angelchub🦋

That was a year ago. And to be honest you still thought this was true about yourself. Even as you struggled to tug your pants over your soft fleshy hips and pull the flaps close enough to hook the button into it's hole, it didn't register how much your body had changed. Laundry could indeed shrink and bloating was very normal (never mind the fact that you always seemed to be bloated).

After a few minutes of struggling that left you short of breath, you resigned to using a rubber band to cover the gap between your pants button and its hole. They would fit soon enough, you were just extra bloated today.

Most people would have bought new pants by now, but to do that would mean you would have to admit that your body had changed in such a way that couldn't be explained away by bloating.

You would have to go into the fitting room, surrounded by those mirrors and face the image of yourself you looked away from in your own mirror. The round heavy belly that stuck out from your frame and sagged over your waist band. The bulging soft gut that pulled your shirts taut over its expanse, leaving a gentle dent where your belly button was long swallowed by pillowy fat. You would have to turn in those mirrors and see your plump love handles spilling out of your once toned sides. And when you shifted you would see you lower belly jiggle with the movement, a feeling you were already familiar with but desperately tried to ignore.

Those mirrors wouldn't let you tell lies to yourself. It would plainly tell you that you have gotten fat. Your shape was no longer tight and trimmed, instead it flowed and spilled into every open space it could find, which you realized included past the hemlines of your shirts.

You would put your pudgy hands under your exposed full overhang, pick it up to see the hips it ballooned over, and then drop it back down with a large wobble that jostled your soft chest.

Then you would look back on those many months you neglected your work out routine in favor of frequent (very frequent) hearty meals. How you being bloated all the time was really just the aftermath of you constantly stuffing yourself.

You couldn't bring yourself to give that up, to return to your carefully planned exercises and portioned meals. In fact you always hated it. Now you knew the bliss of zero restraint.

Instead you bought a few pants, each a little loose and stretchy, and ordered twice as much take out as normal.

prompt: someone discovering they’re a feeder as their feedee partner gets bigger

Sometimes you’re both in bed, distracted and ignoring each other on your phones or laptops, when you notice. Your eyes lift from your phone and notice your partner’s relaxed belly, rising and lowering with calm breath, stretching the fabric of their shirt. Really stretching it now, not just with every inhale, but by default. Not just pushing the seams a little with chubbier hips, but forcing the cotton to bow out close to its limit, forcing the stitching to cave into a belly button deeper and softer-looking than you remember. And your eyes inevitably take in the rest: thicker thighs, more shapely chest, less defined arms, softer jawline.  

You’re aware that your partner’s gained a little weight. More than a little, but it’s fine. Probably thirty or so pounds, not a big deal, and you absolutely don’t judge them for it. Have they mentioned it at all? No, they just keep tugging at their shirts and pants. And underwear. Their underwear is getting too small for them, with weight gain making them a bit of a pear and all, but you don’t say anything. You don’t say they need bigger underwear. You don’t tell them how much you appreciate the fact that they need it. As long as they stay mum on the subject of their weight and the fit of their clothes, so will you; that’s your rule.

Sometimes you’re both in bed, watching TV, and they’re eating their way to the bottom of a quart of appallingly flavored ice cream (super-caramel-quadruple chocolate-chunk type stuff), and you keep sneaking glances. Because you’re amazed they’re comfortable enough around you to eat freely like this—or so you tell yourself. Their eyes are so glazed with distracted pleasure that maybe it didn’t even occur to them not to gorge themselves tonight, right in front of you.

Not gorging themselves like some kind of pig—no, it’s just, you both ordered a lot of takeout just a couple hours ago, and then they snacked on chips for a while, and then there was that candy bar they ate on a whim while you took out the trash, and now it’s a whole quart of ice cream. A whole quart. The more glances you sneak at them, the more you notice how their budding second chin peeks out when they chew. The more you notice that their bites seem hasty, as if tinged by some kind of distant, unconscious desperation.

You lean against them as if too tired to stay upright, reaching over them casually, letting one arm rest against their belly. It’s soft. It’s bigger. Not a big deal at all, you tell yourself for the millionth time.

And yet, you ponder their weight more. You’ve been pondering it incessantly. You can’t stop thinking about how they went to the mall two weeks ago without telling you, bought clothes a size up, and already were uncomfortably tugging and pulling on on every tight band and seam again. You can’t stop your thoughts from wandering to the idea of them sizing up again any more than your partner can stop their hands from opening another package of cookies.

“Ugh, this stuff is so good,” they mutter, swallowing the last bite, then closing the lid on the carton and setting it aside.

“Mm. I’ll buy more then,” you say without thinking. It’s fine if they size up again, after all. You’ll love them no matter their body type. Their happiness comes first. “I’m going to the grocery store anyway.”

the sound of your voice almost makes me drop the box of cookies. "nothing!" I say- we just had dinner after all...

"then why the military posture?" you ask, seemingly innocent, but I see you eyeing me from head to toe.

"is this one of the shirts you outgrew?" you ask and come closer. I take a step back, but my back hits the kitchen counter. embarrassed, I try to suck in my belly, but it's no use. it spills over my waistband, hangs low over my crotch. you grab the sides of my flannel, trying to bring them together, but we both know it's no use. it hasn't fit me in months, a wide gap between the buttons.

"look at that. what a huge gut you've grown," you whisper, your hands framing my fat belly only to grab and jiggle it, making my face heat up further.

"it's big, isn't it?" I whisper and can barely bring myself to watch you touch all the excess fat around my middle that wasn't there before.

"more like enormous," you say and slap my wide, round belly, watching it bounce. I can barely suppress a whimper.

"what did you eat to grow a spare tire like that?" we both know the answer, but I'm so ashamed of myself, of what the pig I've become.

"I don't know... I just couldn't stop myself!" I try, my gaze still fixed on your hands all over me.

you pinch the fat on my sides I didn't even know I had until you told me. "what a pig you are. and you're only gonna get fatter, aren't you?"