This one feels like someone took a comfy slice‑of‑life drama, locked it in a room, fed it way too much dessert, tied it up with a bunch of horny ideas about control, and then just let it slowly swell until nobody fits their old clothes anymore. You’re not just clicking through porn scenes here, you’re basically sliding into people’s lives and messing with the one thing they’re trying to keep steady: food, routine, and how much space their bodies are taking up. Girls start out “normal” chubby, then your choices quietly push them toward soft bellies, thicker thighs, boobs pressing against uniforms that really need new sizes. It’s not a sudden cartoon inflation, more like, one more snack, one more late-night delivery, one more “you look fine, trust me”, and you blink and go, ok, she actually grew a lot. The game leans hard into that mix of comfort and shame: they talk about being tired, about stress, about wanting to feel wanted, and you’re there like the little devil on their shoulder, handing them another plate and acting like it’s totally no big deal.

What makes it hit different is how slow and personal it feels. Conversations drag you in, they’re not just “click to fuck”. You’re asking about their day, about work, about why they always order the same greasy thing from that food app even when they swear they’re going to “eat better”. Then, little by little, they start trusting you. Letting you decide what they eat, how much, when they skip the gym. Sometimes it’s honestly sweet: you comfort a stressed girl with a big meal and she melts a bit, leans on you, tummy peeking when she slumps on the couch. Other times it’s darker, like when you nudge someone past the point she’s comfortable with and she still says yes because you’re the one paying attention to her. The control side sneaks in there: you choosing her portions, you telling her she looks beautiful tied to a chair, arms behind her, cheeks full of cake, belly pushing out, and she’s half embarrassed, half turned on. There is a harem structure going on, but it never feels like some clean checklist. It’s messy, like juggling chats, trying not to mix up who likes being praised for getting thicker and who is still pretending this is “temporary stress weight” while you’re literally the one making sure it isn’t. At some point you realize you’re basically running a quiet little cult of comfort eating and pretty captives, and the wild part is how normal it all felt on the way there.

Snow outside, Tifa inside a slime-filled cave getting absolutely ruined by tentacles. That’s kind of the mood here. It feels like someone looked at a cozy winter card, tossed it in the trash and said, “nah, I want that bar girl from Final Fantasy pinned down and used like a fuck toy instead.” You drop in and she’s already nervous as hell, that classic shy stare, body on full alert, trying to cover herself even though it’s way too late for that. The whole thing is set up like some twisted holiday party where you are the only guest and the decorations are fleshy, wet vines wrapping around her arms and under her huge tits. No warm cocoa, only warm slime. Every touch you give her makes the tentacles a bit more greedy, like they’re responding to your mood, and suddenly her breasts are bouncing and squeezed from every side, nipples trapped while she’s stuck in that mix of fear and forced arousal. It’s rough, and the game knows it, it doesn’t try to pretend this is lovey romantic stuff. She doesn’t want this. That’s the point. Her body sells it more than her voice though, those little shakes when you push her legs apart feel dirtier than when the actual penetration starts.

The control part is weirdly satisfying and kind of annoying at the same time. You poke, drag, slide, and she reacts, and sometimes you try to repeat a good move and the game just goes “nah, not now” and you’re sitting there like, ok, I guess I’ll just rub her thigh and hope it counts. There is this moment when the tentacles are busy playing with her boobs, stretching them up and forcing them together until they look like a gift-wrapped pair of stress balls, and you’re shoving into her while she clenches up, eyes wet and furious, and that mix of domination and humiliation suddenly clicks. The facial at the end feels like a ritual, like you’ve been building this one nasty snowflake just to drop it all over her cheeks and lips. Cum dripping down her chin, onto that perfect chest, tentacles still “helping” like overexcited party balloons that don’t know the party is already finished. It’s hot, yeah, but also janky in places, like when the timing on her expressions doesn’t match what you’re doing and she’s moaning at the wrong moment. Still, somehow that rough, almost lazy feel fits the fantasy. Like a dirty seasonal one-shot that lives in your browser history next to WhatsApp Web and Spotify, waiting for that random evening when all you want is to see Tifa forced open by slime and covered in a thick, messy load again, even if you swear each time you’ll try something more wholesome next.