Archive of Our Own ^beta

Because nothing is ever private in a small town, the word that Ethan’s bad knee is acting up again ahead of the full moon spreads quickly. Maybe this means I’ll make it through a shift without stretching my stomach out for the next week , he’d joked to Vanessa, but lo and behold, she’s sitting at the cafe counter on a Friday evening when Mrs. Spier bustles in with a deep ceramic dish covered in foil and wrapped in a dish towel, and she watches Ethan’s face freeze in grim recognition.

“Ethan, dear, we heard about your knee,” says Mrs. Spier, reaching over the counter to pat his face sympathetically. “Don’t tax yourself, sweetheart. Just stay in and we’ll make sure you’re plenty well-fed.”

Ethan approximates something like a smile. Vanessa grips the edges of her barstool. 

“Thank you,” he says, because Ethan is a good boy who was raised — well, politely, at least. From what Vanessa’s heard about his father, the jury’s still out on right . “I’ll be all right, Mrs. Spier, but I do appreciate it.”

She pats his hand. “Of course, dear. Any time. Mrs. Thomas and I are always happy to provide.”

When she’s gone, Ethan lays his arms on the counter and dramatically drops his head onto them. “Why?” he asks, and Vanessa pets his hair soothingly. “Why is it always me? Can’t they send someone else casseroles for once?”

“Because you’re a nice boy,” says Vanessa. “And everyone likes seeing you fed. And they know you’re too much of a gentleman to say no.”

He groans, pulling himself upright and flicking a dishtowel across the counter. “Well, with the stuff from your friend, I’m not even supposed to shift tonight, right? So I can just stick it in the freezer.”

“You shouldn’t physically shift,” Vanessa corrects. “I have no idea whether you’ll have any of your other usual symptoms.”

The syrup is from Vanessa’s mentor Joan, who lives states away and deep in a forest without a postal address now but still managed to make a vial of aubergine liquid appear in Vanessa’s mailbox a few days ago. She promised that it would prevent Ethan from transforming to avoid any further damage to his knee, but her instructions neglected to mention any side effects and there wasn’t time to send a letter back and ask. But Vanessa trusts her, and Joan would have warned her if Ethan were going to spend the next eighteen hours as a human body with a dog’s brain.

“I’ll be over as soon as I finish dinner with Sir Malcolm,” she promises. “I’d invite you along, but —”

“But you can’t have a werewolf at the table,” says Ethan wryly. “Understood.”

“Not even a temporarily disabled one,” she apologizes. “Take care. Don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone, please.”

She slips her bag over her shoulder, and Ethan meets her for a quick kiss. “I’ll try not to.”

As she leaves the cafe, she nearly collides with Mrs. Barrett and another casserole.

— 

Vanessa fidgets all through dinner with Malcolm and his chess-rival-slash-home health aide, Sembene. The meal is perfectly nice — Sembene is a gifted cook in addition to his other talents — and it’s lovely to speak with Mina again, even if it is mostly to relay her responses to her father’s questions. 

Sembene has just served dessert — a maple brown butter cheesecake that Vanessa can’t help thinking would go perfectly with her morning coffee — when her phone buzzes in her bag. Malcolm dislikes cell phones, especially when their usage flies in the face of the formal dinner etiquette he was brought up with and has yet to shake, but he’s in the midst of monologuing at the chair reserved for Mina’s spirit about a book he read on the Franklin expedition and doesn’t appear to be losing steam any time soon, so Vanessa throws caution to the wind and surreptitiously fishes her phone from her bag. 

Come over , says Ethan, and a tendril of heat runs through her. 

Eyes on Sir Malcolm, she types something that she hopes approximates What are you up to?

“Now, you know, at the time, there was much conjecture about the existence of some supposed Open Polar Sea,” Sir Malcolm is saying. Mina rolls her eyes at Vanessa, who stifles a grin. 

Gaining weight , Ethan replies with a picture of two casserole dishes scraped clean. Vanessa does everything in her power to keep a straight face, but something must betray her, because Mina snorts and stage-whispers, “Are you sexting your werewolf boyfriend at Friday night dinner?”

Which is incredibly rude, because Vanessa literally can’t reply to her without everyone else hearing, so she settles for narrowing her eyes reproachfully and moves her foot around under the table until she finds Mina’s cold mist and kicks her.

Malcolm’s book review lasts another half hour, and she passes along Mina’s bored interjections with increasing restlessness. Ethan is holed up in his apartment stuffing himself with casserole and instead of being there to help things along, Vanessa is learning more about a group of doomed Arctic explorers than she ever cared to know. 

“Will you stay for coffee, Vanessa?” asks Malcolm finally, and she seizes her opportunity to flee. 

“No, unfortunately. I’ve an engagement early tomorrow morning.”

“Ah,” says Malcolm, a gleam in his eye. “With your gentleman?”

Vanessa squirms. “Yes.”

“She’s sexting!” cries Mina, precisely because no one but Vanessa can hear her. “I saw Goody Ives sexting at the table!”

“Oh, hush, you,” she says to Mina, and Malcolm gives her a fond, sad smile that almost makes her wish she could stay a bit longer.

“You two were always teasing each other,” he says. “I expect she’s telling you to bring him around some Friday evening. We’d all like to meet him.”

“Yes,” Vanessa agrees as her phone vibrates again. “That’s what she’s saying.”

As she unlocks her bike in the moonlight and flips on the headlamp on her black helmet, she opens Ethan’s latest message: a picture of his swollen belly flopping out from his unbuttoned pants, shirt ridden up to the crest of his stomach, with the caption Containment breach .

— 

She uses the keys Ethan gave her for emergencies to let herself into his apartment and finds him spread out on the couch, a pillow behind his head and both hands cradling his overfull gut. He doesn’t look green, as she’d feared, but he’s definitely flushed, and he’s breathing is shallow, like his appetite might have crowded out his lungs. A third casserole dish sits on his coffee table, half-eaten. 

“Sorry, it took me forever to get out of dinner,” she says, draping her coat and bag over one of his two kitchen chairs. “How are you doing?”

He gives a pitiful groan, and she perches on the slice of free cushion near his knee and rests one hand against his hot, stretched skin. “God, that feels good,” he says in greeting. “Your bad circulation’s finally good for something.”

“Yes, you’re welcome. I take it that Joan’s potion had no bearing on your usual side effects?”

Ethan tries to stifle a belch in his fist but times it poorly. Vanessa pats his belly sympathetically. “Yeah,” he says, puffing out a long breath. “I’d say it didn’t. Only difference is the wolf's stomach is a lot bigger.”

“Oh, poor thing.” She strokes at his belly gently, and he lets out a soft sound that unlaces something inside her. “Look at you, at the mercy of your appetite. You must feel quite heavy.”

“You have no idea. I feel like I swallowed a bunch of wet cement. You probably couldn’t — urrp — even see it in that picture with my gut in the way, but the button on my jeans burst clean off. It’s over there somewhere.” He waves toward the half of the apartment that functions as his bedroom. “I was too full to get up and find it.”

Without meaning to, Vanessa’s hand slips down to grip the bottom of his stomach, where it’s just soft flab and stretch mark scars. “Of course you were. You ate two entire casseroles and part of a third. You ate yourself out of those pants, of course you couldn’t get up.”

He hiccups. “Those things weighed at least four pounds each. The old ladies aren’t fucking around.”

“And you still managed to finish so much of it,” purrs Vanessa, carefully maneuvering more of herself onto the couch without putting pressure on Ethan’s stomach. 

“Want to know the worst part?” he asks, chasing the words with a heavy belch. 

“Yes,” says Vanessa, kneading his stomach like a cat.

“I’m still hungry,” says Ethan, and it’s all she can do not to pounce.

“Do you want me to help you finish this one?” she asks, indicating the half-eaten casserole on the table.

Ethan slumps back against the arm of the couch. “No, I can’t do any more casserole. I don’t know if I should eat any more, anyway. I can barely move now .”

“Afraid your appetite will get the better of you?” she teases, grazing her fingertips over his distended stomach. “That you won’t be able to help yourself?”

“Yes,” whines Ethan. “I have no idea if my body even knows I haven’t transformed. For all I know my stomach will let me eat ’til I burst.”

“”Well,” she says, “I’ve got something for you, too, if you’ve got just a bit more room.”

Ethan winces. “Is it a potion that’ll let me go back in time and not make this decision?”

“No, sorry. It’s cheesecake.”

“Vanessa!” he groans.

“Not much cheesecake,” she amends. “Just a slice. Sembene sent it home with me for my breakfast, but I’d just as soon as let you have it. It’s maple brown butter, and it’s excellent.”

“Don’t tell me that !” says Ethan, curling one arm around his belly. “Christ, Vanessa, I think you want me to get stuck on this couch. What, so you can have the bed all to yourself?”

“Of course I’ll help you to bed,” Vanessa soothes, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “You’re nice and warm, and you’re not nearly so big that we couldn’t share it.”

“Sounds like there’s a yet there,” grumbles Ethan.

His stomach gurgles. Vanessa pats it gently. “Is that a yes on the cheesecake?”

Ethan shifts his weight and burps once, twice. “Yeah,” he says grudgingly. “I do want the cheesecake.”

“Well, now you’ve made some room,” she says, tousling his hair as she takes the casserole dish and brings it to the counter. She returns the battered tinfoil to the top of it and makes space in the fridge, then retrieves the cheesecake from her bag. She takes a plate from the cabinet near the sink, a fork from the drawer by the fridge, feeling a bit tender about knowing where to find everything in his apartment. The first time she’d checked on him after a shift, she’d felt so awful about having to bother him for every little thing — where was his first aid? his towels? his detergent?

“This is going to sound counterintuitive,” says Ethan, pushing himself up on his elbows, “but while you’re up, can you get me a beer?”

Vanessa shoots him a playful look. “You just want me to hear you belch all night.”

“Oh, isn’t that romantic,” he returns dryly. “I just wanna take the edge off a little. But I guess it’s not the end of the world if you get a little hot and bothered about it.”

He mirrors back her coy look, and she pops the top off his beer and swoops back to him, delighted. She helps him straighten up and nestles in beside him, bare feet tucked beneath her. He takes a long pull from the bottle and burps again, then sets it on the end table beside the couch. 

“All right,” he says. “Hit me with some cheesecake.”

“I promise it isn’t much,” says Vanessa, balancing the small plate on the crest of his belly. “Is that okay?”

He nods, and she slices off the first bite with the side of the fork. His eyes flutter closed as it lands on his tongue, and Vanessa watches, enchanted.

“ Fuck ,” he says through the mouthful. “That’s so fucking good.”

“Isn’t it?” She feeds him another bite, and one of his hands — maybe unconsciously — comes to rest on the side of his belly, as if bracing himself for what’s to come. She inhales sharply, and he grins at her.

“Oh, hot and bothered already? You haven’t even seen me waddle to bed yet.”

Now it’s Vanessa who closes her eyes, imagining how much he’s eaten and how badly it will affect his gait, his ability to move without wincing or grunting with discomfort. How she’ll have to help him into clothes he can sleep in, because his jeans and work shirt won’t do. How heavily he’ll fall into bed, the positions he’ll have to stay in so as not to upset his stomach. 

“Oh, god, I’ve killed her,” says Ethan, and she snaps back to herself to find him grinning. “You short out there for a second?”

“I can’t help it,” she says, feeding him another bite. “You’ve given me a lot to work with here.”

“Yeah, about that,” he says, slugging from his beer. “I was thinking — hic-urrrrp — earlier, shifting probably burns at least some of the calories I consume as a wolf, right? So even when I gorge myself —”

“Every time,” interjects Vanessa.

“— some of that is immediately getting used up when I shift back. But tonight I’m not shifting at all, so all those calories I’d normally burn off are just gonna pile up.” He pats his belly, and the lowest part, where his bloat gives way to soft fat, jiggles tantalizingly. “I’d say one casserole probably adds up to a few pounds on its own, never mind two and a half.”

Vanessa whines, pushing herself gently against his hip. “You’ll wake up tomorrow ten pounds heavier.”

“Mmm, then I’m gonna need someone on the other side of the bed to conduct some experiments to see which clothes still fit.” He swallows another forkful of cheesecake. “Strong possibility that none of my clothes are going to fit for the next week, regardless.”

“I think I may burn out some light bulbs this weekend,” says Vanessa. “Or perhaps my pipes will start leaking. Something that I’ll need to ask you to fix by reaching up over your head so I can have a little treat when your shirts ride up.”

“Oh, am I your little treat?” asks Ethan, amused.

She scoops the last bite of cheesecake onto her fork and brings it to his lips. “There,” she says softly. “Yes, you are. How do you feel?”

Ethan hiccups. “Stuffed,” he says. “Massively stuffed.”

“Poor little thing,” she murmurs, kissing the top of his head. “Can I help?”

He nods, tugging his shirt up over the tightest part of his stomach. “Work your magic, please.”

Vanessa prods and presses, massages and manhandles. Ethan belches from the exertion of her hands on his skin, his eyelids growing heavier as her touch grows gentler. He gulps the rest of his beer and lets Vanessa push out the residual air in his stomach, and she kisses his neck as he groans and rolls his hips, trying to find a modicum of comfort.

“All right,” she says softly, stroking his hair as his eyes begin to close again. “We should get you to bed.”

He belches once more, soft and airy, and lets her prop an arm across his shoulders. With effort, she heaves him up to standing, and he lets out a sharp exhale as his weight shifts. Vanessa reaches to brace his belly with her free hand. His breathing is harsh and shallow as they slowly make their way across the room to his bed, and by the time he drops onto his mattress, he’s panting, breath stolen by the tremendous glut in his stomach.

“Oh, god,” he groans, wrapping his arms around his hugely bloated belly. “I’m never eating again.”

“You say that now,” says Vanessa, helping him tug his shirt over his head. His gut sits heavily in his lap, rolling over the undone waistband of his jeans and onto his thighs, and she jerks a little, involuntarily, at how large he looks.

He helps her get his jeans off, and she fetches a fresh, oversized t-shirt for him to wear to bed. He struggles into it as she changes into the spare pair of pajamas she keeps in his bureau, and then she crawls into bed and pulls him to her.

“Oof, careful,” he gasps, and she loosens her grip. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she murmurs into his ear. “There’s just so much of you I want to hold.”

Ethan huffs. “Yeah, well, just wait until all this settles. There’ll be even more of me, and it’ll probably jiggle.”

“Mmm, darling,” she teases, pulling the covers up over them both. “Isn’t that romantic.”