Content Warning: gender neutral 2nd person pov, immobility, short and fat, magic, extreme weight gain, female partner
"They're gonna know." You muttered as you continued to paint your face a pale gray. Your last-minute zombie costume was coming along nicely. The leftover fake blood you had from last Halloween was splattered all over your old pair of jeans and a t-shirt rife with holes. After rummaging through your closet, you found an old plastic skeleton to scrap for parts. After zip-tying one of its white bones to your forearm, you took a moment to stare at the zombified version of yourself in your full-length mirror. It wasn't a bad costume, nor was it a great one. Your belly only barely managed to fit inside your old jeans and left you with a severe muffin top. You wished your alien costume from last year still fit you, but you had put on at least 60 pounds since last year, thanks to your girlfriend, Harper.
"How are they gonna know? We'll be in full costume." Harper was next to you on the floor of your room, looking at herself in the mirror as well. She carefully applied red paint around her mouth and white around her eyes. Then she pulled up a big pair of blue suspenders to her shoulders. Despite your opposition, Harper had dug her clown costume out of her closet from last year. You hated clowns. Ever since your third birthday, you'd refused to go near them. So, naturally, Harper dressed as one just to get a rise out of you. Her costume fit perfectly. She'd barely gained a pound since last year.
"It's not like we have masks or anything; they'll see our stupid adult faces and then slam the door on us." You continued to touch up your face paint as you desperately tried to get out of Harper's latest scheme.
"Just keep caking that makeup on your face. The thicker, the better. We might not have the youngest faces, but we have the right height. I don't think either of us has grown an inch since 9th grade." Harper commanded as she pointed out an uncovered spot on your face. You dabbed some more gray paint on the area. Harper had a point. Most high schoolers towered over both of you. It was a constant source of teasing when you were at college. While sixty pounds was a lot to someone of average height, it was a ton for you at only five foot-four inches tall.
"Why do you want to go trick or treating so bad anyway? This is kids' stuff. Let's just stay home and watch a scary movie." You finished touching up your costume and tried to pry a reason out of your girlfriend. Harper had never been big on Halloween; she was more of a Christmas nut. She pressed her lips together to even out her red lipstick as she finished her costume.
"Free candy, of course. How do you expect us to fatten you up without free food? I spent half my last paycheck on takeout and snacks for this belly." Harper went behind you and then grabbed your doughy belly. You rolled your eyes at her. Some days, you regretted entertaining your girlfriend's feeding fetish. Other times, you simply enjoyed gorging yourself and teasing her about your growing size. You weren't sure how far you'd take it, but her reasoning made sense to you now. Trick-or-treating was a creative way to fatten you up.
"Free food? I get us free food from work all the time. We had like three free pizzas this week. We don't need to go stealing children's candy." Going trick-or-treating at your age still felt wrong to you. You would hate to deprive any kid of their hard-earned sack full of candy. But your words did little to sway your girlfriend.
"For the last time, it's not stealing. It's literally free. Stop being such a wet blanket! I want to see you bursting out of those bloody ripped jeans by the end of the night." Harper's white face wrinkled, and her eye started to do that twitchy thing that it did whenever she was mad.
"Okay, fine. We'll go to a couple of houses. How do I look?" You said, standing back from the mirror in your room. Your old torn black shirt was barely covering your round stomach. Your jeans dug into you, and your thighs were stretching the rips. A streak of blood stained your skin from your mouth to your chest. On each arm, under your shirt, two white plastic bones were tied to your forearms. Not bad, you thought.
