#FAT THOUGHTS

[dionysianchub]

I love when he reminds me how uselessly fat I'm getting. He likes to have me on top, so he can feel the weight of me; his slender frame the same size as the massive thighs that squeeze his ribs, my belly smothering his chest. "What am I even going to do with all this?" he says, roughly grabbing handfuls of my back fat, every part of me jiggling as he shows me just what his fat greedy pig is good for.

[janeandhannabbw]

i like wearing crop tops bcuz even when my belly is empty i feel huge spilling out of it 🥰

[roundandaround000]

~Previews~

You're starting to gain weight on purpose for the first time and you are indulging in stuffing yourself to the brim often, 3 or 4 times a week, sometimes every night.

You go to sleep with your belly bowing out in front of you and you sleep peacefully knowing you are full and round and happy.

One morning you wake up and you find that your stuffed belly didn't go away while you slept. You go to the mirror to look, and feel yourself moving differently. When you see yourself, you look a little less full than last night but something is different. You poke your belly. It wobbles. All the way through.

Your nightly binges that were adding weight to you so slowly and unnoticeably have finally stuck, in a wobbly ball of fat on your belly, almost like your stuffed belly just hours before.

What will you do? You have work or other commitments today.

Will you try to suck it in all day? How long could you last? What if you got hungry?

Will you hide it with big clothes? You try, and find that your biggest clothes are snug now. They don't hide your new shape as well as you'd hoped.

Will you boast it proudly out in front of you and let it be a monument to your gluttony? What comments will you get today? How will you respond?

After that first shocking day, maybe you don't binge for a few days. Your new gut loses its proudness and you can stuff yourself into your clothes better again.

But the wish to be full returns, and before you know it, you're stuffing yourself to the brim every night again.

And now you know that when you go to bed each night, that your giant fat stuffed gut might be a preview of what you will wake up looking like tomorrow.

As you get fatter, your previews get rounder, and pretty soon, you are just very round, all the time. With previews of more to come, every night.

[audley-and-cherry]

One of the best, petty things about being a fat woman who does not hate herself for being fat is watching a particular type of thin person (but especially women) completely short circuit when they figure out that I'm happy with myself.

Because they would hate themselves if they were my size, they cannot even comprehend that I don't deny myself. That I don't even try to be thin. That I enjoy food without reservation. Those things are are supposed to be reserved for people who ~earned~ the privilege!

I eat what I want, when I want and that's enough of an anomaly that it causes confusion. And my amusement.

To a lot of these folks, being thin is an accomplishment. But to me, my accomplishment is joy and I refuse to apologize for that.

[ellie-bellie-posts]

Having to spread your legs when you sit down because your belly is so round and heavy. 🥵

[fatass-thembo]

GYAHHH! All day at work, I've just been daydreaming about what it would feel like to have my hips brush against both sides of the doorway ... and how long until I'll reach that size

[macewinded]

Lemme suck the Cheeto dust from your fingers

[dionysianchub]

My needs are quite simple. I want to be fed like a royal, worshipped like a god, and fucked like a breeding hog.

[roundandaround000]

I am in love with the idea of the Academic Fat (TM)

The PHD student going for their doctorate in some obscure field and devouring texts while sitting comfortably in an arm chair, and becoming less and less comfortable in that armchair as they slowly, steadily spread over the armrests. Texts are not the only thing they are devouring.

The Samwell Tarlys of the world; with the heart of gold and the mind of neverending curiosity. Making connections that no one else can see across leagues and tomes and generations; while being incredibly, gorgeously fat.

The fiction lover who is so busy reading and watching and listening to everything they can get their hands on about far off adventures and fantastical places they can never know in reality; so busy memorizing the characters and places and events; so busy studying the many forms a story can take-- that they don't really notice (or care) how round they have become recently.

Some people need brain food. And some people need a lot of brain food.

Some people grow beautiful round bellies while they grow into a more well-rounded perspective, broadening their waistlines while they are broadening the horizons of their minds.

[untitledinstinct]

Idk what I want to eat right now, I just want a lot of it.

Ooooooh, those the works fries from New York fries and maybe a hot dog from there.

It's been forever since I've had that.

[gr8k877]

Good god, yes. I describe myself as fat and people try to correct me as though I'm insulting myself. Nope, just stating a fact like I'm 45 or I have one kid.

We would be in a significantly better place as a people if “old” and “fat” could be neutral descriptions of fact and not seen as insults by default.

[explode-this]

The lack of knowledge displayed by most doctors (especially surgeons) that I’ve seen in the last few months, regarding eating disorders both psychologically and physiologically, only reinforces the doubt and skepticism I have about their ability to treat any patient as a real person, never mind a fat patient. I understand that after 30 years or more of experience they see a lot of trends and correlation that become useful shorthand, such as “outcomes for [specific type of surgery] are better if a patient’s BMI is in [this specific range],” but that shorthand becomes their norm. Do they seek to be better skilled with fat bodies, or understand that in the course of an eating disorder and dramatically yo-yo-ing body mass that a body may settle at a weight that serves it best for survival? Asking a patient to take on the equivalent of a full-time job to lose 100lb—AGAIN, for the third time in that patient’s lifetime—in order to get below a certain body mass index threshold… well, it doesn’t take any of that into account and in my most generous reading it is tone-insensitive (in my least it’s fucking stupid). They don’t seem to understand that at some point the body will throw up a white flag and say “no thanks, we have continuing to live to do,” and that doesn’t even consider the psychological ramifications.

All that and when the surgeon I saw today heard I had already lost [x]lb in preparation for surgery (after my consultation with the other surgeon) I was treated to a “you go, girl!”, and though he seemed nice enough, I really just wanted to throw hands for that. I don’t need your condescension or your congratulations, I need you to listen to me, the patient who lives in this body and has lived in this body and understands what psychological bullshit she is flirting with in order to meet these requirements to have her insides repaired. GOD.

I am in a much stronger place than I was in the midst of my eating disorder. I know exactly what I’m doing in this undertaking. But when someone climbs a mountain they still wear good shoes and harnesses and use ropes because it doesn’t matter how good they are at climbing and how fit they are, they won’t easily withstand the fall from a steep elevation. Doing this doesn’t mean my eating disorder will necessarily be back (and in larger numbers), because I don’t believe disorders work that way (to borrow a bullshit turn of phrase from an equally bullshit approach to substance-related behavioral issues, my eating disorder is not “doing pushups in the parking lot,” getting stronger the further along I am in my experience of healing). But it’s not great to be subjected to this, or to be seen as just another stubborn fatty who doesn’t want to do “what’s good for her.” I’m a stubborn fatty, yes, but not for the reasons they think.

I doubt there are any surgeons just floating around tumblr right now reading the thoughts of folks who are otherwise just random shitposters but if you ARE a surgeon, can you please tell your surgeon friends that fat people are not stupid? That we deserve good care regardless? That you should all probably assess yourselves for attitudes pertaining to intelligence and morality when it comes to your chub-ass patients? THANKS.

[celesteafterdark]

Wish I had a cheesecake to fill me up right now.

[wannabefatter]

Another day, another outgrown shirt, or at least, another shirt I can’t wear unless I WANT people to say, “Hey, have you gained weight?” I think mediums are officially off the table for me now, strictly larges…oh man…

[macewinded]

Do you ever sometimes just have the intense desire to have someone sitting on your lap pouring melted ice-cream down a funnel into your overtaxed gut

[bi-writes]

mmmm ;) simon has got a special eye on single-mom!reader, doesn't he? (18+, lactation kink, daddy kink, breeding kink, dark content !!!!)

it's your first day back after maternity leave. you already look different, simon notices this immediately. the way you fill out your cargo pants--fuck, there's no way your arse has ever looked so fat. no way your thighs have ever been so plush--ngghhh...

fuck, you've never been prettier. motherhood suits you. your hair is longer. your eyes are a little brighter. and fuck, your tits look so heavy, can't keep his eyes off of them, can't fucking focus, fuck, fuck, fuck--

you look so cute patching him up. pouty bottom lip between your teeth as you string his lacerated skin back together with a practiced stitch, standing between his spread legs as he sits in a chair in your office. he nicked his shoulder real well in training today, and fuck, is he grateful for johnny's heavy hand because you're standing over him, and he has a front-row seat to the greatest view of his fucking life.

christ, they practically jiggle with every movement you make. you pop the cap off some disinfectant, and the little bounce of your chest makes him chub up immediately, and he doesn't trust the buckle of his belt anymore because you're so fucking hot. and god, it isn't fair, this isn't fair, you must be teasing him--because as he's staring shamelessly at your pretty, perky nipples, he notices the fabric of your shirt beginning to grow damp.

you notice his line of sight after you tie off his wound. you look down, gasping, your hands dropping your supplies to come up and cup your breasts and cover the wetness of your shirt.

"god--dammit," you breathe. you haven't gotten a chance to pump today, it's been so busy in the clinic, and god, they ache.

you're his sergeant. his pretty little soldier. he just wants to help you. he's just helping you, isn't he? that's what this is when he draws his big hands up, shifting your shirt until it nestles below your nursing bra. he's just helping you when he unlatches the strap with ease, drawing down the soft material and baring your tits for him, his eyes bulging when he sees how wet the skin is, how they glisten.

his mouth is so warm. it's the perfect relief after such a long day. his tongue is soft and careful, swirling in heated circles as he soothes the ache in the throbbing fat there. you're so wet--soaking your panties, you know you are, your hormones firing wildly as he pulls back, opening his mouth and catching just a dribble of the warm essence that leaks from one breast. finally, finally--fuck, he's so good at this, his mouth latching onto you again as he groans loudly. he's so sick, it's so fucking lewd, but god dammit, it's just what you need, you need this, you need this.

he likes you like this. he likes you fat around the hips and leaking from your tits and spilling sweetness into your panties. he needs to keep you this way. he needs to keep you pretty and aching and starving for the relief that he knows he can give you.

he doesn't care whose kid it is, he wants to keep you this way. he'd let johnny or gaz fuck you stupid after this if it meant plugging you up and making you full and beautiful and round again. he's never wanted kids anyway, he knows he probably shoots blanks, it's why you got pregnant so fast after he shut the door on your relationship and refused to open it again, isn't it?

nnghghhgh...

fuck, his pants are already shoved low, just enough that he can pull himself out. he's so heavy, balls so full and aching so badly, he's hardly slapping against his stomach. you slip your own trousers off, eager to get back into his lap, practiced pretty girl sinking down onto him and riding him for her life in the dark of her office.

he buries his face into your chest. they're bouncing every time you smack your hips back down against his, and he can't stop the noises he's making as he suckles your tits in his mouth and uses a firm grip on your ass to meet your thrusts with force. fuck, he'd forgotten what a nice cunt you had--he'd forgotten how nice and soft you are, how messy and wet you get, how whenever he fucks you, his entire pelvis is always soaked with the slick of you because you can never stop creaming on his cock.

"so big," you babble, just like you used to, and he grunts as he aims for that little spot inside of you that makes you cry. he wants to see those pretty tears falling down your face, but all it took this time was his tongue sucking on your achy nipples to make you pouty and sobbing.

fuck, you've always been good at taking him, you always were such a good girl, but now he's overwhelmed. your body is so different and yet the same, and he likes it so much more--fuck, there's so much to grab onto now, the smacking of your skin is loud, and you've always been such a wet girl, but now you're positively dripping. he grits his teeth as he looks down finally, watching the way you've wet his trousers, his boxers, your thighs, the goddamn chair. he can't wait to lay you down after this and put his head between your thighs, can't wait to get those tits back in his mouth and make you cry again and again and again and again--

yeah, yeah, yeah--fuck, fuck, fuck--

you collapse after he cums. whimpering, taking two of his fingers and fitting them into your mouth so you have something to suck on, something you always used to do for comfort. he hisses a little as he pulls out just a little, globs of cum dribbling onto the seat before he eases you back down again. you whine, clinging onto him, your eyes shutting as he shoves his cum practically into your stomach.

yeah, fuck--he's gonna make his little sergeants take you nice after this. he needs you to stay like this, needs to keep you fat and pretty and swollen. don't mind the chunky babies you'll have, he'll take care of you, sweetheart, he'll be the daddy that son of a bitch never gave you, yeah?

he grabs the phone nearest to him to check the time as you settle on wobbly legs into the seat next to him. it must be your phone, because there's a picture of a smiling baby as the background. his eyes flicker to yours, and when you catch his gaze, you swallow hard. there's a giant chubby baby you're holding in that picture.

with blond hair and dark eyes (;