As promised, here is the short I had been working on between classes and larger projects. I feel it isn't very good, but it served to keep my writing skills from dulling. Enjoy.

Waffle is  gil

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“A-Are you sure about this?” asked Toriel to Waffle, looking down at the small gray cat with a blush on his gray cheeks. Her plump white cheeks turned a shade pink when he grunted and raised a heavy box above his head with both hands; a pink box as big as himself, with yellow ribbon tied into a decorative bow. She reached for it, and held it effortlessly in one hand while the other pet his head. He blushed all the harder when her wide palm cupped the whole of his head, swallowing it in her snow white palm. He felt his knees buckling under the weight of her gentle, motherly strokes, as if her kindness were a real thing that could crush him.

Toriel shook her head. “You didn’t have to do this. Oh, all this effort on little old me…” Her hand cupped his cheek. Waffle felt himself moving along her palm of his own will, craning his head and neck to feel the whole of her hand against him. She was so soft and warm. He could sleep there comfortably, in her palm, were he a little smaller. A purr escaped his lips and he shied away, embarrassed.

“C-Could you…”

Toriel silenced him with a gentle finger pressed to his lips.

The goat woman knelt before him, chest and shoulders and head above him, and looked into his eyes. Her own were large and wet, dark and kind, filled with solemn happiness. He leaned on the tips of his toes and kissed her thick finger. She kissed him appreciatively on his forehead, her plush lips lingering there for a moment.

“I will,” was all she said to him, towering over him again, tugging at her dress before lumbering to her room. Waffle stood there, fidgeting, his heart beating faster when he heard her through that door – the airless gasp of surprise on her lips when she opened the box; then the muted silence he so dreaded. He did not know what to make of it, or what she would do, if anything. Toriel was so kind to him, showing him nothing but affection; it was hard for him to believe that she might be capable of more than smiling, baking, reading and loving. He did not want to see that.

Then he heard the ruffle of clothing, and his heart pounded all the harder. He couldn’t believe that she was going to do it, actually going through with it. His palms were getting slick with nervousness. He couldn’t wait to see her when she opened that door. He licked his lips. The taste of cinnamon and butterscotch was still fresh on his tongue. He rolled it around in his mouth, trying to distract himself from the mounting anxiety. He loved her pies almost as much as he loved her, though her sweet pastries came in at a close second. But he had a feeling she may have felt the same way about him. She kept making more of her pies lately, putting in more than just cinnamon and butterscotch; a hint of something sour, tangy, but he didn’t know what it was. All he knew was that he was getting softer and wider and thicker by the day. As was she, in all the right places. And somehow, taller.

His stomach began to cramp. Waffle put a hand on his round gut, hoping to will it better. How he wished that, just this one day, she didn’t stuff him to the gills like she was so fond of doing. He clenched his fists and held his ground, hoping the churning pangs would soon leave him. He looked up again at her door. It seemed so much larger than before. He knew Toriel was tall – utterly massive compared to himself – and the goat woman’s home suited her enormous stature perfectly, making him feel small, like a child. But today her door seemed to stretch to the sky. And further still as it drew upwards and outwards gradually, then rapidly before his eyes, along with everything else. Waffle panicked and ran, tripping on the leg of his pants and falling to the ground, his world turning dark, cushioned by the fabric of his shirt. Naked, he fought his way through the sleeve and the darkness and the heavy cotton smothering him, until his head poked out the other end, out into the light and the warm air, frightened, wondering how his day could get worse.

Then Toriel’s door opened.

The colossal goat emerged from the other end with a blush, wearing a frilly pink dress, one a few sizes too small, judging by the bulges of her breasts as they fought the tight upper half, spilling over the sides and the top like rising white dough, nipples puffing out like pink cherries. Her chubby stomach pushed at the fabric and strained, and at that moment, she regretted making all those pies; her wide chest, hips, belly and rump were accentuated in that small outfit, her plump figure on display, embarrassing her thoroughly, though no one was there to see it. She tugged at the outfit with a lacy white gloved hand, trying to dig for what little room for her body that didn’t exist. The other adjusted the small golden crown on top her head, far too small for her, hanging lopsided off of one of her horns.

“I’d have helped him with this if I knew he was working on it,” she said, sighing. Then added, smiling shyly, “But that would have ruined the surprise. He worked so hard on this, just to make me feel like a princess for a day.”

Toriel looked down and clenched her large toes, wiggling the tips of her fat digits in the air. To the overwhelmed feline beneath her, they were simply massive; fuzzy, creamy white peaks spanning his field of view, just out of reach, taunting him. “I wonder why this didn’t come with shoes.” She shrugged. “That’s fine. I think I look better without them.”

She took a step forward. Waffle, horrified and awestruck, lay there as her enormous foot came forward, blotting the light of the hallway as it came crashing down on top of him. He was smothered, crushed under the sheer weight of a heavy toe pressing him into the floor. His breath was squeezed from him, his aching lungs filling with the scent of Toriel, sweet smelling, warm, and a faint whiff of cinnamon and butterscotch. His cheeks reddening, he craned his neck to lick the bottom of her toe. But as he moved, the pain in him fired in his muscles, urging him to flee, against his wishes. The more he struggled, the more her fur got tangled in his, swallowing him, trapping him, a small speck stuck to her massive toe.

Toriel looked down and saw Waffle’s clothing laying on the floor. The goat woman pursed her lips and bent down, her dress groaning in protest, her breasts ready to slip from the top, as she reached for his belongings. “Now why would he leave his clothes here on the floor?” she wondered. Then she looked to his door. It was slightly ajar, and she blushed.

“Oh... Maybe this was just the first part of his gift.” She hurried along, folding his clothing and clutching it against her pillowy chest as she walked to his room. Waffle followed, hitting the floor as an indent in the fur of her big toe while the door closed behind her.