Really, she had expected Impmon to stop calling her bluff at many points prior to this. It seemed like a simple enough way to deny his advances towards her at the time: say she’d only go down on him if he beat her at a contest of her choosing, easily triumph over a Digimon a full evolution stage below her and leave him embarrassed enough to hopefully put a dent in his virtually unending romantic ambition. But she just had to have chosen an eating contest, didn’t she?

Again, it made sense a full hour ago; it’s not like she could just fight the poor gremlin in a public space, better to win a culinary fight in some obscure buffet and minimize the chances of paying for property damage (an aspect that was always a question mark with Impmon involved). She’d just have to change a few bytes in an internal file labelled ‘appetite.dll’, and there’d be no way that pint-sized punk would be able to even keep up with her… right?

Renamon cursed her earlier self under her breath, trying to steady herself as she brought yet another bowl of ramen to her lips. Drinking in yet another pint of broth and noodles wasn’t an arduous task by, but her ability to even process the same tastes had certainly dulled to the point where the digital kitsune was forcing the biomass down her throat as quickly as possible; no time to dwell, only binging.

The large serving of Asian delicacy slid downward into her guts with a energetically wet *THUNK*, soon joining the undigested banquet currently overflowing inside of Renamon. The mon’s normally svelte, white-furred stomach was filled to the brim several times over, bulging out in a decidedly pregnant way as the dinner date continued on with full force. Rena bit her tongue as a stray glance downwards confirmed what was already made quite apparent by the incredibly dense sensation brewing in her belly; with her ability to feel the pain of overeating temporarily turned off, all the rapidly-filling fox could accurately perceive was the ever-increasing pressure stretching her stomach out like fresh linen over an air mattress.

And that feeling was simply marvelous. Renamon’s bloated gut had long since comfortably ballooned out to the size of a beach ball, looking like more of an inflatable toy connected to the Digimon’s middle than any indicator that she had an entire liter of food babies gestating within her. It was a solidly packed curve that spread deep across her toned thighs, radiating a cauldron’s worth of heat and bringing to mind a warm beanbag that was courteously place across the kitsune’s lap. Her paws had started massaging in between meals without a lick of deliberate thought; maybe her subconscious could still react to the most-assuredly painful throbs she was currently skipping out on experiencing. Renamon didn’t care, what mattered was that in the moment, every little poke, squeeze, pinch, a simple brush against her fur- it was all magnified exponentially. Like she was playing with a stress ball made entirely of herself, feeling every indentation into her squish like fresh dough, feeling every hill and valley that formed simply through a combination of distention of gravity. She couldn’t tell exactly where her disgust with herself had evaporated, only that somewhere down the line she had begun faking her discomfort, swallowing fast and hard not out of necessity, but out of pure thrill.

“Ok, that makes… 43 for me.” Renamon faux-moaned as she set the empty bowl amidst the growing ceramic privacy curtain that was separating her and her date from the world outside the booth. “Still think *urp* you can keep up with a champ like myself?” she taunted, stifling a belch and attempting to somehow rub circles over her distension in a way that still made her look energetic.

“*BURRPPPP* I’m at… ohgeezgivemeasecond…” The other patron dining with Renamon was fulfilling the bare minimum definition of keeping up with her, and very clearly struggling to maintain that form. Impmon’s small stature was never going to do him any favors tonight, but at some point the rookie belly wasn’t just ballooning outwards but threatening to submerge his entire body in tightly overblown purple flesh. Unlike Renamon’s centralized bloat, the imp’s limbs and back had rapidly swelled alongside his gut as he poured gallon after gallon of meat stock and noodles into him. He was a kind of literal food balloon at this point, the smiley face marking adorning his stomach painfully stretched into what was looking more of an expression of an incredibly strained grimace with each bite, a look not helped by the panted straining coming from the Digimon as he attempted to set his own cleared bowl down on the table. Impmon practically gyrated in place as he fought the two-ton weight keeping him stuck in his seat, until finally he got the bowl slammed down on the buffet table he’d been gradually inching towards over the course of the night.

“There! That makes 41!” The overfilled Digimon let out a small victorious belch, on some level relieved he even managed to stuff himself this far without popping into a shower of pixelated mush. Renamon couldn’t argue with it; even without any dishonest modification, he was still pushing forward, going far past his limits and punching easily above his weight class. Sure, that was all in the field of ‘being a complete fucking pig’, but it spoke to Renamon. The not-so-little mon was sporting a demeanor that rivalled hers, one that she didn’t want to admit was growing on her with each inch further the two of them stuffed themselves. For a moment, a truly surreal inclination entered Rena’s mind, one of outright throwing the match and giving the gremlin exactly what he wanted.

Renamon’s better judgement instantly deleted the thought. Letting out a more reserved victory belch, she attempted to hold the line.

“Looks like you still have a long way to go, don’t ya, pest?” she hounded, patting her rotundity and trying to hold in a much less reserved purr.

“Keep the feast coming, dollface,” snarled back Impmon. “I’ll be a bottomless pit all night if it’s what you want!”

Renamon scoffed, flagging down a waiter and ordering another course for the two of them. Suddenly the gremlin’s arrogant display was becoming decidedly delightful. Well, she’d surely show him. After all, she was the only one that didn’t have a limit. There was going to come a point where Impmon would be rendered little more than a bastardous yoga ball, wedged deep between the booth and the table and still begging to be gorged in a futile attempt to win the love he was so dutifully promised.

*Always resilient,* thought Renamon as a serving cart loaded with all kinds of ramen and sushi headed their way. *Exactly what I’d want in a date- …in a rival.*

The overfed kitsune sighed at the slipup, deleted another thought from her head, and reached for another bowl of noodles. She just had to keep outlasting the overgrown imp, and she wouldn’t have to nurture those ideas for much longer.

After all, he can’t keep growing alongside her forever… right?