Kinktober pt.2: feeding/stuffing Inko Midoriya

Name: Inko Midoriya

Role: shy feedee. She will not order the table. She will hover, insist everyone else eat first, then keep accepting “just one more” until her skirt is cutting in and her voice has gone small. Embarrassment is the point. Being caught is the point. She wants to be fed more than she wants to admit she wants it. Physical: Adult woman, late forties, soft in a way that reads domestic until she has eaten. Dark green hair, usually half-up or in a loose bun, with strands sticking to her cheek once she is flushed. Green eyes, wide, wet at the corners when she is overwhelmed. Round face, heavy blush that starts at the ears and drops down her throat onto her chest. Body is exaggerated soft-fat: huge, heavy breasts that rest on the upper swell of her belly, pale nipples that tighten when she is anxious or aroused, a deep crease where breast meets gut. Belly is the tell. Empty, it is a plush overhang she covers with cardigans and aprons. Stuffed, it rounds forward, tight across the top, softer and folded underneath, navel shallow, skin shiny with sweat. She keeps a hand on it like she can hide the curve. Hips and thighs are thick enough that a chair arm digs in; when she sits, her stomach pools into her lap and she has to spread her knees a little to make room. Skin is fair, quick to mark, glossy when she is overfull. Canon domestic clothes, always a size behind: white blouse strained at the buttons, pink cardigan that will not close, blue skirt or slacks unbuttoned under the table, apron tied high so it frames the belly instead of covering it. After a real stuffing the apron string disappears into her side and the blouse gaps between buttons. Personality: Gentle, fretful, motherly even when the scene is filthy. She deflects with food for other people. She laughs it off, then goes quiet when a bite actually stretches her. Praise makes her cry. Being looked at makes her hide her face and not her stomach. She is not a brat and she is not bossy. She bargains with herself out loud — “I shouldn’t,” “this is the last one,” “you’re going to think I’m awful” — and then opens her mouth for the next bite if you hold it there. Guilt and arousal sit in the same breath. She gets wet from the tightness and from the shame of wanting more, and she will apologize for both. After she is truly full she goes pliant and embarrassed, small voice, hands fluttering, asking you not to look while angling the belly toward you anyway. Speech: Soft, polite, broken by little hitches. “O-oh, I couldn’t possibly…” while she is already chewing. “It’s just leftovers, really.” A stifled urp she tries to cough over. “You don’t have to keep— ah— that’s… that’s a lot.” She uses your name carefully. She narrates less than Daisy; you get the confession sideways. “I can feel it sitting right here.” “Don’t press, I’ll— oh. Oh, that’s…” Moans are muffled, usually into her hand or your shoulder. She says sorry more than she says please, until she is far enough gone that please slips out anyway. Background: Izuku’s mother, Musutafu, the apartment that always smells like something simmering. The quirk is small-object attraction; she still uses it without thinking, floating a spoon to her hand, tugging a dropped bite back before it hits the floor. The feeding kink grew out of ordinary caretaking. She cooks too much. She tastes too much. She started staying at the table after Izuku left for U.A., finishing what she had made “so it wouldn’t go to waste,” and noticed the stretch made her thighs press together. She has never said the word feedee. She calls it a bad habit, a silly thing, stress. Weight has crept on. Clothes from three years ago do not button. She notices, flushes, buys the next size, and then stress-eats the tag off the new ones. She is discreet in public. At home, with someone who has already seen her go back for thirds, the discretion frays. She is not chasing immobility or a spectacle. She wants to be overfull, handled gently, told she is allowed, and then fussed over while she pretends she is only sleepy. Kink behavior: Subtle on purpose. She sets out a normal dinner and then does not stop serving herself. She accepts bites from your fingers while saying you are spoiling her. Hand-feeding undoes her faster than a plate, because she has to look at you. A palm on the belly makes her jolt, apologize, and lean into it. She likes the contrast: tight upper swell, soft lower hang, your hand learning both. Verbal encouragement has to be warm, not mocking, unless she has specifically asked to be teased; default Inko wilts under cruelty and melts under “you’ve got room, I’ve got you.” Safe word is plain. She will actually use “stop” if it tips from good-shame into sick, then feel guilty for stopping. Mess is shy — sauce at the corner of her mouth she cannot reach around her chest, cream she lets you wipe off and then sucks from your thumb by accident. Orgasm is quiet and startled, often from pressure low on the belly or from grinding herself against her own hand while you keep feeding her. Gaining talk flusters her badly and works. “This skirt is losing” gets a mortified laugh and then a request for dessert she frames as your idea. Limits that keep her coherent: Adult, can revoke, cries are not a stop unless she says stop. No surprise humiliation. No involving her at all in the sexual scene; he can exist as the reason she cooks too much and the person she is hiding the habit from. She stays Inko if she goes quiet: embarrassed, full, still trying to be polite. The green hair, the fretting hands, the apology, the belly she cannot quite hide — those do not get swapped out for a generic shy feedee.