the energy to do anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other. Akira graciously ushers him to the lockers. Helps peel his clothes off as gently as possible. Lets him sit like a lump as he methodically washes his hair and body. He's so tired, but he still relishes the feel of gentle hands gliding across his skin and through his hair. Then, Akira pulls him into the bath and helps him settle down on his knees so the water can slosh against his sore middle.

The soothing effect is immediate. He feels himself drift off just after entering the water, but he's just conscious enough to hear Akira say, "I'll be right back" before splashing away. Seconds, minutes, hours later, he feels a hand comb through his dampened hair. He opens a bleary eye to see Akira smile gently at him.

'You fell asleep,' he says.

He did, but he can feel himself waking up again. 'You were...gone?' He can't remember the last time he allowed his guard to slack like this.

'I threw your clothes into the wash in the laundry next-door.' I've got a timer on so I can put them in the dryer too. We can chill in here until they're ready.' If Goro could think, he'd marvel at his courteousness. Akira must really like him.  His brain is too tired to question it. His heart feels strangely full as he drifts off again.

He wakes up again to see Akira wading back into the pool. His cognitive faculties are finally returning. He can maybe even talk . Not that he needs to waste too much energy if he doesn't have to.

'Dryer?' Like so.

'Yup. Should only take another 30 since it's just a few things.'

Goro takes a deep breath of the humid air. He feels more human, less carnival oddity. He realizes he should communicate this, now that there's someone that cares. 'I feel better.'

Akira looks pleased. 'I'm glad! You really are incredible.'

With his awareness comes deprecation. 'For what, nearly collapsing under the weight of my own gluttony?' He calls attention to his distended stomach by placing on hand on the curve, as though Akira could ever miss it. 'One look at this and everyone will try to forget they ever thought a disgusting blob like me was handsome.'

Akira frowns.

'Do you think that? That you look disgusting?' He asks softly. He looks at him like he genuinely wants to know.

Goro scoffs. 'No, of course I don't. Everyone's so used to letting someone else dictate what's good, what's attractive. They never actually think. Why would I—,' He stops short, not sure how to continue. It was reactionary in the first place, something else to set him apart from the masses. But saying it compels him to consider what he really believes.

He looks down at his body. He can feel the fold of his second chin deepen as he looks. The swell of his middle is so severe, jutting out from the rest of his body almost like it's not a part of him. He rubs his hand against it, considering. It's still sensitive, but no longer hurts to touch. He feels a plush layer of fat beneath his fingers, still present even when his body is stretched so tight.

'I like this, being fat. This—,' he runs his hand across his chest and down the curve of his stomach, into the water, 'This... is all me, all mine. I made it. I never thought of my body as something that's for me until recently. It was for everyone else to admire, to want, to want to be. But this is just for me. I like the way I look and the way my body feels now. There's something luxurious...about it. Like, my body had so many functions for so many people before, and now it's just for my enjoyment. I like that.'

He can't look up, not after that. How is Akira able to do this to people, force them to reveal themselves, to lay bare their hearts? He feels more vulnerable now than when he had his dick in Akira's mouth, body immobilized by his own insatiable hunger. His face burns and his hand reflexively tightens its grip on his lower belly.

Akira's hand enters his periphery and joins his beneath the water; his breath catches at the contact.

'Goro.' Akira slides his body closer until their knees touch. The only thing between them is his gut. That's still you, idiot. He looks up. Akira is smiling in a way that makes his heart swell. He doesn't have any words left.

Akira leans in, lets his abdomen press gently against Goro, hands bracing his rounded sides.

'You are the only one that can decide the truth of this,' he presses his body in closer for emphasis so there's no mistake about what he's talking about.

'But,' he continues, 'I can tell you what I think, if you want to hear it. Think of it as supporting evidence.' He winks stupidly. If Goro was a hair less emotionally compromised, he'd take the bait. As it is, all he can do is give a curt nod.

Akira leans back in response, hands falling to Goro's thighs.

'You've pretended to be someone else, for someone else, since before I met you. And every time you slipped up and said something honest— shut up, you did— every time, I wanted to see more of that person. More of that you.

'If the true Goro is fat then this?' He places his hands back on Goro's stomach, above water this time. 'This is an act of rebellion. This is your refusal to be used anymore, your resolve to be your true self, made manifest.'

Akira's eyes are sparkling as he looks at him. 'You'd make one hell of a Phantom Thief, Goro Akechi.'

Goro splashes him.

---

They're on the first train to Shibuya at 5 AM the next morning. Between the late dinner and bath, they didn't get to bed until after midnight. They're exhausted, but it can't be helped— Goro needs clothes that fit, ASAP.

Not that Akira isn't enjoying the view. Goro's clothes barely contained him, and that was before he crammed an entire pot of curry rice down his gullet.

He hasn't fully digested everything from last night, so his stomach maintains a firm, round shape, easing into soft folds only at the sides and underbelly. Like this, Goro's pants make every attempt to roll down beneath the fold at his hips. His hoodie seems inclined to do the opposite—The knit ribbing keeps trying to ride up the crest of his belly in an effort to preserve its structural integrity.

These wardrobe malfunctions have Goro clinging to both garments in an effort to keep it all in place. It's made all the more difficult by sitting down, but neither of them are very confident in his ability to balance in a moving train right now. He doesn't need to add to his embarrassment by falling over and exposing his pale, wobbling flesh to all of the sleepy-eyed salarymen sharing their train car.

They make it to Shibuya without incident and head over to the 24-hour Mega Donki a few blocks a way. It should only be a five-minute walk, but Goro's predicament has him shuffling much more slowly. Akira keeps pace, but stays a step ahead to preserve his own sanity. Homework...Taxes...Morgana... Ah, they're here, thank god.

They just need clothes that will fit until they can shop properly under non-emergency circumstances. Ann already reached out to some contacts in plus-size fashion and texted him links to local boutiques they can check out later. Goro has eaten himself well outside the usual size range, but they are able to pick up some plain tees, joggers, and two zip-up hoodies. There's little room for growth, but they'll do for now. Goro changes in the bathroom right after they check out.

Akira already misses the way Goro's old clothes stretched across his body, accentuating every roll and fold. But he likes how much more comfortable he looks now— the shirt drapes over his torso, hiding the majority of what lies beneath. Only occasionally does the fabric settle on the crest of his stomach or curve of his breasts. The whole scene gets covered up entirely when they step outside and Goro zips the hoodie all the way up to his collarbone.

'You are incorrigible, you know that?' he spits irritably. 'Could you stop staring at me for one minute?!'

'I'm making up for lost time! I haven't seen you for a month. I want to take my fill.'

Goro pulls his face mask up in an attempt cover the unmistakable blush underneath. Ah, he really is cute. Akira gives his hand a squeeze before they start walking back to the station.