Eight for Eight - Part 3 (Patreon)

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Over the next few weeks, Levi’s body didn’t slow down. If anything, it went completely off the rails. The nausea that had ruled his mornings faded almost completely, replaced by an unbearable hunger. It wasn’t the manageable emptiness he used to plan around workouts and shoots—it was a need that woke him up before his alarm ever had the chance. He would open his eyes already starving, his stomach growling so loudly it felt like he hadn’t eaten in days.

It didn’t matter how much he’d eaten the night before—he still woke up starving.

“Seriously?” he whispered one morning, staring at the ceiling while his stomach complained. “We’re doing this so early now?”

Levi had always been careful with his body—careful to the point of obsession. He knew exactly what to eat, when, and why. Control had always been his thing. It was how he functioned. But now his body didn’t seem interested in asking permission. It only demanded food every single second of the day.

Ignoring the intense hunger was pointless. It didn’t go away; it only got sharper and louder with each passing second. If Levi tried to push through it, his hands would start to shake, his patience would vanish, and a hollow ache would settle under his ribs until it was impossible to focus on anything else. So he gave in—reluctantly at first, then more easily, even eagerly.

Breakfast didn’t consist of a protein shake gulped down on autopilot. Now it started the second Levi was awake. Toast—two slices, then three. Scrambled eggs cooked in too much butter, ridiculous amounts of bacon, oatmeal with fruit and honey, and peanut butter eaten straight from the jar while he stood barefoot in the kitchen, still half-asleep. He’d eat fast at first, then more slowly, moving one hand over his hairy belly as it stretched and tightened.

He’d pause and breathe. “Okay. That should do it,” he’d say, only to feel hungry again ten minutes later. The growls started back up as if nothing had happened, and he had no option but to grab something else to keep his stomach calm.

By midmorning, he was back in the kitchen, with cupboards open and the fridge door hanging wide as he scanned for anything that sounded right. He devoured crackers and then went for chips, which only made him crave a bowl of cereal. He had some yogurt like every morning, soon followed by pudding, and then more yogurt because it suddenly felt necessary. His stomach felt full but not satisfied, heavy but still demanding.

He laughed under his breath as he grabbed leftovers, reheated cold pizza, then—led by a sudden idea that made him pause and shake his head—dropped a scoop of vanilla ice cream right on top. He stared at it for a second. “This is disgusting,” he said, pointing at the plate.

Then he took a bite. It was perfect.

The mix of hot and cold, sweet and salty, hit just right, and he let out a delighted moan. He took another bite, then another, leaning back against the counter while his belly pushed forward, already heavier from everything he’d eaten that morning. Whatever switch his body had flipped, it had jumped far past anything Levi thought was normal. But he couldn’t stop himself.

Lunch came early because his body refused to wait for his regular schedule. He stacked sandwiches with meat and cheese, and they vanished faster than he expected, barely giving him time to breathe between bites. Soup followed, eaten straight from the pot because grabbing a bowl suddenly felt like wasted effort. The hunger drove him forward even as his belly pushed out more with every mouthful. Then pickles dipped into whipped cream earned him a skeptical grimace at first, but that melted into surprise almost immediately when he tasted it.

“Ugh—Okay,” he admitted around a mouthful. “That shouldn’t work, but it does.”

He didn’t slow down. He ate standing at the counter, then he sat and leaned back slightly. His belly was already pushing outward more than it had in the morning. Every few bites, his hands slid over his rounded middle without him thinking about it, rubbing it as if soothing his skin while he chewed. The fullness kept building, stretching him tighter, but the hunger refused to back off.

The snacking never really stopped. Fruit disappeared from the fridge, followed by handfuls of candy. Then he went for pretzels dipped in mustard, then crackers, and even cold cereal eaten dry straight from the box. Every time he told himself, “That’s it, I’m done,” his stomach answered with another impatient rumble.

Half an hour later, he’d be back in the kitchen, opening the fridge for the millionth time.

Dinner turned into a whole event. He piled his plate high with pasta, then went for seconds when the first helping vanished too fast. Burgers followed, stacked with extra toppings, and sauces dripped down his fingers. Levi drowned mashed potatoes in gravy and ate them like the world was ending. He ate until his belly felt painfully full—tight, smooth, and glossy—then leaned back on the couch, breathing slowly through the fullness.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, laughing as he patted his abdomen. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

Even then, as he sat there full to the point of discomfort, part of him already wondered what he’d eat later. It wasn’t a surprise when the number on the scale climbed higher every time he dared to step on it. By sixteen weeks pregnant, Levi wasn’t even able to see the number on the scale at first—it was hidden behind his own belly. He leaned forward slightly, then a little more, bracing one hand on his thigh as he angled himself just enough to peer over his middle.

His eyes widened, and he sighed in complete defeat.

“216,” he read aloud, stepping off the scale. “No going back now.”

He spent a lot of his days touching his belly like he still needed to convince himself it was real, but denying the changes was useless.

His hairy belly pushed out nearly eight inches from the rest of him, perfectly round and firm. The skin stretched to a faint sheen, making it look even more impressive. If he stood straight and looked down, he couldn’t see his feet at all. Even the tip of his cock disappeared from view unless he leaned forward to look. Part of him wanted to laugh when he thought about how he had gone from being a praised fitness model to a helpless, ballooning blimp.

Bending down took planning now. Twisting felt awkward. Stretching pulled uncomfortably at Levi’s sides. His center of gravity had changed, and he felt it with every step. 

The rest of his body hadn’t escaped the changes either, not even close. His hips were broader now in a way that went beyond numbers or measurements—he felt it every time he moved. The bones there seemed wider and the flesh softer, giving him a new sway when he walked. His legs automatically adjusted to the extra weight he carried up front by forcing him into a wider stance. Every step felt different, like his body had rewritten its own instructions.

His ass had filled out as well. Not only a little, but enough that even he couldn’t ignore it anymore. His cheeks were still firm but undeniably fatter and rounder, sitting heavier on his frame. With every step, there was a subtle bounce he wasn’t used to feeling. The motion tugged at his balance and pulled at the seams of his pants. Even the pairs he’d bought specifically to fit his new curves strained across his ass, stretched tight when he bent or sat.

Sometimes he saw his reflection from behind—passing a mirror, a darkened window, or the bathroom glass—and stopped short. The view didn’t line up with the version of himself he could still remember. His hips were broader, his ass fuller, and his whole lower body thicker than it had any right to be.

“Damn it,” he said, snorting softly. “I used to work my ass off for this.”

The expansion hadn’t spared his chest either. What had once been solid muscle felt softer under his hands now, fuller in a way that made him pause every time he touched it. His pecs felt different—less rigid and more sensitive. In addition to that, he swore that his nipples looked darker and maybe even bigger under a certain light. He told himself it was only his imagination, another trick his brain was playing on him.

Still, the sensitivity was impossible to ignore. Even light contact made Levi flinch. Pulling a T-shirt over his head sent a sharp jolt through his chest, and he hissed as the fabric brushed against his nipples, stopping halfway to breathe it out.

“Ugh—okay,” he whispered, pausing mid-shirt. “Careful.”

Getting dressed took longer now because there were too many things to deal with.

One morning, he was drying off, with only a towel around his waist. The towel moved over his belly in broad strokes, then slower ones, pressing gently over the hairy skin. He paused more than once, staring down at himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

He slowly put on his underwear, carefully adjusting the waistband so it sat beneath his belly instead of digging into it. He reached back, tugging the fabric into place over his ample ass, wiggling slightly until it settled. The shorts came next, fitting tight around his hips and stubbornly sliding up between his cheeks until he sighed and let them sit where they wanted.

Grabbing a tank top, he slowly put it on—a decision he immediately regretted. The fabric brushed far too much against his nipples and barely covered his belly at all.

“Yeah, okay,” he said dryly to his reflection. “Great choice.”

He knew it wasn’t practical, even though everything he wore now was larger than anything he’d owned before. But that morning, dressing like this felt like a stubborn attempt to hold onto some sense of control. Other days, he didn’t bother. He stayed home in baggy clothes, or naked, or just in a jockstrap that gave him the most freedom.

His moods, just like his outfits, shifted unpredictably. Some mornings, he felt almost invincible, flashing a cocky grin at his reflection while caressing his belly.

“Eight babies,” he said once. “Yeah. I can handle that.”

Other days, the weight of it all pressed down on him, and he moved more slowly, unsure of himself. Losing control scared him, even if it was almost funny how little control he actually had left. And the nightmares didn’t help.

One night, at eighteen weeks pregnant, he was sprawled across the bed with one hand resting on his rounded belly and the other draped across the mattress. Finding a comfortable position had become a nightly struggle. His back ached, his hips complained, and his belly felt too heavy no matter how he shifted. But he was so tired that his body gave up anyway.

The dream dropped him into a blinding hospital room. People rushed around him, and overlapping voices came from everywhere and no place in particular.

“Push!” someone shouted.

Pain tore through Levi, intense and overwhelming. He screamed as the voices kept shouting, “Push!” again and again. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, as the pain worsened.

Then another voice began counting. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.”

Once the voice reached eight, the pain eased for half a second—only enough for him to gasp—then it slammed back even harder. The counting started again, one through eight. The process repeated again and again. Eight after eight, pain after pain, until he couldn’t tell if he was screaming or just thinking it.

Somewhere in the chaos, a female voice slipped through the noise, coming close to his ear. “Another eight down,” it said softly, “and here come eight more.”

He woke with a sharp, broken shout, and his lungs burned as if they had been holding his breath for too long. Sweat slicked his skin and soaked the sheets beneath him. His hair was damp, and his heart pounded so hard it felt like it might punch its way out of his chest. Without thinking, he curled forward as much as his body allowed, wrapping both arms around his belly to hold it like it was the only solid thing in the room.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped in the dark. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He didn’t know who he was apologizing to—himself, the room, the babies—but he kept whispering it anyway, over and over, as if he said it enough times it might make something settle.

He stayed curled there, and gradually his heartbeat slowed. His breaths stretched longer. His grip loosened, but his hands didn’t move.

And then he felt a tiny, unmistakable flutter beneath his palm.

He froze. “No way,” he whispered.

Maybe it was his imagination, but then it happened again—stronger. By the third movement, he couldn’t deny it. Something shifted beneath his hand.

“Oh,” he breathed, unable to contain his tears. “Oh… wow.”

He rubbed the spots, whispering under his breath as another faint kick answered him. They grew a little stronger, a little more confident, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He lay there for a long time, caressing his hairy belly, feeling each flutter, each tiny movement, melting into the tender sensation. For all the chaos and the curse that had started it all, that moment felt worth it.

After the babies started moving that night, something inside Levi shifted for good.

The fear didn’t disappear—not even close—but it stopped being the loudest thing in the room. Every flutter and every kick from within pulled Levi’s focus inward, flipping some instinctive switch he didn’t even know he had. His thoughts stopped circling why this was happening and started orbiting what was happening. His body seemed to know exactly what to do, and for the first time in a long while, his mind stopped trying to argue with it.

Protecting. Feeding. Resting. Growing. Levi’s mindset changed entirely.

He found himself calmer in ways that surprised him. He still cracked jokes, still rolled his eyes at himself when he saw his reflection, but the edge was gone. When his belly jumped with a faint kick, his reaction wasn’t panic anymore—it was a smile and a hand instinctively smoothing over the spot.

“Easy, there,” he whispered one afternoon, looking at his belly. “I know you’re there.”

He kept eating as if it were his job. Not mindlessly anymore, but with purpose. If his body demanded fuel, he complied eagerly. He had bigger meals, more snacks, and extra helpings without guilt. He paid attention to how the babies seemed to move more after he ate, how his belly felt heavier and more settled afterward.

Fear still lived in the back of his mind—how big they were getting, how much bigger he was getting—but it didn’t stop him. He couldn’t stop the curse anyway. He couldn’t stop their growth. So he followed instinct instead, because logic had already lost that fight.

By the time he reached twenty weeks, acceptance had settled in.

It wasn’t peaceful, exactly. Levi still struggled. Still, he woke up some mornings overwhelmed by what was happening to him—the burden of the curse. But the resistance was gone because fighting the changes only made everything harder. Levi had even come to accept that he still had a long way to go.

He weighed 235 pounds.

He stared at the number for a long moment, absentmindedly holding his belly with both hands. It pushed out nearly ten inches in front of him now—massive, taut, firm as a drum, and heavy enough that he felt it with every breath. The weight pulled at his spine, forcing his posture to change. He leaned back slightly when he walked without thinking about it, often sliding one hand to the small of his back to support himself.

“Okay,” he often said, exhaling as he straightened up. “Okay. We’ve got this.”

He didn’t fight the way his body moved. His steps had slowed. His stride had shortened, with a subtle but undeniable waddle to it now.

And he knew people noticed.

Levi had a doctor’s appointment, and he waddled across the street toward the clinic, trying to act casual even though he could feel eyes on him. He wore an oversized pink T-shirt that draped over his chest and arms but did absolutely nothing to hide the massive curve beneath it. Nothing could at this point. His navy blue short-shorts clung stubbornly to his hips, ass, and thickening thighs, riding up every few steps.

He stopped more than once to tug them down, grumbling when the fabric slid between his cheeks. “Stay put,” he said, giving up halfway through the walk. It was too hot to care, and his mood that day leaned toward defiance.

When he arrived at the clinic, he went through vitals first: blood pressure, pulse, weight again, only to make sure it hadn’t magically gone down.

“Reflexes look good,” the doctor said, tapping his knee.

“Fantastic,” Levi replied dryly. “Glad something still listens.”

The doctor measured his belly and listened to his breathing. And before Levi knew it, he was already sitting back on the exam table, with his legs spread a little wider than usual to make room for his belly.

“Alright. Now we’ll perform an ultrasound,” the doctor said, glancing at the chart. “Let’s take a look at how everyone’s doing.”

Levi swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Seconds later, an ultrasound technician came in, a man about Levi’s age, handsome and well-built. He froze for half a second when he saw the pregnant belly. He recovered quickly, snapping back into his professionalism.

“Don’t worry, Levi,” the doctor said calmly. “I asked for some help with this ultrasound because technicians know better how to read everything. And he’s aware of the situation, and confidentiality is already handled.”

Levi flushed but nodded. “Hi.”

The technician smiled politely. “Hi. If you could lift your shirt for me, please?”

Levi did, and the sight of his taut, glossy, heavily pregnant belly made the technician blink—and then visibly gasp when a sudden kick rippled across the surface.

“Oh—they often have the worst timing,” Levi said, casually.

“Wow,” the technician breathed, stunned, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. Alright. Now, the gel will be cold, but the sensation will settle within seconds.”

Levi nodded and indeed winced when the gel came in contact with his belly.

The technician moved the wand carefully over Levi’s stretched middle, moving his eyes between the screen and Levi’s belly as if trying to convince himself it was all true. “I’ll be honest,” he said, “this is pretty uncharted territory for me.”

Levi smirked weakly. “Story of my life lately.”

The technician chuckled softly. “But—” He paused, then smiled, studying the screen more closely. “They look healthy—very healthy.”

Levi let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

One by one, the technician framed each baby on the screen, labeling them A through H, explaining as he continued. “They’re all in the same amniotic sac. You’re having identical octuplets,” he said, visibly stunned. “And they’re a little bigger than we’d expect at twenty weeks for one baby. For octuplets, it’s impressive to say the least.”

Levi snorted softly, not surprised by the news.

The technician chuckled. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it right.” Then he hesitated. “Would you like to know the sexes?”

Levi blinked, realizing he hadn’t thought of that. “Oh. Uh—yeah. Yeah, I would.”

“Alright. Let’s see…” The technician carefully moved the wand, zooming, adjusting angles, and nodding confidently. He paused and grinned. “Congratulations. It’s very clear you’re having eight boys.”

Levi’s chest tightened. “Eight boys?” he repeated quietly.

“Yeah. All boys,” the technician said. “Big and strong. Like their dad.”

Levi laughed under his breath as his eyes turned misty. “Eight for eight,” he whispered.

The words echoed the curse that had started it all. Only now, they didn’t sound as cruel. Somehow, the idea of eight baby boys made his fear twist into something warmer. Something dangerously close to excitement.

...

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PS: This story is based on woodywood101's post on tumblr, featuring Levi Conely, and he also provided the pic included in this post! It's a great concept and I couldn't help it. ENJOY!