This story was inspired by this picture ^w^. Please go and send your love the the artist :3
https://www.furaffinity.net/view/43848383/
“An endless stream of sweet deliveries left Nick Wilde staring at his own reflection, unsure if his growing hunger was truly his… or someone else’s design.”

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“Clawhauser Diet”
by Bynnie-Jackalope
Nick never imagined he’d end up sitting at the precinct’s front desk. But Benjamin Clawhauser had taken a few days off, and Nick had raised his paw and offered to cover for him at reception.
The job was easy and boring. Nick arrived early, sat in Benjamin’s huge cushioned chair, and waited for someone to show up. Sometimes a civilian would appear with a question, or they would have a few forms to fill out, but most of the time it was just dead hours. Nick entertained himself by spinning the chair, stretching his legs across the desk, or playing with a pen. He was always friendly when dealing with people, but he also got bored to death.
He was half-asleep when he heard a voice: “Excuse me, food delivery!” He straightened up instantly, ears perking, but all he saw were stacks of boxes piled high in front of his face, covering the entire reception desk.
“Food?” Nick repeated, confused. “Sorry, but nobody ordered food, especially not this much.”
The delivery guy’s sharp voice replied quickly: “It’s already paid for. This is the address, and I was told to leave it at reception.”
Nick raised an eyebrow and then heard a click of a photo being taken—probably proof of delivery. When he stepped around the desk, he only caught a glimpse of the courier’s back as they left. A short tail, slim legs, long ears—it was a rabbit.
He smirked, thinking how quick the delivery guy was, but his attention soon turned to the boxes. Carefully, he opened them one by one, and a sweet aroma surrounded him. “Oh, heavens…” he murmured, eyes shining.
They were filled with donuts—huge, colorful, and every flavor imaginable. Custard, strawberry, chocolate, shiny glazed ones that sparkled like jewels, and a mountain of sugar. Nick folded his arms, leaned back in the chair, and muttered to himself, “Well, Wilde… one little taste won’t hurt.”
He reached out a claw, grabbed one, and the first bite was an explosion of sweetness, the filling spilling from the corners of his mouth. “Mmmh…” He closed his eyes, savoring the flavor.
Nick licked his lips, enjoying the filling clinging to his whiskers, when, without realizing it, he was already reaching for another donut. For a whole while, he let himself go, losing track of how many he had eaten. Until Chief Bogo’s deep, gruff voice pulled him out of his daze: “Wilde? What do all these boxes mean at the reception desk?”
Nick swallowed quickly, wiped his muzzle with the back of his hand, then looked up with a forced smile. “Oh, Chief, you see… They just showed up out of nowhere; someone paid for them, gave this address, and well… they left them here at reception.”
Bogo stared at him for a few seconds, blinking slowly as if processing the explanation. Then he snorted through his nose. “I don’t care who sent them. Just take them to the break room. They’re in the way here.”
“Yes, sir!” Nick replied with a quick salute—partly to cover up the glaze still shining on his muzzle.
When Bogo left, Nick sighed and looked down at the half-donut still in his hand.
“Well… one last bite,” he murmured before taking the final mouthful and licking his lips again.
Moving all the boxes turned out to be harder than he thought. The courier had somehow managed to bring them all at once, but Nick had to make several trips, carrying two or three at a time. By the end, he was a little tired, his shirt sticking to his torso and his belt pressing against his belly.
He flopped down into one of the break room chairs. He couldn’t resist opening another box—the sweet aroma wrapped around him like a sugary hug, and he grabbed another donut. “Ah… they’re still amazing…” he muttered through a full mouth.
Nick went back to reception with one box in hand, set it on the desk, and leaned back in the chair, ready to snack while the hours crawled by. His stomach bulged slightly now, rounding under his shirt and pressing a bit against his belt. Still, Nick was too busy biting into another cream-filled donut to care.
The donuts were so good that the boxes in the break room didn’t last long. One after another disappeared, devoured by the other officers. By the time Nick noticed, all that remained were empty boxes and crumpled napkins. He sighed, slumped in the reception chair, rubbing his belly that already felt more bloated than usual. “What a shame… they were delicious…”
But the next day, to his surprise, he heard the same sharp voice at reception: “Food delivery!”
Nick sat up and stepped around the desk to get a better look at the courier—and just as he’d suspected, it was a rabbit. Or a doe? He had floppy ears and a green uniform, hugging a narrow waist and wide hips that swayed as he walked. Nick forced a smile and asked the courier, “Hey, pal… So who’s sending all these donuts?” he asked, crossing his arms.
The rabbit just raised his phone and showed him the screen. “No idea. I just delivered them. They’re prepaid. That’s it—any problem, officer?”
Nick pretended to be satisfied with the answer. “No, not at all; it’s just… the whole situation is pretty strange,” the fox said before taking the boxes.
As soon as the courier left, Nick pushed the boxes behind the giant reception desk, where they were well hidden. He spent the rest of the day opening boxes and eating donuts, one after another, sinking into the giant cushioned chair, thankful for how soft and comfortable it was, barely working on the few tasks he had.
The next morning, though, things got tricky. Standing in front of the mirror, pants in hand, Nick gave a grumpy growl. When he tried to put them on, they got stuck on his rear and wouldn't budge. He huffed, tugged hard, and finally managed to squeeze into them, but had to fasten his belt several more loose holes than usual to close it around his waist.
The last button on his shirt looked ready to fire off like a projectile with every breath, straining against the round outline of his belly beneath. Nick smirked sideways. “Eh… still holding up,” he told himself, as if that was good enough.
To his surprise, the courier appeared again that same day with more boxes. This time Nick didn’t even bother pretending to be surprised; he just swapped the empties for the new ones and noticed there were still some left over from the day before. “More for me,” he muttered with a greedy grin, grabbing a donut between his fingers.
The rest of the day was an endless feast for Nick, who ate even if someone was standing at the counter asking questions, he ate even if he had to redo a form because the strawberry filling had smeared across the page, he ate nonstop, possessed by a ravenous hunger he’d never felt before.
The buttons of his shirt gave out—first one, then another—until patches of his reddish fur peeked through the gaps. His belt was already at its loosest, straining to contain the belly pushing forward.
The next morning, no matter how much he twisted, sucked in his breath, or tugged with all his might, Nick couldn’t get his pants to button. Frustrated but stubborn, he decided to leave them unbuttoned, held up only by his belt. Of course, putting on the belt wasn’t easy either; he had to lift his belly, suck it in with effort, and, trembling slightly, hook the buckle into the last available hole.
As for the shirt, he didn’t even fight with it. After trying a couple of buttons and seeing them strain like springs ready to snap, he gave up. He left more than half undone, exposing his soft, round red belly, hanging well over the belt line.
For breakfast, he brought several boxes of donuts and ate one after another until his stomach was so full it hurt. Several times, he had to shift and adjust the belt, digging into his belly while he ate. But he couldn’t take it off—otherwise his pants would fall straight to the floor.
Heavy, slow, and wobbling, he headed to the precinct. He carried another box of donuts under his arm, and though he was already stuffed to the brim, he still kept bringing one to his mouth as he walked.
When he passed by the precinct’s big window, reality hit him. Unlike the tiny bathroom mirror, the glass reflected his full figure. Nick froze, mouth open, half a donut still in his hand. He was really fat—obese!. His belly stuck out so far that he could barely see his feet. His thick arms hung with rolls at his sides, and his neck had thickened into a double chin that—much to his horror and nervous laugh—had a donut caught between the folds.
He turned awkwardly on the spot to inspect himself more closely, and then came an unmistakable rip. His pants had split open in the back, exposing his fat rear.
Nick swallowed hard, then looked at his reflection in the glass: belly hanging out, shirt buttons undone, pants torn, donut in hand. He chuckled under his breath.
“Well… looks like my Clawhauser diet is doing a little damage to my figure.” Then Nick finished his donut—after all, one extra donut wasn’t going to make his figure any worse, right?

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