“Hey, Bonnie,”
 
“Yeah?” The purple rabbit answered, turning to face the young woman behind him. She was one of his coworkers, wearing the pizzeria’s uniform he and the rest of the band were exempt from wearing. She was somewhat dumpy and chubby, with black hair tied back into a loose ponytail. Her lopsided nametag read “Deb”
 
“Management wants ta see ya before ya leave,” She said, wiping sweat off her brow.
 
Bonnie’s ears twitched. “Really? Why?” he asked, adjusting his bright red bow tie. Management almost never summoned a regular employee to their office, let alone one of the band members. The few times they did, though, it never turned out well for the employee in question. The last person to get summoned to Management was the old security guard, and he got a pink slip and the boot. Bonnie was always a compliant employee, and he hadn’t blown out every socket in the building recently. The bunny’s mind began racing, combing his memories for any potential wrongdoing.
 
Deb shrugged. “Dunno,” she replied, sighing. “They said something about appearances, but it’s probably nothing.” She patted his shoulders and brushed past him, opening the front doors. “See ya tomorrow, Bons” she said as the doors shut behind her.


Bonnie could only manage a halfhearted “Bye” before trudging down to Management’s office. He did spill some coffee in the break room once and jammed a door by accident, but those weren't major incidents; ones that got you summoned, at least. Bonnie didn’t think so, but a paranoid mind can convince someone or pretty outlandish things. He was still thinking up reasons as he stepped into Management’s office.
 
It was, by all accounts, an average office: filing cabinets lined the walls behind the cherry wood desk in the center of the room. The chipping walls were painted white, adorned with pictures of the establishment throughout its history. Several photographs of choice employees dotted the wall, himself included. Not for long, he thought.
 
His footsteps crinkled the forest green linoleum as he took a seat at one of the two plush red chairs in front of the desk. Files and paperwork littered the desk. A golden nameplate reading 'Management' was the only thing that stood out in the sea of forums. The boss’s chair itself was turned away from him, facing the shaded window. Bonnie sat there for a few moments, wringing his hands in his lap before clearing his throat.
 
The chair swiveled ominously to face him. There were at least five different people who claim to be a part of Fazbear Entertainment’s management team, much to the confusion of the employees. Bonnie recognized this one, though she didn’t frequent the pizzeria as much as the others. She was a proud woman, or at least as proud a woman can get when her biggest accomplishment is being manager of a second-rate pizzeria. She looked to be in her early fifties, her graying ginger hair kept in a youthful bob cut. Her piercing blue eyes were bright for a woman her age, and she was grinning from ear to ear. It was hard to keep up with all the different members of Management, but Bonnie knew that this one was named Moulard. Anastasia Moulard, if he could remember. His bandmate Chica didn’t like her, but she seemed okay to him: not as angry as the other managers, at least.
 
“Bonnie!” She said loudly, making the nervous bunny jump. She giggled at the sight, straightening her skirt and looking him directly in the eye. “It’s so nice to see you!”
 
Bonnie let out a sheepish laugh, flashing a polite smile in return. “Thanks. Nice to see ya too, Miss Moulard.”
 
Moulard laughed. “Please, call me Ana,” she replied. “I don’t call you Mister Bunny, do I?”
 
Bonnie chuckled again “Well I-I guess not.”
 
Pleasantries out of the way, Moulard immediately moved onto business. “Now, Bonnie, you’re not in trouble, nor are you here to get fired.” She assured him, leaning back in her chair. “But we’ve called you here for a reason. Think of it as a...tip, of sorts. Some advice on bettering your work performance here at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.”
 
Her assurance did nothing to calm Bonnie’s nerves, but he nodded in reply anyway. His bandmates teased him sometimes for being too shy, but that also won him the favor of the usually abrasive Management. They’re all pretty aggressive, he thought to himself, looking at Moulard again. Why should she be any different?
 
Sensing the rabbit’s anxiety, she cleared her throat and bent down. She conjured up a box of pizza that she had seemingly kept under her desk, reaching over and offering it to him. “Pizza? It’s not coming out of your paycheck, of course,” She laughed. “It’s a work perk here at the pizzeria: free pizza! I bet barbers get free haircuts too, don’t they?”
 
Bonnie nodded and accepted the box of pizza, balancing it on his lap as he lifted the lid. The pizza was sub par compared to similar establishments in the area, but it wasn’t exactly the worst pizza. Although the crust may be a bit brittle and the cheese a little too stale for people’s liking, it was still decent enough to remain on the menu. Chica  gobbled up the stuff, though she always complained that she still got charged for it. He nibbled on a slice as she went on.
 
“Well,” Moulard maundered as Bonnie nibbled on the pizza slice. “We here at Fazbear Entertainment pride ourselves on our marketing scheme, and we know what kids like.” She leaned forward, elbows on her desk. “and what kids like are fluffy animals.”
 
“Mhm,” Bonnie mumbled as he finished the first slice. She looked at him with expectation, motioning for him to take another slice. He picked up another and ate it with more urgency than the last one. The pizza was piping hot, he noted, fresh out of the oven. Had they cooked this just for him?
 
“...do you see where this is going, Bonnie?” She asked, catching him off guard. “What don’t you have in common with your coworkers on stage?”
 
He was never quick to catch onto things, so Bonnie thought long and hard about the question, munching away on a slice of pizza. The first thing that came to mind was his weight compared to the other two band members: he was a twig compared to them. Freddy was a naturally rotund guy and Chica...taking one look at her diet explained her physique well. But he wasn’t too sure that the children liked them more only because of their weight. The kids seemed to flock to the other two more than him, though.  Maybe the kids did liked his bandmates for their softness.
 
Something clicked in his head as Bonnie arrived at the inevitable conclusion: the pizza was made just for him.
 
Suddenly Moulard leaned over the desk and picked up a slice of pizza, stuffing it in Bonnie’s mouth. He had finished the slice without noticing, and Moulard seemed to be rushing the process. Bonnie gulped it down, his recent meal feeling heavier in his stomach than it did before. He placed a tentative paw on his stomach; it was about as flat as usual, but he doubted that it would stay that way for long.
 
Moulard stood up and loomed above him, feeding him three more slices in a more gentle manner. The cheese melted on his tongue, the spicy taste of the pepperoni tickling his taste buds as he swallowed. He let out a muffled whimper before Moulard shushed him, petting his head and brushing away a stray ear.
 
“You’re gonna be okay, Bonnie,” she promised, caressing his stomach. “We just need to change your appearance a bit. For the kids.”
 
Bonnie stayed silent. Her calming efforts were in vain, though there was no way of telling if it worked. Bonnie showed fear like a deer in the headlights, and Moulard found that he didn’t resist any of her efforts. She gave Bonnie a peck on the forehead, its intended meaning lost on the bunny.
 
“This might take a while, but it’ll all be fine.”
 
She managed to feed him the entire box, then another. Bonnie’s stomach rounded out, swelling out a couple inches and spilling over his waistband. He soon regretted picking a close-fitting buttoned shirt as part of his work ensemble; the bloating would've been easy to conceal under a loose t-shirt, though the curve of his stomach was more noticeable under tight buttons. His belly strained against his shirt, his undershirt visible between the tightened buttons. His insides to churned as his body tried to digest the never-ending meal. Moulard put a manicured hand on his growing gut, massaging it as she seemed to analyze it. She nodded and mumbled something to herself, saying something Bonnie didn’t catch. He belched  and squirmed in his seat as she upset the twelve slices of pizza sitting heavy in his stomach.
 
She put the empty pizza box on top of one of the filing cabinets. “Wait here,” Moulard ordered, stepping out of the office and walking down the hall. Bonnie stayed still, both out of compliance and not wanting to disturb the contents of his stomach. While she was gone he idly ran his hand down his paunch, grimacing at its tenderness and appalled at how much he’d grown. Just how big was he going to get?
 
The door opened behind him, and he turned around. Bonnie moaned as Moulard sauntered into the room, two more boxes of pizza and some cola tucked under her arms. She furrowed her brows and shushed the bloated bunny, placing the boxes and cola on her desk. Her glare seemed to pierce straight into his skull, and the look alone immediately shut Bonnie up. She opened the lid of the top box, and the aroma of fresh pepperoni wafted towards him, making him feel sick to his (already gorged) stomach.
 
“This is all that’s left, Bonnie,” She said, lifting a slice to his muzzle. “Get through these and you’re done.”
 
The stuffing continued, Bonnie’s belly steadily expanding as he was filled with pizza and cola. The pressure on his stomach increased as he got bigger, combining with a dull stomach ache to create one of the most uncomfortable situations Bonnie had ever been in. His gut felt compressed inside the shirt, the buttons taut against his girth. Bonnie felt like he was going to explode if any more pizza was put into him, and they were only halfway through the first box. After a hard swallow he yelped as one of his buttons popped, flying through the air as the tension of his shirt lifted slightly. 
 
Moulard paused, looking at Bonnie's curves and glancing down at the strained buttons. She bent over and undid his shirt, starting from the bottom and working her way up to his chest. For good measure, she undid his bowtie and eased off the suspenders. Bonnie moaned as his belly surged out unrestricted, his undershirt riding up and exposing some lavender fur. Moulard reached down to pinch some of the fat between her fingers, appraising his progress. Bonnie blushed and let out a quiet “eep” as she teased his bare belly.
 
"You're making progress, Bonnie," she cooed. "You're almost done, too. Just make it through this and you'll be a hit with the kids in no time!" Bonnie could only nod in reply. His belly was aching with indigestion, but there was an odd serenity to being stuffed. He felt so full, though there was an underlying sense of satisfaction. Bonnie couldn't explain it if he tried, but either way he felt content.
 
Bonnie rubbed his stomach as she fed him the rest of the pizza, easing his stomach ache. As he ran a paw along his expanded gut he was astounded at how big he’d gotten. He wasn’t as big a Freddy or Chica, though he was rounder now. His stomach was a globe, an expanse of lavender fur sitting heavy in his lap. At some point his shirt had ridden all the way up to his chest, leaving his entire belly exposed. Bonnie didn’t know if Moulard had done it or if it had happened on its own. Someone could mistake him for a woman late into pregnancy.
 
Moulard stepped back and smiled. “My, my, how you’ve ballooned!” She chuckled, patting his large belly. A short silence followed as she leaned on her desk. “Well I guess we’re done here, Bonnie. See you at work tomorrow.” She tossed him a large brown coat with a faint smell of honey and musk. “You can borrow this spare jacket. It’s more accommodating to your new, erm, dimensions.”
 
Bonnie nodded, making an effort to stand up. He couldn’t help but burp, shifting his packed stomach as he tried to get on his feet. He blushed and clumsily put his arms into the sleeves of his buttoned shirt, easing the suspenders back on. He could hide his disheveled appearance under the coat. He mumbled a goodbye as he left the office.
 
Bonnie stumbled his way to the exit, struggling to keep his balance with his new weight. He was able to stumble into the darkened parking lot and get into his car, driving home. He skipped dinner and went straight to bed.
 
Bonnie was sprawled out on his bed, one hand on his expansive belly. He didn’t sleep shirtless often, but none of his shirts fit him anymore. As the stomachache came to pass, his worried mind began to shift to some problems of his new weight. Would he be well enough to go to work tomorrow? What would he wear, since nothing else fit? How would he ever eat pizza again?
 
All these thoughts weighed on his mind, but the weight of three whole pizzas was heavier on his stomach. All that food was making him drowsy, and combined with the hectic workday and the fatigue from moving around his new frame got to him. Bonnie closed his eyes and rolled over, rubbing his stomach as he willed himself to sleep.
 
He had work tomorrow anyway.