Late entry for the 3rd kinktober prompt After Hours, a sneak peek of the intro to this fic, still coming soon :3
1,700 words, so beware clicking the read more haha
A rush of biting winter air stung Cam’s cheeks as he exited the venue, sidestepping the slick ice patches frozen over the concrete steps.
He looked over his shoulder just in time to see one of his friends sneak a last wave goodbye from the merch line. Cam raised his hand to wave back, but the entrance door had already swung shut. With a quick tug at the bottom hem of his shirt to make sure his whole belly was covered, Cam continued down the street, leaving his friends to their overpriced $25 T-shirts. He hadn't been able to buy merch at a show in– probably over six months now, so Cam didn't have much of a reason to hang around after the headliner anymore, and anyway, he wanted to go straight home tonight.
He was trying to keep his pace up as he walked, too, though not because of the cold. The wind was pretty freezing, but it was a welcome change after the stuffy heat of the venue, and the chill wasn’t settling into his bones – which was lucky because Cam couldn’t zipper his hoodie jacket anymore without looking like a ridiculous overstuffed burrito.
He took his cell phone from his jeans pocket and flipped it open to reread the text Syd sent him between the third band and the headliner.
Hey there, pretty boy. Ready for your weigh-in tonight? Ollie and I have something special planned for when you come home, so don’t stay out too late after the show <3 Have lots of fun and I’ll see you soon xxXD
His stomach swooped reading it back again. Cam had already guessed tonight would probably involve a little stuffing, but ‘something special’ meant more than just baking a sheet of cookies or ordering an extra takeout entree or two.
It was a special night, though. Their feeder friend, Oliver, had finally gotten back from a ten-week gig as a roadie a few days ago, and since that lined up pretty well with today marking two months since Cam had officially moved in with Syd, they’d decided to hold off checking Cam’s weight until the two-month mark to make it a bit of an occasion.
So tonight was the night the three of them would finally get to see just how much of an impact Syd had made on Cam’s waistline.
And if the wave of relief Cam felt at the sight of a crosswalk to pause at on the corner was anything to go by, he was pretty sure that impact was a sizable one. He'd only reached the end of the first block from the venue, and Cam was already out of breath, his bangs sticking to the sweat beading on his forehead despite the temperature. Not that he’d been athletic really at any point in his life, but Cam’s body had been having trouble keeping up with how fast he’d been gaining weight around the time he started getting up past 320 or so pounds, and that was before he moved in with his feeder.
As he waited for the lights to change, Cam took the opportunity to turn his cell phone around to take a picture with his phone camera to check if any of his eyeliner had smudged while he’d been having fun at the show.
He’d put a little more effort into his appearance for tonight’s date: hair straightened, nails freshly painted with a coat of black polish, and a double-belt statement for embellishment: one white to actually hold up the skinny jeans that were getting a little too skinny on him, and one studded, slung lopsidedly around his hips. He’d even changed his snakebites from studs to rings, because Oliver liked to bite them when they made out.
But Cam wasn’t noticing any of that when he looked at the selfie he’d just taken.
He couldn’t stop staring at his double chin. It was only a crappy cell phone picture, so it was pretty grainy and dark, but under the streetlights, a defined shadow formed just under his chin where the fat neck roll began, and there was now a solid crease halfway down his neck where the roll ended. Cam didn’t just have a soft jawline anymore that doubled up when he was relaxed or looking down. It was a full-on, full-time double chin.
Trying not to smile while he was just standing alone on a street corner looking at a photo of himself, Cam pocketed his phone again. It was hard not to, though. Admittedly, he was already still adjusting to how round his face was getting lately, but the fact that he had new weight to get used to before he was even used to the weight he'd just put on was… it just scratched an itch he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to reach in his real life. Except for periods of regains, Cam had never gained this much, this fast before, and it felt like he was living out his favorite gainer fic fantasies – ones that would sound like gainers' exaggerated claims he'd give the side-eye online if they weren't happening to him firsthand. He'd been pushing into new territory for months, but this new crease below that pudgy roll felt like one step into an entirely new level of fat.
He realized the pedestrian sign had turned green and crossed as quickly as he could manage while carrying his heavy, cumbersome bulk with thighs that rubbed and fought for space against each other. Cam was looking forward to sitting once he made it to the bus shelter, but no luck – he had to rush again as the bus pulled up to the stop while Cam was still several yards away. And to top it all off, while he sat there trying to even his breathing again after all the exertion, the dividing line between the two bus seats dug into his back and thigh, making Cam keenly aware that he was majorly spilling over into the second seat.
This whole evening seemed intent on reminding Cam at every possible opportunity exactly how fat he was getting. It wasn’t even just the anticipation of tonight’s celebration that had his weight on his mind: it was like Cam had crossed some threshold in only the past few days, and it was becoming impossible to ignore how much bigger and heavier he was than he had been used to.
He wondered how it would look to Oliver. Cam and Syd had been there to see the gradual changes over the past two months, but Oliver had still been getting used to Cam surpassing 330 pounds before he’d left. Cam wished he could see himself through Oliver’s eyes when they finally saw each other again after all these weeks. Would the difference look as dramatic as it felt living in a body that was changing faster than he could keep up?
Cam had enjoyed waiting to check his weight, but suddenly he was dying to see how far over 335 Syd had pushed him. He sighed and resigned himself to watching the lights and storefronts go by out the window until they arrived at his stop.
Luckily, it was only a few minutes’ walk from the bus stop home. He treaded carefully over a few unavoidable patches of ice, expertly shifting his weight so he wouldn’t slip, and crunched over the salt dumped all down the sidewalk – which he’d have to scrub out of the canvas of his Vans later, great – and then the next time he looked up, Oliver was there, walking toward him from the opposite direction with a cardboard tray of drinks in his arms.
Both of them grinned when they saw each other.
For his part, Oliver looked as unchanged as the day Syd had introduced them. As far as Cam could tell, Oliver owned three T-shirts, and today was the Metallica one with a big orange flaming skull across the chest, under a worn black denim jacket. His long, dark brown hair curled into messy waves as it passed his shoulders, and as they drew up to each other, there was that dimple of his that appeared whenever he smiled, meaning you’d hardly ever catch his left cheek without it.
“Cameron!” Oliver called as they drew up to each other. Cam had to admit he’d missed that fresh-faced kid and the smile that lit up his big, grey eyes. Oliver shifted the drinks to one hand and pulled Cam into a one-armed hug before stepping back for a long once-over look. “Man, you look huge! Holy crap.”
Cam looked down at himself, at the big belly protruding from between the unzipped sides of his jacket, and… not much else, because his stomach obscured his view of everything below his bellybutton. He touched a hand to the top of his belly to try to really get it in his mind how big he was now. Cam flicked his bangs out of his eyes as he looked at Oliver again. “Yeah. It feels like 'holy crap,' too. Syd’s been working pretty hard. Are those shakes?”
“They are! Gelato shakes. Small for me, large for Syd, and you know I had to get an extra large for you.” Oliver leaned toward him, reaching for something below Cam’s sightline. Before he could react, Cam felt a quick tug at the front of his T-shirt. Oliver smiled sweetly up at him. “Big boy’s getting a little too big for his Thursday shirt, huh?”
Cam’s hand jumped to the bottom of his T-shirt. He’d had to pay attention to it the whole night out with his friends. If he wasn’t careful, a little glimpse of his lower belly would peek from under the shirt. It wasn’t even tight across the middle, it was just that in the past week or two his belly overhang had grown low enough to start sinking below the hems of almost all his shirts. Cam sighed heavily. “Don’t tell me that. I’m trying to keep lying to myself that I’m not outgrowing my favorite T-shirt.”
Oliver grabbed his hand. The spikes on his wristband poked into Cam’s chubby wrist, but then Oliver was pulling them toward the door. “Come on. If you can still pretend your clothes fit, then we've got some feeding to do.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It's an M/M proto-feedist, enemies-to-lovers, PwithP romance about two bassist punks who live in the world of LA and Orange County's nascent hardcore scenes in 1979.
Or: the story of 2 freaks of the streets setting out for a mutually beneficial freaks in the sheets arrangement that snowballs into more feelings (and poundage of course, I gotchu 😏) than either of them bargained for 😇
(I'm leaving it as available for non-AO3 members to read because I want people to read it lol but I'll post a warning if I change my mind and make it private)
Okay, fat alternative OC construction is underway 🚧🫡
We got a subby ace emo feedee boy and his >450lb dom feeder goth gf celebrating their 2nd monthiversary since moving in together, and their metalhead FWB is coming over to help celebrate & so goth gf (Syd) can watch them make out. Emo boy (Cam) hasn't had a weigh-in since they moved in together so tonight they're gonna check how much weight they've put on him and then get emo boy stuffed outta his mind :3 She's already fed him up 90lbs fatter since they met 2 years ago, so they're all dying to see what they've been able to accomplish in 2 months...
17 ⧽. are there any songs you want to write a songfic for?
19 ⧽. give a hint/teaser about something you're writing without any context or explanation! tease us haha
My answers to both of these are a bit of a divergence from my usual as a warning to the soft feedists haha…
17. Okay, so… I won't post the song that I've most considered writing a songfic for because the then- (former) vocalist is no longer in the band due to DV accusations, being an asshole, and scamming fans, but basically the fic it makes me want to write is a short one-shot about a toxic feeder and feedee pair who only get together for feedings and late-night booty calls:
They're both numb and self-destructive and always trying to push themselves and each other too far just to feel something. By this point, they can't get off on roleplay and or their usual sadist/masochist fare, so there's been a breakdown of any semblance of healthy communication and negotiated kink dynamics. They just need to feel and what they can still feel is danger, and pain, and hurt.
The feedee wants to push the feeder so hard it scares them that the feedee has gone too far - with how much they're eating, how fast they're putting on weight, how big they're getting. They'll do anything to gain more, faster, and are craving the moment they genuinely feel like they've gotten fatter than they can handle and truly out of their own control. (Maybe they've recently committed to becoming a shut-in?) But having to push against the realities of the human body/biology makes this more easily said than done (which, to me anyway, makes it hotter than the usual gainer fic trope of eating one (1) extra big mac and spiraling into extreme feedism by the end of the week and immobile slob kink stuff in 6 months lmao). And the feeder has to keep trying to do things that will actually make the feedee feel this stuff, too, but it's hard because the feedee has gotten to such an extreme place in their mind that the feeder keeps getting frustrated that it's hard to keep up and actually push the feedee too hard.
Anyway, not sure if I'll realistically end up developing the story enough to write it, let alone finish it, because, while it scratches the itch of 'gainer desperate to be fatter'/'stuffer desperate to eat more', the typical extreme feedism themes aren't really my thing - I just like writing complicated relationships and desperation for fat. I'd have to think up actually interesting or compelling kinky things they're doing together that don't rely on tropes I'm not into but also don't come off as 'ooh, he ate too much and is so fat, soooo scaryy' or fatphobia play. To me the 'too far' would be more about pushing themselves to more than they can handle rather than pushing 'too far' into cultural taboo or health play stuff. It's something I'd have to mull over a lot, but maybe someday!
19. Without context or explanation?!! Mean to me!! (posting this with white knuckles trying to suppress the ADHD over-explaining urge.)
833 words, contains talk of dieting, body image, and exercise and an unhealthy-ish relationship with these:
Naomi popped her bite of pancake into her mouth and Alex picked up his fork and knife again and took a large bite of egg. He had to admit, he did miss it when he didn’t get to eat breakfasts like this. Naomi made some killer breakfast. But it wasn’t like he was totally uptight about it – he never bothered with clean bulking, and he always let himself eat some junk every once in a while, no matter what season it was.
And today it was still bulking season. Alex stood and headed to the kitchen.
"Hey, you know you don't have to do any of that stuff for me, right?” Naomi said, spearing another piece of pancake with her fork, “Like, the working out and the body building."
"I know." Alex loaded his plate up with another pile of hashbrowns, an egg, and an extra pancake for good measure. "But I want to stay in decent shape at least. I'm not going to get lazy or stop making an effort just ‘cause we're married now.”
"Well, not having a six-pack doesn't mean you aren't making an effort.”
Alex set his plate back down on the table. Naomi laid her hand on Alex’s arm before he could sit, the amused spark in her deep brown eyes shifting to sincerity as she looked up at him.
“I just want to see you happy. If all your workout stuff makes you happy, then that’s great. And I'll still love you and be attracted to you no matter what shape you're in, okay?"
“Oh, I know you’ll always be attracted to me,” Alex smirked, “But these don’t hurt, either.” He curled his bicep, leaning into his most flattering angle. The bulge of muscle wasn’t as defined as it would be in a few weeks, but Alex did like how the little extra winter padding made his arm seem bulkier than usual.
Naomi smiled, her hands caressing up his bicep. There was something so gratifying about seeing both her hands encircling his upper arm but not quite reaching all the way around. “No, they don’t hurt at all.” Her grip slackened, and she let gravity settle her hand at Alex’s hip for a brief moment before giving the soft almost-handful there an affectionate squeeze. “But neither do these.”
Alex laughed and sat back down to his second helping. “Well, you can have ‘em back next winter.”
The first month into his cutting regime, Alex went as hard as he always did, and quickly got to appreciate the results in the mirror. Naomi’s question kept returning to him, though. Did he really like it?
The burn of muscles pushed to their max, the meditative repetitive motions, the fine-tuning of well-practiced muscle memory, watching his personal bests inch higher little by little – those things brought him joy, he felt certain of that. There was also something indefinably satisfying about seeing his muscles firm up and slowly grow; he liked feeling strong and he liked taking up space – even more, the feeling of growing stronger and taking up more space than he used to.
Alex was confident that at least those things he liked.
They gave him motivation, made him feel balanced and energized, even after a long day. And he was somebody who needed to have something he was working toward in his life if he didn’t want to go stir crazy. Working out scratched that itch.
The food, though, was another matter. And the rigid schedule. Sometimes he wanted to cave and sleep in a while longer, stay tangled up with Naomi under cool sheets for a little morning sex before it got too hot out.
Well, maybe he was being a little fanatical with his exercise routine and eating habits. Maybe he didn't have to be quite so strict about every meal.
Alex didn’t make any changes right away. Hey, maybe there wasn’t even anything he wanted to change. After all, life was pretty great the way things were right now. Alex had a gorgeous wife, a gorgeous body, got to spend most of his day working with his hands helping Naomi out with the farm, and on top of it all, Naomi made sure they were comfortable enough that Alex could afford as ideal a workout lifestyle as was possible without becoming a professional athlete. What was there to change?
So he stuck to his grilled chicken breasts, cold lentil salads, kale smoothies, and berry bowls. He stuck to his 5:30am trips to the gym, alternated with jogs on the beach. On stormy mornings, he used the exercise equipment in the farmhouse.
Because he didn’t have to be strict about meals or how often he worked out: he chose to do those things.
But the seed of a thought had been planted.
And as the summer wore on, each time he turned down food he was offered or pushed a craving out of his mind, it felt a little less like a choice and more like depriving himself.
As promised, here is a little excerpt from Chapter 3 of my current work-in-progress, an enemies-to-lovers M/M queer weight gain kink and feedist story, Devotion, about 2 hardcore punks in 1979 :) Enjoy!
The walk home from the 7-Eleven was tantalizingly, excruciatingly long at first, but once Ira threw out a “How d’you think that bassist tonight got tone like that?” they got to talking shop, and it was like Diego blinked and they were at his apartment door.
Diego flopped onto the futon with the box of SusyQs on his lap and unwrapped his third of the night while Ira unlaced his boots across the room.
“Want a drink? There’s beer in the fridge.”
Ira slid off one boot then the other and stood them neatly by the door. “I don’t drink. Or smoke,” he said with unrestrained disdain. “I don’t do anything. I’m not going to waste time and money poisoning my body and my mind. I want to actually experience my life.”
God, Ira being not only totally straight but also a self-righteous snob about it made so much sense that Diego didn’t know why he’d even thought to offer him a beer in the first place.
“I don’t. Grab me some mind poison, will ya?” Truthfully, he was more in the mood for a Dr. Pepper, but giving Ira a hard time was more satisfying.
Ira pulled a face. “Get it yourself.” He sunk into the couch next to Diego and nudged the box of snack cakes with his foot. “Keep eating, SuzyQ. When you get through this box I’ll order the pizza.”
Diego had never before met anyone who gave him a truly carnal desire to throttle them and yet at the same time kiss them to within an inch of their life. It was as if this one shorter-than-average man single-handedly generated so much irritation that it flooded Diego’s brain and had nowhere to go but to overflow directly to his dick. And somehow he’d also enjoyed every minute he’d spent with Ira in the days since they’d made up. Only Meena could’ve made Diego smile more than he had in the past few hours.
With so many opposing emotions flooding his veins, all Diego could manage was to stuff the cake into his mouth pointedly before retrieving both a beer and a Dr. Pepper for himself, and knocked into Ira maybe a little more than was necessary when he returned to the futon. It took him two more SuzyQs to feel levelheaded enough to resume his questioning.
“So, how does this eating part usually work? Do you handcuff me to the chair and make me eat? Blindfold me? Spoon-feed me like a baby? Am I supposed to act like I don’t like it – is making someone eat how you discipline them – or are you more of a praise guy? Or do you just jerk off while you watch?”
“Hm, well… Any of those, I guess. There isn’t one way to do it, everyone’s different. Just depends on what gets ya hard – and gets you eating, you know?” He looked at Diego thoughtfully. “You’re kind of creative, when it comes to weird sex stuff.”
“Thanks for specifying that the creativity is for weird sex stuff in case I got confused and thought you meant I was a creative person generally, or as, say, a musician.”
“You’re welcome,” Ira said with a nasty sarcastic smile. “With the guys I’ve been with, a couple of them did want me to tie them up and act like I’m forcing them to eat. That’s fine, I don’t mind that. My favorite is probably just feeding someone, though. So, basically I keep giving them food until they physically can’t eat anymore.”
“Huh, okay.” Diego was no stranger to that feeling, and it sure wasn’t a bad one by any means. He mulled the logistics over in his head. “Let’s try that. So, you’ll just keep handing me slices of pizza until I tap out?”
“Yep. And if you’re too full to keep feeding them to yourself but you want to keep eating, I’ll feed them to you,” Ira explained.
“Too full to keep feeding myself but want to keep eating…” Oof. Okay, this was sounding more and more like Diego’s kind of sex. “You know, I can really put it away under the right conditions, but… you’ve been with some serious eaters, huh?”
Ira laughed. “You could definitely say that.”
“And is there any roleplay or anything? Are there certain things you want me to say or things you want to say?”
He shook his head. “No roleplay the first time. Especially since you’re new to all this. I want you to get a feel for what it’s like eating that much. It can be a lot for some people.” Ira reached over Diego’s lap and retrieved the Dr. Pepper, and Diego let him even though it had definitely been for himself. Ira cracked open the can with a hiss and took a long gulp. “And you don’t just want to eat: you want to put your 30 pounds back on. But the thing about gaining a lot of weight is that it’s not like other pervert stuff where you can just put on a costume when you’re feeling horny; it’s not something you do here and there. You have to eat more on a regular basis.” Ira stood and paced halfway across the room before turning back again.
“Not everyone likes doing it this way – the eating a lot at once way. Some people prefer eating a little more at meals and snacking throughout the day,” he gestured in the air with his can of Dr. Pepper like he was a professor giving a lecture. “So, tonight we’re just seeing if you’re into this kind of eating. I’m going to be responsible for your weight gain, and– well, you already know putting weight on and keeping it on isn’t as easy as it looks, so I like to play to a guy’s strengths to get that to happen. That’s why I want to see what your real reactions are when we start out. We can add the fun stuff as we go.”
It sounded surprisingly sweet when Ira talked about it in a practical way and not just in a heat-of-the-moment ‘I’m going to be the one to put all this weight on you,’ cue evil laugh, kind of way. He was dominant in the sense that he was looking out for Diego; taking care of him. Not just fattening him up, but helping him gain weight. A dictator maybe, but a benevolent one, which on Ira was ridiculously endearing.
“I think I get it,” Diego smiled. “‘With great power comes great responsibility.’”
Ira looked at him with distaste. “Is that from the bible or something?”
Diego snorted. He grabbed the phone off the upturned milk crate beside the futon and shoved it into Ira’s chest. “Just order the damn pizza.”
Diego finished the first box of SuzyQs and they’d moved to necking on the couch by the time two large pizzas arrived.
Ira opened the first box but paused halfway through reaching for the first slice.
“Oh, you said you were into leather, right? Do you have gear, or– anything you wanna wear while we do this?”
“Oh. No,” Diego scrunched his nose. “It’s all too big for me right now.”
“That sucks,” Ira said, with actual sympathy. He picked up the first slice of pizza, pepperoni, and offered it to Diego. “Maybe I can help you out with that.”
Diego took as big of a bite of pizza as he could fit in his mouth before taking the slice from Ira. “Please do,” Diego said through a full mouth.
“You should try them on for me so I can see what we’re starting with.”
“Sure.” He crammed in the rest of the slice and stood, kicking a box out from under the futon. Still chewing, he dug in the back of the closet for his jacket and pants.
They weren’t anything fancy, no bells or whistles, just a pair of black leather pants and a simple leather jacket; vintage, but he took a sense of pride in them all the same.
Diego stripped, then pulled on the pants without bothering to unbutton them. Kneeling, he removed the lid from the box.
“Boots. Harness,” he pointed. He slipped the harness on, then the jacket, and stood again. He had to widen his stance a little to keep the pants from sliding down.
Ira had another slice of pizza in hand as he joined Diego in the center of the room. Same as the first slice, Diego took a bite as Ira held it up for him before taking it for himself.
Ira circled Diego like he was inspecting him, appraising him. It sent a little thrill through Diego’s stomach knowing that as fat as he already was, it was clear from some of the things Ira had been saying that he still thought of Diego as pretty small.
Good. Diego never wanted to be this size again. Ira had better get a good look now.
After a final turn, Ira hooked a finger in Diego’s waistband and tugged a little, exposing about an inch gap between the leather and Diego’s skin. He did the same with the harness: a hand-me-down from a guy who probably had about a hundred pounds on Diego, so Diego had already been on the smallest holes of the buckled straps before he lost the weight. It would be easy to have a bootblack add in another set of holes, but that thought always made this size seem long-term, permanent.
So here he was: harness hanging limp off his chest, leather pants loose through the thighs, shoulders and biceps not quite filling out his jacket. But he couldn’t bring himself to be self-conscious. Ira’s hungry gaze roaming over him, and the quickly vanishing second slice of pizza infused the buzz of potential into the air. The space between himself and his leather wasn’t feeling quite so large tonight.
Ira was smiling as Diego finished slice number two. “You look hot. I’ve never really been that much of a leather guy, but… you might’ve sold me.”
“You should see me when they actually fit.” He brought his hands to his hips and gave Ira a cocky smile. “My ass looks really great in leather.”
“Already does.” Ira stepped in. His hands slipped past Diego’s jacket, fingers ghosting along Diego’s sides. “I can’t wait to get you filling these out again. C’mere.” He dropped back down next to the pizza box and beckoned.
Diego shed his gear. He didn’t bother with a shirt but pulled on a pair of well-worn, comfy sweats – a larger pair; tonight was calling for eating pants.
He settled on the couch next to Ira, making himself comfortable.
“I see somebody knows what he’s doing,” Ira poked at Diego’s elastic waistband.
This is based on a quasi-kinky original story I created back when I was around 14-15 that I've been working on writing down and reworking for the first time. It has feedist themes but isn't truly kinky? kind of? and is set in 2007 because that's vaguely when I created these characters :)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Fic specs in case you can't see from the link:
Regrowth
F/M, Explicit, 1/(3?) chapters
Tags/contains: BHM main character POV, unintentional weight gain, Food as a Metaphor for Love, comfort/stress eating, Divorce/unhealthy relationships/bad communication, past character death/grief, emotional H/C, angst, healing, fat sensuality/sexuality
Summary:
David’s workday morning starts with the same old quiet routine right up until the moment Ji-Ah asks for a divorce across the breakfast table.
She’s probably right. They don’t know each other anymore, but how could they? David doesn’t even recognize the person he was three years ago, before their lives shattered into pieces they just couldn’t pick up again; before work became his life; before he’d fallen into a black hole of depression and crawled out the other side – hell, even the person in the mirror is unrecognizable with a good hundred and ten extra pounds on his frame.
They’re different people now. Who they were and what they had isn’t coming back. Even if it wasn’t too big a rift to mend, where would they even start?
Unfortunately because of the risk of ai scraping, it's only accessible to AO3 users, so I really encourage you to get an AO3 account, both in general and because that's how everything I write is going to be posted for the foreseeable future!
🖤 Hi I'm Sam, I'm a small fat 33-year-old queer fat admirer and fetishist into soft feedism & weight gain.
🖤 I'm married in a closed relationship but DMs are okay for non-kinky chat :)
🖤 I also write fanfiction and original stories over at kinkratonthestreets on AO3 (most stories locked for AO3 users only due to AI scraping concerns ☹️)
🖤 Fat liberation is an essential component to feedism and fat-related fetishes and is a frequent topic on here as well
Fave kinks that might pop up on here more often: soft dom feedee/sub feeder dynamics, chubby/fat to fatter weight gain kink, soft feedism, weight gain encouragement
🚫 No minors. Minors and blogs without your age or a link to a verified OF account in your bio or pinned post will be blocked.
🚫 ED blogs go away, I block and report 😘✌️
I abandoned my tagging system to be honest, but for my older posts, my most common tags are below ⬇️
(I usually remember to tag off-topic posts as "not the usual", liveblogging my writing process as "quiet-writing", and harder dom/sub or pain play topics as "not soft" if you want to blacklist those tags to hide the posts from your dash.)
