"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Noah Kahan
macklin celebrini has autism
RMH
EXPECTATIONS
Three Goblin Art
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Game of Thrones Daily
★
we're not kids anymore.
untitled
Origami Around
Show & Tell
Mike Driver
h
NASA
Kiana Khansmith
YOU ARE THE REASON
KIROKAZE
Cosimo Galluzzi
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@lililovesfood
It's so sad that there are people who want a fat partner but are settling for a skinny one.
It's so sad that there are people who want a skinny partner but are settling for a fat one.
I truly believe there is someone out there with the body type you're looking for who are looking for the body type you have, but society really fucks that up.
*loses like five pounds*
That's nice. That's beneficial to me because of societal pressures.
*sees one (1) jpeg of a fat girl*
I need to gain that 50 pounds back rn. Was it 50 pounds? It'd be hot if I gained 50 pounds, right? I don't wanna get too skinny! Maybe I should gain 100 just to be sure!
Genuinely what everyday is like in my head it’s torture but like idgaf
6 donuts = 1 donut
Don’t ask me, it’s Feedee Math.
It's getting harder isn't it? It's getting hard to walk up a flight if stairs, fit in your car, finding clothes that actually fits, hell you can even eat normally now it's all super sized now.
Yet you you keep going. Any sane person would stop after hearing their stomach strain as it struggles to digest all the food or if their pants feel snug after just only having them for a week.
Yet you just keep shoveling food down your greedy throat ecstatic at the idea of the scale reading a bigger number. You live for that fullness in your gut. How your slowly outgrowing your wardrobe and for the getting out of breath so quickly? Why worry about when your fridge is stocked and you have a plethora of options to order food online?
Just sit back loosen that belt and ease your mind. Your not going anywhere so might as well make more room in that gut for a second round piggy
why the helly is clippy telling me to gain weight?
cause clippy knows ball
Now eat >:3
Watch as I visibly inflate through one pint, then two, then three and finally four… plus maybe some extra food on top >~<
Just felt so so thirsty today~~
Dms and asks are always open for anything, plus sponsoring a stuffing and getting private content! :)
She didn't think it would go this far. She didn't want it to go this far. And she was afraid it was just going to keep going.
He was just so cute and so sweet and treated her so well, and she always thought of herself as an open minded person. She would try pretty much anything - within reason - at least once, and if it didn't actively turn her off, then she could go with it to make her partner happy as long as there was some reciprocation. And that's just how it started. The typical kink convo when it's starting to look like sex with a person might become a regular thing. She said she was a sub - he said he could tell - she said she liked to be tied up - he was into it. He said he liked bondage - she said hot - he said he was "kinda" into a bit of "food play" - and she said she was intrigued. Not much more was discussed about it. She had done a bit of "food play" before: some whipped cream liked off a hard cock or some honey on nipples. Not her go-to foreplay but not at all objectionable.
So the next time he came over he brought cupcakes. He was always buying her treats, so it wasn't out of the ordinary, but this time he insisted she try one right away, and not only that, but he insisted that he feed it to her. It was cute, she thought, so she obliged. The cupcake was good and it felt very luxurious to be hand fed a sweet like that, but the interesting part was what happened when the last morsel was gently pressed between her lips. He was upon her immediately. His mouth was on hers sucking the smudges of chocolate frosting off her lips. There was a new desperation and eagerness to his kissing and groping that was intoxicating. They moved to the bedroom and his enthusiasm continued, but right before she thought he was going to enter her, he stepped out of the room to grab one of the cupcakes. He climbed back into bed, spread he legs, and slid into her, and that the same moment pressed the cupcake to her lips. She didn't think about it. She let the cake and frosting fill her mouth. He was doing everything else so right, handling her so well. She would have let him do anything to her in that moment, so she let him feed her and ate without thinking.
Before long, that became a regular thing. Not every meet up involved a feeding, but it became an increasingly frequent part of the foreplay and incorparated into the bedroom on a not irregular basis. The sex was always good, but she could tell the difference when she let him feed her. He was always sweet, but she noticed the extra attention after a full meal. He never pressured her to eat, but there was a gentle insistence on getting an extra side or ordering desert. He wasn't disappointed when she said no, but he was very excited when she said yes. So she said yes more and more. The attention from the hot, sweet man was intoxicating, and the food wasn't bad either, but eventually it wasn't about her saying yes or no to his gentle insistence. The relationship with him, the sex, and eating, it all became inmeshed and intertwined. Eating became linked to foreplay. Overeating guaranteed sex - really good sex. Her indulgence pleased him, and when he was pleased, her turn would come.
So she indulged. She let herself indulge. She let herself eat and eat and let him bring her whatever. Let him bring it right up to her lips. Anything and everything, greasy or sweet, homecooked or delivered, and all in increasing quantities. Anything she desired. The hint of the slightest whim would have him leaping up to satisfy her. It was so luxurious and submissive. She didn't know if it stopped being just for him, or if she had been sucked into this kink - this fetish - as well. She didn't know, because she didn't think about it. It never crossed her mind. She was immersed in him, and obsessed with the way he loved her.
What did start to cross her mind was the softening in her waist. The jiggle in her thighs, the cellulite on a widening ass, the roundess developing in her abdomen. It was easy at first to brush off the tightening of her jeans as just a bloat. After all, she was eating a lot more than normal, and a disproportionate amount of that extra food was junk food. It got a lot harder to brush off when the supposed bloat started getting soft and the jeans started to dig into that softer flesh, causing distinctive rolls of fat to form over her waistband. She said she was going to slow down. She would try to skip desert, but then, after an hour of watching TV on the couch after dinner, the cravings would be too much and she would innocently ask if there was any icre cream in the freezer. She knew the answer and what would happen if she asked: a whole pint of ice cream would be emptied and maybe a few cookies too. And then the praise for eating it all.
So she didn't slow down. If anything she continued to grow even faster. The regular over-eating made it so her normal meals needed to increase to keep her satisfied. Then she discovered that if she sent him updates on her eating habits throughout the day, she would get even more praise. Now there was incentive to make every meal, every snack, every treat, an idulgence. For him, of course. If he liked it, then it was worth it. If she liked it too, then it didn't hurt.
Now, a year into the relationship, she had fully given in. The first 20lbs were hard to handle, and 50lbs of fat was a shocking mile stone, but everything after just started to feel normal. Once she accepted she had conclusively become a fat girl, being a fatter girl wasn't enough of a difference to fret over. And she was a fat girl now. A big fat girl: fat ass sunk into the couch, stuffed gut resting on her lap, empty burger wrappers and fry cartons strewn accross the table, waiting for him to arrive with whatever treats he had in store for her and praise her for eating it all like a good girl.
The most beloved and fa(s)test growing game of the 21st century! Easy and fun for all 18+ ages!
How do you play?
It really couldn't get much simpler! Simply draw a card when it's your turn, and experience the effects!
Here, I'll give you an example!
Let's say you drew the card: "Dough Boy: 3 spaces"
Then, within a matter of seconds you should start to notice how snug your clothes feel, you should hear a gurgle like water churning in a plugged hose as your gut grows heavy and your thighs swell. The rumble and strain of your ballooning stomach should keep all eyes on you as you feel your chins double, then triple, before your shirt snaps open at the seams and your fat spills over the sides of your pants. Before long, those should be close to giving up the ghost, and you should be left with a fattened blubber gut that keeps you close to rolling backwards from the insistent nag of gravity!
If you got through all that successfully and didn't give up and call uncle, then you get to move those three spaces forward on the board! (If you can even reach down that far anymore) First one to the end, wins and gets to decide how much of the weight each player gained during the game, they keep!
We've got a wide variety of cards already present in the game, such as variations on water weight, stuffing, bloating, and even blimping!
And our various expansion packs are sure to tickle someone's fancy such as:
Barnyard Blowout! Where you can wind up with anything from leaking udders, to massive shall we say "growth from down under"
Cafe Catastrophe! Where you have to use the small hose included in the box to funnel, filter, or chug commonly loved cafe treats! Treat yourself to 100lbs of pure eclair filling! Or turn yourself into a human water balloon filled with gallons of frappe!
Monster Mayhem! Where you'll find loads of eligible bachelor and bachelorette cards from different monsters, and you'll need to decide which card to choose before using the pump to store their vastly different arrays of baby batter inside you!
Fruit Salad Frenzy! Where you can draw from cards that offer promising new shapes and copious amounts of juice and filling depending on which you get! One of you may have to deal with an ass and thighs that doesn't allow you to fit through doorways if you draw the pear card, and one of you may end up filling up the room with their juicy form if they draw the blueberry card!
Voracious Venture! Where you can experiment and test out how your friends feel writhing around inside you in various different ways and sections! Maybe one of you has an oddly grumbly stomach that just yearns for that delicious form to quell it's hunger after drawing the "Chow-down" card!
There's fun for everyone! Buy now and play with your friends and see how the night ends!
You are my soft dream
Rain tapped softly against the apartment windows while Mara stood in front of the open fridge, staring at the leftovers.
Not because she was hungry.
Not really.
It was habit now.
The cold light spilled across her body, over the soft curve pressing against the waistband of her leggings, over the oversized shirt she’d stolen from Noah months ago and never given back. She barely noticed the way the fabric clung to her anymore.
Behind her, the couch creaked.
“You’re doing the thing again,” Noah said lazily.
Mara rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her mouth. “What thing?”
“The standing-in-front-of-the-fridge-for-ten-minutes thing.”
“I’ve been here thirty seconds.”
“Mm.” He didn’t argue. “So you’re deciding between pasta or ice cream?”
She sighed dramatically.
“That obvious?”
“To me? Yeah.”
For a moment, she just stood there with one hand braced against the fridge door.
Six months ago, that comment would’ve made her defensive immediately. She would’ve laughed too loudly, claimed she’d eaten light all day, promised she was “getting back on track tomorrow.”
Now?
Now she just felt tired.
Tired of pretending she wasn’t hungry all the time.
Tired of squeezing into jeans that left angry marks across her stomach.
Tired of swearing every Monday would somehow be different.
Her fingers drifted unconsciously beneath the hem of the shirt, rubbing at the soft weight of her belly.
Noah noticed.
He always noticed.
“You want me to heat it up?” he asked.
The question settled over the room with dangerous softness.
Not judgmental.
Not mocking.
Normal.
That was the part that had changed her the most.
Not the teasing.
Not the comments.
Not even the weight itself.
It was the way he’d slowly stopped treating this like a temporary phase.
And somehow… so had she.
Mara closed the fridge with a quiet thump.
“Maybe just a little.”
Noah snorted from the couch. “You said that last night.”
“And?”
“And then you ate enough pasta for a family of four.”
Heat crept into her cheeks automatically, but it didn’t sting the way it used to.
She turned toward him with a tired glare instead. “You’re annoying.”
“You still want me to make it?”
A pause.
Then she exhaled through her nose and muttered:
“Please.”
That single word lodged somewhere deep in her chest.
Because it felt honest.
No bargaining.
No pretending.
No performance.
Just relief.
Noah disappeared into the kitchen while Mara lowered herself onto the couch carefully beside the warm indentation he’d left behind. The cushions dipped beneath her more than they used to. She noticed it automatically now. The apartment had become full of tiny adjustments like that.
How she sat.
How she crossed her legs.
How she leaned against counters for support after big meals.
Little accommodations.
Tiny surrenders.
She pulled the blanket over her lap as the microwave hummed.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
A notification from the gym app she still hadn’t deleted.
We miss you, Mara!
She stared at it for a long moment before locking the screen again.
Noah returned carrying a steaming bowl and a fork.
The portion was enormous.
Mara looked up at him flatly. “That’s not ‘a little.’”
He sat beside her again, one arm stretching across the back of the couch.
“You say that every time too.”
She should’ve argued.
Instead, she took the bowl.
The first bite was still too hot, rich and creamy and comforting enough to make her eyes close briefly.
Noah watched the reaction happen.
That quiet little moment of satisfaction.
And God, she hated how seen she felt around him now.
Not because he exposed her.
Because he understood her.
Halfway through the bowl, her shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing the underside of her stomach where it rested heavily against her thighs.
Months ago she would’ve yanked the fabric down instantly.
Now she just kept eating.
Noah’s hand settled there absentmindedly, warm and heavy.
Mara froze for barely a second before relaxing again.
The touch felt familiar now.
Dangerously familiar.
“You’re staring,” she muttered.
“I’m appreciating.”
She snorted softly, but her fork slowed.
His thumb rubbed once against the curve of her stomach.
Not grabbing.
Not pushing.
Just feeling.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you don’t fight me anymore.”
Mara stared down into the bowl.
Rain whispered against the windows.
“I think,” she admitted slowly, “I got tired of fighting myself first.”
Silence.
Then Noah leaned closer against her side, warm and solid.
And for the first time in months, Mara didn’t feel guilt twisting beneath her ribs as she finished every last bite.
*
Saturday afternoons at the grocery store had become strategic.
Loose shirt.
Black leggings.
Long cardigan.
Layers.
Mara used to dress carefully because she liked fashion.
Now she dressed carefully because she was hiding.
Or trying to.
The cart rolled slowly beside her while Noah tossed things into it with casual confidence—frozen pizza, chips, fresh bread, two cartons of ice cream.
Mara watched another package of pastries disappear into the cart.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“I literally won’t.”
“You literally will.”
She tried not to smile.
The bakery section smelled warm and sweet, thick with butter and sugar, and she already felt too warm beneath her cardigan. The grocery trip had only lasted twenty minutes, but her cheeks were flushed, her thighs rubbed together with every step, and a dull tightness pressed across the front of her leggings whenever she bent the wrong way.
She knew these leggings were pushing their luck.
She’d known while putting them on.
But the larger pair was in the laundry.
And she refused to buy another size up.
Not yet.
Noah reached past her for a loaf of bread, his hand brushing lightly against her waist as he did.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
A lie.
The waistband was digging mercilessly into the underside of her stomach now, compressing soft flesh upward beneath her shirt. Every breath made her aware of it.
Still, she ignored it.
That had become another habit too.
Ignore.
Adjust.
Keep moving.
At the end of the aisle, Mara crouched to grab a case of soda from the lower shelf.
The movement immediately pulled the fabric taut across her hips and thighs.
Too taut.
Her stomach compressed painfully against her lap.
And then—
rrrip.
Small.
Quiet.
But unmistakable.
Mara froze.
For one horrible second, she stayed crouched there, staring straight ahead while heat flooded violently into her face.
Noah stopped beside the cart.
“Mara?”
She swallowed hard.
“Oh my God.”
His expression changed instantly.
Not cruel.
Not even surprised.
Just immediate understanding.
“Mara,” he said carefully, “stand up.”
“I don’t want to.”
That made him bite back a smile, which only worsened her humiliation.
A couple passed nearby with a cart.
Mara stayed perfectly still until they disappeared around the corner.
Then, slowly—painfully—she stood.
The split ran along the upper inner seam of her leggings, stretched thin from months of denial and one too many “they still technically fit” arguments in the mirror.
Mara grabbed the hem of her cardigan instantly, yanking it downward.
“Oh my God,” she whispered again, horrified.
Noah looked at her for exactly one second before looking away politely.
That somehow made it worse.
“You were right,” he said mildly.
“I know I was right.”
“No, don’t do that,” she muttered miserably. “Don’t be nice about it.”
His mouth twitched.
“I’m trying very hard.”
She covered her face briefly.
The humiliation burned hot beneath her skin—not just because it happened, but because some awful part of her had known this was coming eventually.
Too many mornings sucking in her stomach to pull these on.
Too many waistbands leaving deep red grooves.
Too many quiet little warnings ignored.
Noah stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“Can you walk okay?”
“Yes.”
“Mara.”
“Yes,” she snapped softly. “I can walk. They’re not exploding off my body.”
His eyes flicked downward involuntarily.
That tiny glance nearly killed her.
Because there was no shock in it anymore.
Just confirmation.
His hand settled gently at the small of her back as they started toward the front of the store.
Protective.
Guiding.
Familiar.
Mara kept tugging the cardigan lower every few steps, face burning whenever anyone walked past them.
“Noah,” she whispered tightly after a moment.
“Mm?”
“I think this is officially the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“No,” he said calmly. “The worst thing would’ve been if you wore the jeans.”
Despite herself, a broken laugh escaped her.
“Noah.”
“I’m serious. We’d be calling emergency services.”
She shoved weakly at his arm, mortified and laughing at the same time.
And that was the dangerous thing about him.
Even now—even standing in a grocery store with split leggings and humiliation clawing up her throat—he made her feel safe enough to survive it.
That comfort settled heavily in her chest.
Because deep down, Mara knew what this moment really meant.
Not that her clothes didn’t fit anymore.
That she’d reached the point where both of them had expected it eventually.
*
The apartment was quiet except for the soft clink of takeout containers settling onto the coffee table.
Rain again.
It always seemed to rain lately.
Mara sat curled into the corner of the couch in one of Noah’s shirts and a pair of thin sleep shorts that pressed tightly into the tops of her thighs. The fabric had ridden up gradually over the evening, exposing more and more soft skin, but she’d stopped fussing with it an hour ago.
The grocery store humiliation still lingered faintly in her chest.
Not sharp anymore.
Just warm.
Heavy.
Noah dropped onto the couch beside her with a tired sigh, one arm immediately settling behind her shoulders.
“You survived,” he said.
“I barely survived.”
“You laughed.”
“That was trauma laughter.”
He grinned.
Mara tried to glare at him, but her expression melted halfway there.
Dinner sat half-finished between them. She was already full in the deep, aching way she’d once hated—stomach heavy, body warm, limbs sluggish with satisfaction.
Now the feeling just made her sink deeper into the couch.
Noah’s hand drifted absently down her side while they watched television neither of them were paying attention to.
His palm paused at her waist.
Then lower.
Resting fully against the curve of her stomach.
Mara inhaled quietly.
Even after all these months, that still did something to her.
Not shock.
Not embarrassment.
Something softer.
His hand fit there too naturally now.
The weight of it spread beneath his touch, soft and warm through the thin cotton of the shirt. His thumb moved once, slowly, feeling the shape of her.
Not hiding anymore.
Not sucking in.
Just her.
“You know what I realized today?” Noah murmured.
Mara eyed him suspiciously. “That I should never squat in public again?”
“That too.”
She groaned and covered her face.
But his hand stayed where it was, grounding her.
“I realized,” he continued quietly, “you stopped disappearing.”
Her hands lowered slowly.
“What?”
“You used to spend half your life trying to make yourself smaller around me.”
Mara looked away instinctively.
Because he was right.
Always tugging shirts downward.
Crossing her arms over her stomach.
Turning off lights while changing.
Apologizing for every bite she ate.
Noah shifted closer beside her.
“And now,” he said softly, “you actually let me look at you.”
The room suddenly felt very warm.
Mara swallowed.
“I don’t know when that changed.”
“I do.”
His fingers spread gently across her middle, palm curving over the fullness there like something precious.
“It changed when you realized I wasn’t waiting for you to become someone else.”
The words hit harder than she expected.
Months ago she would’ve deflected immediately with sarcasm or embarrassment.
Tonight she just sat there breathing quietly while his hand rested on her body.
Present.
Certain.
Adoring.
Noah leaned forward slightly, pressing a slow kiss against the soft slope of her shoulder where the oversized collar had slipped loose.
Then another near her neck.
Unhurried.
Mara’s eyes fluttered shut.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured.
The statement should’ve conflicted with everything she saw in the mirror lately.
The stretch marks.
The softness.
The body that had slowly outgrown denial, then resistance, then old versions of itself entirely.
Instead, exhaustion loosened something inside her.
Because he touched her like none of those things were flaws to work around.
His hand moved slowly over her stomach, appreciating the shape of it openly now, reverently almost, and Mara felt heat bloom across her skin.
Not humiliation this time.
Exposure.
Acceptance.
She leaned back against him with a shaky breath, letting her body settle fully into the couch cushions and into his touch with all its weight.
No hiding.
No strategic posture.
No careful angles.
Just softness.
Noah kissed her temple.
“You know what your problem is?” he asked quietly.
Mara huffed a laugh. “There are so many options.”
“You still think I’m teasing you because I enjoy embarrassing you.”
She tilted her head slightly toward him.
“Aren’t you?”
“A little,” he admitted easily. “But mostly I tease you because you still don’t understand what I see.”
His hand pressed gently against her stomach again, slow and warm and deliberate enough to make her cheeks flush.
“Mara,” he said softly, “I love this.”
The simplicity of it undid her more than anything dramatic could have.
Not obsession.
Not mockery.
Not fetishized hunger.
Just certainty.
She looked down at herself then—the heavy softness beneath Noah’s hand, the way her thighs spread against the couch cushion, the body she had spent so long fighting.
And for the first time, the sight didn’t fill her with panic.
Only a strange, aching vulnerability.
Noah pulled her closer against his chest as rain whispered against the windows again.
The takeout containers sat forgotten on the table.
The television glowed softly in the dark.
His hand remained warm over her stomach.
And Mara realized, with a quiet kind of surrender, that this had stopped feeling temporary a very long time ago.
it is your moral imperative to make her fatter than she thought she could get. it HAS to be at least a little scary for her.
so i ended up having a new fantasy the other night. i think contrast is super hot and i'm not exactly slim irl, so i ended up thinking about a scenario where i'd get fit and slim down, and my fat partner promised to gain another pound for every one that i lost to motivate me
only they were so reluctant about it. we compromised and agreed to do it for a while, because they didn't really want to gain more, but there's only so much weight i could ultimately lose, and maybe they thought i wouldn't stick to it for very long, so it would be fine
and so for weeks they were huffing and puffing about the extra food they had to eat to 'match' my weight loss, generally complaining, but going along with it because we'd agreed and because i was seeing results
but then things took a turn. at first they'd be disappointed when i said i hadn't lost anything that week - they told me it was just because they were rooting for me to meet my goals, and obviously it wasn't anything to do with the fact they didn't get any extra treats this week, not at all
but then it kept happening. as time went on i noticed that despite my weight loss plateauing, their weight just kept creeping up. their clothes grew tighter. their belly grew bigger. i'd find them sneaking extra servings, or raiding the fridge at night - always covered by a guilty excuse
they denied it as they outgrew their clothes - and then they outgrew them again. i'd find fast food containers all over their car, little snacks all over the house, another takeaway wrapper shoved deep inside the trash, and i'd not say anything. they stopped going out as much, and stuffed themselves more, slowly filling out the full width of the couch. their clothes didn't fit any more, but they kept wearing them, skin-tight and bulging with plumes of new fat, spilling over every seam
and one day i came back from a run to find them on the couch, stuffed to the brim, trying to hide their empty wrappers beneath their growing belly
god it was so hot. they never meant to do this, they never thought they wanted it, but every attempt to remind them that they didn't need to gain any more, that i'd reached my ideal weight, seemed to fall on deaf ears, deep in denial - and still, they continued to pile on the pounds, filling their body to the brim, belly swelling with their greed and every limb dripping with soft, heavy fat
until one day i innocently asked if they wanted to join me for a walk. they looked up from their trough, fat fingers deep in a bowl of chocolates, and looked at the door
i ask them what's the matter, and they hastily say it's nothing, they just don't fancy a walk. but we both know it's not true. the furthest they've walked over the past few months is from the bed to the fridge, and you can barely call it a walk any more, but a slow, wobbling, cumbersome waddle, punctuated by gasps for breath - so most of the time, i do everything for them
i press them to join me, and they avert their eyes
"what's the matter?"
they look up from their gelatinous body to the door again, because we both know. we can both see it.
they were so convinced that they didn't want this. so deep in denial that they hardly noticed it happening - but now, there's nowhere left to hide
they're too fat to leave. they can't even fit through the door
Gone
Where do you think it all went?
All those snacks, those sweets, the leftovers, the second helpings. All gone, aren't they?
It's never any one thing you choose to eat, it's that you eat everything now.
There's never enough for you. There's no planning, or portions. There's just the constant deliveries of food, whatever you've got in front of you, and whatever you're dreaming about eating next.
Your body used to have definition, but that's gone too, isn't it?
Round curves and folds replacing every inch where muscle and tone used to be, soft and swollen and stretched from your chins to your chest to your thighs. Fat bulging and hanging and folding onto itself, your body struggling to find enough places to keep all the extra weight.
Did you notice that your lap is gone?
Before all of this belly started to push its way across your thighs, swallowing up the space in front of you with this heavy, constant reminder of your gain, you used to have this whole void in front of you, just waiting to be filled.
Where did your manners disappear to?
It's never long into a meal before you've tugged that tight shirt up over your belly to rub. You're past taking small polite bites when you eat, it's huge mouthfuls and food-stifled groans as you force in bite after bite. It's deep burps and heavy breathing, it's crumbs on your chest and smears of whatever you've eaten last on your lips.
Your self-control is totally gone, isn't it?
There's no temptation, or hesitation, or concern about your weight. You eat what you want, order what you want, and watch the pounds pile on, feel your body sink into the weight of the gain. It's not an accident at this point, you're chasing the feeling of being stuffed, desperate to grow softer and fatter.
There were points you thought you'd cut back. You were certain you'd feel big enough at the next milestone, didn't you? That the looks you'd get and comments you'd endure would force some reason back into your habits.
But that version of you is gone now.
You've crushed it under your heft, forced it away bite by bite, stuffing by stuffing, pound by pound.
All that's left is this insatiable glutton you've unleashed, and look just how enormous it's making you.
Keep gaining, keep eating. Let's see what's going to be gone next.
3XL
You place your generous slice of cheesecake and a bottle of soda on your bed as you rolled your eyes, looking at the 3xl shirt your aunt bought you for your birthday.
“This shit looks like a blanket.” You scoff, holding it up to reveal its width.
She’s a “you’ll grow into it” type of person, so everyone in the family got their share of huge shirts that they’d end up just sleeping in. But with you it was different.
You’ve always been the chubby one growing up. So obviously, while everyone got sized up by one or two, yours were at least 3 sizes above what she thought you were. And as you got bigger, so did the shirts.
They always ended up fitting loosely, but it still did something to you.
You push these thoughts to the back of your mind and took a bite of the cake. You lick your fingers before deciding to try the shirt on.
You throw it over your head and to your surprise, it was a struggle to get it over your head. But, you don’t think much of it since everyone says you have a big head.
You get confused though, when the fabric felt tight around your upper arm. You force your other arm in and felt the familiar tightness then hear a creak.
You frown a little, feeling some worry. But you convince yourself that this certain brand of T-shirts had small sleeves. Duh. It happens all the time.
You successfully pull it over your boobs, even though it drags a little over your nipples.
It’s usually at this point when the shirt would fall over your stomach to your upper thigh…
But it didn’t this time.
This time it stops right by your belly button before you had to physically pull it down. This time you can see the imprint of your stomach and feel the fabric against your stomach…
And back rolls…
And you can feel the sleeve cutting into your fat arms.
You look at the mirror with your mouth agape, seeing the way the fabric clings to your body was alarming, but exciting?
“Oh my gosh.” You gasp, realizing that a 3xl shirt not only fit you, but was a bit tight. “When did I get this fat?”
Dear Lord,
May this toxic kinda love find me.
Your favourite Sinner x
More than Enough — Part 1 ⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹
roommate fantasy ~ accidental quarantine weight gain / enabling, feedism, encouragement, etc. — more info here
She started to notice just a week or two into quarantine that Dylan’s appetite had increased.
The kitchen trash can became an evidence locker: grease-stained paper bags, empty pints of ice cream, candy wrappers, soda cans, empty boxes of cookies.
About a month in, it started to show. The month of sedentary living, of sitting around and eating all day had left its mark: his jawline had slightly softened, his stomach just slightly pushed against some of his tighter shirts.
Anna stared at the door ahead of her. Why am I nervous?
They had been living together for four months, yet they still barely knew each other. Now that Leah’s gone, though, I should probably make an effort to get to know him.
When their mutual friend had moved out, she had encouraged Anna to talk to him. She had assured her that Dylan was cool, but he had mostly stayed in his room and kept to himself. He didn’t exactly give her very many opportunities to bond with him. Even before quarantine, he mostly just left his room for work or the occasional trip to the gym or to see friends. But going on 4 weeks without Leah, Anna was getting pretty desperate. Also, he was kind of cute — part of the reason she was nervous, she guessed.
Whatever. It’s fine. She quieted her nerves and knocked on his bedroom door.
He greeted her with wide eyes and tousled hair, looking surprised — as if it could be anyone else. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”
“Not too much. I was thinking of ordering Domino’s. Would you want some?”
He hesitated, glanced behind himself quickly, embarrassed. “Uh, sure. Yeah, I’ll have some.”
“Okay, sick. I’ll order now.” She pretended not to notice the redness in his cheeks, or the paper bag and half-eaten burger sitting in front of his chair.
• • • • •
“Pizza’s here,” she called in the direction of his room about half an hour later. He emerged a few seconds later and sat down in the seat across from her. She opened the box of pepperoni and took a slice. “I got pepperoni and a meatzza, I hope that’s okay with you.”
“Both great choices. The meatzza is my favorite.” Dylan smiled at her and grabbed two slices from the other box.
They made casual, only slightly awkward conversation for a few minutes before it fell quiet.
“Thank you, by the way.”
He looked up mid-bite. “For what?”
Anna gestured in front of herself. “Helping me with this. There’s no way I could’ve eaten it all myself.”
“Oh, no problem,” he laughed, somewhat sheepishly. “Anytime.”
He started slowing down halfway through his third slice, but he kept going through the fourth and into the fifth before stopping. “Oh shit, I ate like almost this whole thing.” He flushed bright pink at the realization. Anna peeked over at the box across the table. “Shit. I’m sorry. Did you want to save some?”
She laughed, and he relaxed a bit. “No, that's good, actually. I don’t want leftovers. You can eat the whole thing.”
“Really??” He asked around another mouthful.
“Yeah. Honestly, I kind of just want to get rid of it.” She pushed the box of pepperoni towards him. She had only eaten one full slice; another sat in front of her, untouched. “You can have this too; I’m not gonna eat it.”
“What the fuck?” He laughed. “Why did you get so much food if you weren’t gonna eat it? Not that I’m complaining, it just seems like poor planning on your part.”
She gave him a half-smile. “I got the $20 deal. I used to get it all the time in college; my friends and I would all split it. I was craving it, and I figured you could help me with it. I already have plans for dinner tomorrow, so I don’t want to have to worry about leftovers.” And I knew you could handle it.
“This is a lot of fucking food, Anna. I definitely can’t eat it all right now.” A pause. “I would if I could, though.”
“Hmm,” Anna frowned slightly. She picked a piece of pepperoni off the slice in front of her, popped it in her mouth, and considered it for a second. “You should take an edible or something.”
He grinned. “I like the way you think. I have some, actually.” He left, then returned with two 15mg gummies from his room and offered one to her.
“No thanks.”
“Aw, c’mon, you’re not gonna help me out?” He teased, then popped both in his mouth. “Well, I’ll do my best to help you anyway, once this kicks in. And I can take a box back to my room later, too, so either way it will be out of your hands.”
Anna was pretending to check her text messages when he started eating again. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he dug into the food in front of him with renewed vigor. He ate the 6th meatzza slice first, then two slices of pepperoni. All three were gone in less than 4 minutes. He paused, resting one of his hands on his stomach as if he were stuffed. Hell, he probably is, Anna thought back to the smell of burgers that had wafted under her door a few hours ago.
“Oh shit, I almost forgot.” As she stood up, Anna caught a glimpse of Dylan’s middle. His gut was round and bloated; it pressed against his shirt a little harder than usual. At least one burger earlier and a whole pizza now. He is a pig. She felt butterflies in her lower stomach as her suspicions were confirmed. She had to pry her eyes away from his right hand as it rubbed slow, lazy, absentminded circles around his protruding stomach.
As she crossed the room, he let out a soft, barely audible half-moan that nearly stopped her in her tracks. Fuck. Wetness soaked through her underpants as she walked back towards him. She tried to ignore it. “Uhh, I forgot about this. It came with these parmesan bites and cinnamon twists.” She put them down between them. He looked back at her with dazed, glassy eyes. “You don’t have to eat all of them, though. I want some too.” She passed him a cup of icing and dug in, again watching him out of the corner of her eye. He covered each twist with as much icing as he could fit on it, and closed his eyes when he pushed each one into his mouth. Anna silently praised herself for thinking to get two cups of icing.
The next time she looked up, he was dipping a parmesan bite into the icing. “Eww, what are you doing?” She giggled.
He looked back up at her with those dazed eyes again, this time tinged with a bit of something like embarrassment. “Anna. I am. so fried. And so hungry.” He turned back to his food. “Sorry.”
She slid him her cup of icing, still mostly full. “It’s okay, I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He hummed something in response.
She watched him more openly now. He is acting like such a pig. And he’s so unashamed. She felt another rush of heat between her legs. What the fuck is going on?
• • • • •
Anna stood in the kitchen the next afternoon.
There had been no wrappers, no “evidence” in the trash can that morning. I guess he didn’t need it. I guess I fed him well enough last night. She stopped herself. She thought of his glazed eyes, the way he absentmindedly rubbed his bloated gut. That moan. And the wetness in her pants.
A bitter taste filled her mouth with the realization that she had taken advantage of him. That was kind of fucked up. — He liked it, though. He wanted it. No, that’s still fucked. I shouldn’t be thinking like that. That’s fucked, I’m not gonna —
“Hey,” a rough voice sounded from behind her. Dylan stood there, wearing one of his tighter-fitting shirts, though, Anna noted, it seemed to hug him a little tighter than it had the day before. She scolded herself for the brief feeling of triumph at the sight.
“Oh, hey. How’d you sleep?”
“I slept well.”
“Food coma?” She joked.
He winced a bit, and his face flushed a deep shade of pink before he responded. “Yeah. Listen, I want to apologize for last night. I got way more fried off those edibles than I thought I would, and I was on a different planet. That was really embarrassing.”
“It’s alright, I get it. Having good food when you’re properly fried is like. An orgasmic experience.”
“Yeah,” his shoulders relaxed a bit. “What are you making?”
“Oh, I’m making some mac and cheese. Do you want some when I’m done? Although I have to warn you that it won’t be nearly as much food as you got last night. I’m not that generous every day.”
“That’s a good thing. I ate way too much last night.”
…and the night before that, and the night before that. Anna eyed his soft pudge. Fuck, why is that kind of hot?
“Seriously, though, I can’t make that a habit. If I ate like that all the time, I’d be 200lbs within the month.”
They both laughed.
A McDonald’s bag, an empty box of Oreos, and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s greeted Anna from the trash can the next morning.
SEND IT TO ME RACHEL, SEND IT TO ME RACHELLL (genuinely my favorite piece of feedism literature in a hot minute. I have so much excitement for this series. Love everything about it ❤️)
More than Enough — Part 1 ⋆˙⟡ ⋆.˚ ⊹
roommate fantasy ~ accidental quarantine weight gain / enabling, feedism, encouragement, etc. — more info here
She started to notice just a week or two into quarantine that Dylan’s appetite had increased.
The kitchen trash can became an evidence locker: grease-stained paper bags, empty pints of ice cream, candy wrappers, soda cans, empty boxes of cookies.
About a month in, it started to show. The month of sedentary living, of sitting around and eating all day had left its mark: his jawline had slightly softened, his stomach just slightly pushed against some of his tighter shirts.
Anna stared at the door ahead of her. Why am I nervous?
They had been living together for four months, yet they still barely knew each other. Now that Leah’s gone, though, I should probably make an effort to get to know him.
When their mutual friend had moved out, she had encouraged Anna to talk to him. She had assured her that Dylan was cool, but he had mostly stayed in his room and kept to himself. He didn’t exactly give her very many opportunities to bond with him. Even before quarantine, he mostly just left his room for work or the occasional trip to the gym or to see friends. But going on 4 weeks without Leah, Anna was getting pretty desperate. Also, he was kind of cute — part of the reason she was nervous, she guessed.
Whatever. It’s fine. She quieted her nerves and knocked on his bedroom door.
He greeted her with wide eyes and tousled hair, looking surprised — as if it could be anyone else. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”
“Not too much. I was thinking of ordering Domino’s. Would you want some?”
He hesitated, glanced behind himself quickly, embarrassed. “Uh, sure. Yeah, I’ll have some.”
“Okay, sick. I’ll order now.” She pretended not to notice the redness in his cheeks, or the paper bag and half-eaten burger sitting in front of his chair.
• • • • •
“Pizza’s here,” she called in the direction of his room about half an hour later. He emerged a few seconds later and sat down in the seat across from her. She opened the box of pepperoni and took a slice. “I got pepperoni and a meatzza, I hope that’s okay with you.”
“Both great choices. The meatzza is my favorite.” Dylan smiled at her and grabbed two slices from the other box.
They made casual, only slightly awkward conversation for a few minutes before it fell quiet.
“Thank you, by the way.”
He looked up mid-bite. “For what?”
Anna gestured in front of herself. “Helping me with this. There’s no way I could’ve eaten it all myself.”
“Oh, no problem,” he laughed, somewhat sheepishly. “Anytime.”
He started slowing down halfway through his third slice, but he kept going through the fourth and into the fifth before stopping. “Oh shit, I ate like almost this whole thing.” He flushed bright pink at the realization. Anna peeked over at the box across the table. “Shit. I’m sorry. Did you want to save some?”
She laughed, and he relaxed a bit. “No, that's good, actually. I don’t want leftovers. You can eat the whole thing.”
“Really??” He asked around another mouthful.
“Yeah. Honestly, I kind of just want to get rid of it.” She pushed the box of pepperoni towards him. She had only eaten one full slice; another sat in front of her, untouched. “You can have this too; I’m not gonna eat it.”
“What the fuck?” He laughed. “Why did you get so much food if you weren’t gonna eat it? Not that I’m complaining, it just seems like poor planning on your part.”
She gave him a half-smile. “I got the $20 deal. I used to get it all the time in college; my friends and I would all split it. I was craving it, and I figured you could help me with it. I already have plans for dinner tomorrow, so I don’t want to have to worry about leftovers.” And I knew you could handle it.
“This is a lot of fucking food, Anna. I definitely can’t eat it all right now.” A pause. “I would if I could, though.”
“Hmm,” Anna frowned slightly. She picked a piece of pepperoni off the slice in front of her, popped it in her mouth, and considered it for a second. “You should take an edible or something.”
He grinned. “I like the way you think. I have some, actually.” He left, then returned with two 15mg gummies from his room and offered one to her.
“No thanks.”
“Aw, c’mon, you’re not gonna help me out?” He teased, then popped both in his mouth. “Well, I’ll do my best to help you anyway, once this kicks in. And I can take a box back to my room later, too, so either way it will be out of your hands.”
Anna was pretending to check her text messages when he started eating again. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he dug into the food in front of him with renewed vigor. He ate the 6th meatzza slice first, then two slices of pepperoni. All three were gone in less than 4 minutes. He paused, resting one of his hands on his stomach as if he were stuffed. Hell, he probably is, Anna thought back to the smell of burgers that had wafted under her door a few hours ago.
“Oh shit, I almost forgot.” As she stood up, Anna caught a glimpse of Dylan’s middle. His gut was round and bloated; it pressed against his shirt a little harder than usual. At least one burger earlier and a whole pizza now. He is a pig. She felt butterflies in her lower stomach as her suspicions were confirmed. She had to pry her eyes away from his right hand as it rubbed slow, lazy, absentminded circles around his protruding stomach.
As she crossed the room, he let out a soft, barely audible half-moan that nearly stopped her in her tracks. Fuck. Wetness soaked through her underpants as she walked back towards him. She tried to ignore it. “Uhh, I forgot about this. It came with these parmesan bites and cinnamon twists.” She put them down between them. He looked back at her with dazed, glassy eyes. “You don’t have to eat all of them, though. I want some too.” She passed him a cup of icing and dug in, again watching him out of the corner of her eye. He covered each twist with as much icing as he could fit on it, and closed his eyes when he pushed each one into his mouth. Anna silently praised herself for thinking to get two cups of icing.
The next time she looked up, he was dipping a parmesan bite into the icing. “Eww, what are you doing?” She giggled.
He looked back up at her with those dazed eyes again, this time tinged with a bit of something like embarrassment. “Anna. I am. so fried. And so hungry.” He turned back to his food. “Sorry.”
She slid him her cup of icing, still mostly full. “It’s okay, I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He hummed something in response.
She watched him more openly now. He is acting like such a pig. And he’s so unashamed. She felt another rush of heat between her legs. What the fuck is going on?
• • • • •
Anna stood in the kitchen the next afternoon.
There had been no wrappers, no “evidence” in the trash can that morning. I guess he didn’t need it. I guess I fed him well enough last night. She stopped herself. She thought of his glazed eyes, the way he absentmindedly rubbed his bloated gut. That moan. And the wetness in her pants.
A bitter taste filled her mouth with the realization that she had taken advantage of him. That was kind of fucked up. — He liked it, though. He wanted it. No, that’s still fucked. I shouldn’t be thinking like that. That’s fucked, I’m not gonna —
“Hey,” a rough voice sounded from behind her. Dylan stood there, wearing one of his tighter-fitting shirts, though, Anna noted, it seemed to hug him a little tighter than it had the day before. She scolded herself for the brief feeling of triumph at the sight.
“Oh, hey. How’d you sleep?”
“I slept well.”
“Food coma?” She joked.
He winced a bit, and his face flushed a deep shade of pink before he responded. “Yeah. Listen, I want to apologize for last night. I got way more fried off those edibles than I thought I would, and I was on a different planet. That was really embarrassing.”
“It’s alright, I get it. Having good food when you’re properly fried is like. An orgasmic experience.”
“Yeah,” his shoulders relaxed a bit. “What are you making?”
“Oh, I’m making some mac and cheese. Do you want some when I’m done? Although I have to warn you that it won’t be nearly as much food as you got last night. I’m not that generous every day.”
“That’s a good thing. I ate way too much last night.”
…and the night before that, and the night before that. Anna eyed his soft pudge. Fuck, why is that kind of hot?
“Seriously, though, I can’t make that a habit. If I ate like that all the time, I’d be 200lbs within the month.”
They both laughed.
A McDonald’s bag, an empty box of Oreos, and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s greeted Anna from the trash can the next morning.
