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Need to be over fed by someone daily

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Getting stuffed at night, can already see where the bulk is going 🏋🏻‍♀️

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love my belly here

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Feeling big

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every day that passes our boy gets even bigger

Cada día nuestro niño se hace más y más grande

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Hello from Charlie Gyrth!

A Brief Introduction (and Links!)

Hello, Tumblr! My name’s Charlie. I’ve been writing (and reading) gainer fiction for years, and I finally have the confidence to start posting. My goal is to publish one story or chapter every day for the rest of 2025.

Here’s what I have so far:

Long Stories:

Fat Passengers - 3 parts Nightly Feedings - 4 parts (ebook) A Milkshake a Day - 4 parts (ebook) My Former Best Friend - 5 parts (ebook) Go with the Flow - 9 parts (ebook) Fatter for the Wedding - 12 parts (ebook) Alex Gets Soft - 22 parts (ebook)

Short Stories:

Hey, Chubs! (2 parts) Chicken Shack Fatties Fattening the Actor Fat Felix Tries Ozempic Unrecognizably Fat Fat Farm Boys Improving Myself Final Destination: Obesity Three Roommates Scooter Hangry Search History Back from the Oil Rig Good Memories Tiny Tim and Small Sam You Ruin Your Perfect Body Metabolism Blockers Sliding Doors, Changing Waistlines I Really Want You to Like Me Liam's Sweet Tooth Are You Happy? My Best Friend Comes Back The Writer's Retreat Halloween Before and After Marriage Body Mark Wears the Pants Two Fat Guys on a Blind Date Giving In (2 parts) Fat Camp Reunion (2 parts) The Lottery Winner (2 parts) I'm Too Fat for My In-Laws (2 parts) Speedos (2 parts) Fat Blind Date (2 parts) The Hottest Guy in Town (2 parts)

And here’s a bit about me:

I love writing about positive, supportive male couples who embrace the joys of gaining, feeding, encouraging, stuffing, and belly play. I don’t write about force-feeding (unless it’s consensual) or revenge fattening. I read those kinds of stories sometimes, but as a writer, I want to explore the healthier sides to gaining.

I find fat beautiful, so I kind of get lost in describing it sometimes. I love the sheer variety of plus-sized body types, so I try to reflect that in my stories. Not every fat guy is destined to grow a big, round beer gut (although those are great, of course).

I typically stay away from magical plots or instant weight gain. That usually doesn’t do it for me.

I will never use AI in my writing. I like creating these stories myself. (I have a day job as a full-time writer/editor, so this stuff is sort of a release for me.)

I try to be realistic with how quickly my characters gain, but sometimes I get a little ahead of myself and stretch reality. Just go with it.

I've started to publish some of these stories as ebooks. They will always be available for free on Tumblr, but one of my goals in life is to make gainer fiction more accepted in the literary world. We need to get more of this stuff out there. I don't expect gainer fiction to ever become mainstream, but there's no reason why it isn't as mainstream as, say, werewolf shifter erotica or other niche subgenres.

Probably not important, but I'm a redhead, so if you're wondering why there's an overrepresentation of red-haired characters in my stories, now you know.

I’m a gainer in my personal life, but I’m terrible at it. I always get up to about 210 or so and then chicken out. These stories are a way to help me process some of those feelings so that I can eventually have the confidence to keep going. We’ll see. (196 as of today!)

And I think that’s about it. Thanks so much for checking out my Tumblr! And happy eating!

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Filling weekend

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Stuffing myself till I can’t move. Who wants to join?

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Jack-ed

Jack didn’t need fancy supplements.

He was built on blue-collar sweat, Busch Light, and two-a-day gym splits in the middle of Midwest winters. At 29, he was all corn-fed stock—200lbs of functional bulk packed onto a 6-foot frame. The kind of body that looked like it could carry a fridge up a flight of stairs and then shotgun a beer on the roof. Blonde buzz cut, neat beard, arms dusted with sun-bleached hair and tan from long days on site. A man made by work, for work.

Still, when the skinny gym kid at the nutrition shop grinned and said, “This stuff’s not even on the market yet,” Jack didn’t think twice.

“Whatever. I’ll try it,” he said, tossing a hundred on the counter. “Better make me bench 500 by next week.”

The kid just smirked. “Oh, it’ll make you big, alright.”

The tub was plain white. No label. No brand. Just a Sharpie scrawl across the top:

“GROW.”

He mixed the first scoop into a gallon of whole milk and chugged it after a leg day that left him seeing stars. Chalky. Heavy. Bitter, like iron. He grimaced, wiped his beard with the back of his hand, and belched like a freight train.

By the time he drove home, his stomach was tight. Like he’d eaten a brick. He figured it was just the milk making him bloated He shrugged it off, and cooked a pound of ground beef to chase it down.

The weight hit fast.

The next morning, Jack stood in front of the mirror, shirtless, frowning. His light abs were still there, buried under a new, solid swell. A dome just starting to form under his pecs—tight, round, firm. Not bloat. Not water. Mass.

He poked at it, curious.

“Huh...”

The hunger hit like a freight train. He ate three breakfasts—eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes. Then raided his meal prep for lunch. By noon, his jeans were cutting into his waist and his tool belt was digging hard. His gut pushed forward when he bent down to haul plywood, taut and proud like a keg just starting to fill.

By the third day, Jack’s shirts couldn’t hide it. That slight curve had turned into a full-fledged paunch, stretching under his Carhartt tee. His strength was up—deadlifts felt easier—but so did his appetite. He couldn’t stop. Four burgers for lunch. Two pizzas for dinner. He kept shoveling it in, standing at the kitchen counter, belly slapping against it like a dog begging to be fed.

He checked the scale.

220.

“That can’t be right…” he muttered. But it was. Twenty pounds in three days. And not soft, not entirely. His arms were thicker. His traps pushing higher. But that gut? That was taking the lead now. It was dense, rounded, full. Like his body was pouring every extra calorie right into the tank.

The protein tub was half gone.

“Grow,” it whispered, each scoop heavier, chalkier, harder to swallow. But he drank it down every time. With milk, with water, sometimes just dry-scooped straight into his mouth after a greasy meal. His cock would twitch as his belly sloshed with food, heavy and satisfied.

At 240, he started buying new clothes. XXL tanks, bigger jeans, work shirts with buttons that strained across his swelling chest and that thick slab of belly that rode over his belt.

His coworkers started noticing.

“Damn, Jack. You trying to bulk or become the jobsite?”

He grinned, slapping his gut. It clapped against his thighs.

“Better fill out the role, right?”

By 265, his walk changed. Slower. Heavier. His thighs had thickened with muscle and fat alike, rubbing with every step. He started sweating just from loading tools into the truck. His boots felt tight. His ass strained against the seat. At lunch, he’d just sit on his tailgate, belly hanging between his spread legs, devouring sandwiches like a machine. Eyes half-lidded. Lips greasy. Cock hard under his gut, throbbing.

He tried skipping a shake.

Once.

His hands shook. His belly groaned—screamed. He collapsed at midnight with a dozen donuts in bed, chugging half a gallon of milk like a man possessed, panting as his stomach swelled higher.

The next morning, the scale read 275. His shirt soaked through with sweat. Gut bouncing when he walked. Beard matted with powdered sugar. And the protein tub?

Empty.

But there was another one on his porch.

This one marked:

“FEED.”

Now, Jack doesn’t count meals. He eats on the job. Eats in the truck. Eats before bed, belly up, legs spread, hand on his cock while the other feeds his face. Any chance he has, he eats. His gut swells past 300, then 320. Rounder. Softer. Lower.

People stare. He likes it. He lifts his shirt sometimes just to let it hang out—huge, meaty, obscene.

The whispers in his head don’t stop now. They chant:

“Bigger. Heavier. Feed it.”

And Jack obeys.

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Brandon’s Bite

Brandon had always been a rock. Not just emotionally—the guy people leaned on when shit hit the fan—but physically. Stocky, wide-chested, a barrel of a man with arms like cured hams and forearms roped with thick veins. His beard was always trimmed sharp to match the precision of his lifestyle—structured, controlled, calculated. He was the guy who knew how to fix your carburetor, grill a steak rare with just a touch, and hold his own in a fight. An Italian-American from Staten Island, he carried himself like a man raised on lasagna and expectation.

At 26, Brandon was 6 feet tall, 220 pounds of thick-set muscle, with a bit of brawn padding that came from late-night cannolis and second helpings of pasta. Hair dusted his chest and trailed down his thick arms like ivy on brick—something primal, proud. He never apologized for it. Never had to. Women looked. Men envied. Life was fine.

Until the day he fixed the elevator panel in an older apartment building off Delancey.

He’d opened the rusted access door and found it: a black pill, smooth and glossy, nestled like a gemstone in the corner beside a crumpled candy wrapper. A note was taped to the panel, weathered but clear:

“Take it, Stallion. Feed what’s already burning.”

Brandon scoffed. “Cute,” he muttered, slipping the pill into his palm and rolling it between two calloused fingers. Something about it buzzed against his skin, warm like a live wire. He slid it into his pocket without thinking, more amused than concerned. But all night, it called to him. Not in a voice—just a craving. A hunger.

At 2:43 a.m., sitting shirtless on the couch in nothing but briefs and a sheen of sweat, Brandon stared at the pill on the coffee table. His thick fingers trembled as he picked it up.

“Fuck it,” he growled—and swallowed.

That was the last normal night Brandon remembered.

The next morning, the hunger hit like a freight train. He devoured a pound of bacon, 12 eggs, and a loaf of Italian bread before realizing he was still starving. His belly, usually firm and tight from gym days and boxing nights, had bloated out. A round curve, a slight sway. He paused at the mirror. Frowned.

Then he smirked. “Heh. Guess I could bulk up a bit.”

But bulking didn’t stop. It escalated.

Within days, Brandon was eating like it was sport. Whole trays of baked ziti, racks of ribs, greasy bags of takeout that arrived every two hours. His stocky frame began to swell—pecs thickened into heavy meat, arms lost definition under new layers of padding. His belly pushed out proudly, round and mounting like a pressure tank building steam.

And the pills? They followed him.

In his tool belt. In his sock drawer. One slipped into his folded napkin at a restaurant. Every time he tried to ignore one, he’d break. He’d wake up with marinara down his chest and a bloated gut stretching his waistband to its limits. Every pill made the hunger worse, and the satisfaction sweeter.

He started filming himself. Just his hands feeding his mouth—huge, greasy sandwiches stuffed in while his belly throbbed on camera, rising higher with every swallow. He didn’t even recognize himself in the mirror anymore. His once-defined jaw was now rounded in shadow, beard thicker, face red from constant stuffing.

When he hit 280, his clothes gave up. Buttons shot across the room during a client call. His jeans ripped during a stair climb. He didn’t stop. He laughed. “Guess I’m eating through the wardrobe too.”

People noticed. His friends teased, called him “The Meatball,” but they kept watching him eat. Some couldn’t look away.

His appetite became legend. Stories of him ordering two dozen garlic knots just as an appetizer spread across every pizza joint in Queens. Delivery guys whispered about the sound of groaning furniture when they dropped off the food.

And Brandon? He leaned into it.

“Real men don’t get smaller,” he’d grunt, rubbing his swollen belly after a six-pie binge. “They grow.”

At 330 pounds, he could barely waddle without his thighs grinding together. His belly jutted out like a throne—heavy, proud, sensitive to the touch. His cock was buried under soft weight, but it didn’t matter. He jerked off to his reflection—watching his belly bounce with every motion, licking grease from his fingers between moans.

He didn’t just get off on the food. He got off on the transformation.

He loved feeling his power shift—from gym-toned strength to gluttonous presence. Every pound made him more real.More anchored.

Then, the voice came.

Not a whisper anymore. Not a suggestion. A command.

“More. Don’t stop. Become.”

He obeyed.

No more pills. He didn’t need them. The hunger was the pill now. It coursed through him. Fed him. Changed him. His heart thudded like a war drum beneath mounds of flesh. His sweat smelled like bacon and testosterone. His body became a furnace of hunger and heat and growth.

And he loved it.

Now? Brandon sits on a reinforced recliner, belly splayed like a feast laid bare, breathing heavy as he scarfs down his fourth sub. His beard is thick, his chest hair matted with grease, his body a monument to what happens when you stop resisting what you are.

He’s not just eating anymore.

He’s evolving.

And when he closes his eyes, the last thing he hears before sleep claims him is a deep, inescapable growl from inside:

“BIGGER. BETTER. MORE.”

And Brandon grins, rubbing his gut with pride.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought.”

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Which Baby Are You?

JANUARY BABY

Pretty/handsome. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Sensitive. Down-to-Earth. Stubborn. 

FEBRUARY BABY

Abstract thoughts. Loves reality and abstract. Intelligent and clever. Changing personality. Attractive. Sexiest out of everyone. Temperamental. Quiet, shy and humble. Honest And loyal. Determined to reach goals. Loves freedom. Rebellious when restricted. Loves aggressiveness. Too sensitive and easily hurt. Gets angry really easily but does not show it. Dislikes unnecessary things. Loves making friends but rarely shows it. Horny. Daring and stubborn. Ambitious. Realizing dreams and hopes. Sharp. Loves entertainment and leisure. Romantic on the inside not outside. Superstitious and ludicrous. Spendthrift. Tries to learn to show emotions.

MARCH BABY

Attractive personality. Sexy. Affectionate Shy and reserved. Secretive. Naturally honest, generous and sympathetic. Loves peace and serenity. Sensitive to others. Great kisser. Easily angered. Trustworthy. Appreciative and returns kindness. Hardly shows emotions. Tends to bottle up feelings. Observant and assesses others.

APRIL BABY

Suave and compromising. Funny and humorous. Stubborn. Very talkative. Calm and cool. Kind and sympathetic. Concerned and detailed. Loyal. Does work well with others. Very confidant. Sensitive. Positive Attitude. Thinking generous. Good memory. Clever and knowledgeable. Loves to look for information. Able to cheer everyone up and/or make them laugh. Able to motivate oneself and others. Understanding. Fun to be around. Outgoing. Hyper. Bubbly personality. Secretive. Boy/girl crazy. Loves sports, music, leisure and traveling. Systematic. Hot but has brains.

MAY BABY

Stubborn and hard-hearted. Strong-willed and highly motivated. Sharp thoughts. Easily angered. Attracts others and loves attention. Deep feelings. Beautiful physically and mentally. Firm Standpoint. Needs no motivation. Shy towards opposite sex. Easily consoled. Systematic (left brain). Loves to dream. Strong clairvoyance. Understanding. Sickness usually in the ear and neck. Good imagination. Good physical. Weak breathing. Loves literature and the arts. Loves traveling. Dislike being at home. Restless. Not having many children. Hardworking. High-spirited.

JUNE BABY

You’ve got the best personality and are an absolute pleasure to be around. You love to make new friends and be outgoing. You are a great flirt and more than likely have an a very attractive partner. a wicked hottie. It is also more than likely that you have a massive record collection. You have a great choice in films, and may one day become a famous actor/actress yourself - heck, you’ve got the looks for it!!! IN the next 6 days you will meet someone that may possibly become one of your closest friends.

JULY BABY

Fun to be with. Secretive. Difficult to fathom and to be understood. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Takes pride in oneself. Has reputation. Easily consoled. Honest. Concerned about people’s feelings. Tactful. Friendly. Approachable. Emotional temperamental and unpredictable. Moody and easily hurt. Witty and sparkly. spazzy at times. Not revengeful. Forgiving but never forgets. dislikes nonsensical and unnecessary things. Guides others physically and mentally. Sensitive and forms impressions carefully. Caring and loving. Treats others equally. Strong sense of sympathy. Wary and sharp. Judges people through observations. Hardworking. No difficulties in studying. Loves to be alone. Always broods about the past and the old friends. Waits for friends. Never looks for friends. Not aggressive unless provoked. Loves to be loved. Easily hurt but takes long to recover.

AUGUST BABY

Outgoing personality. takes risks. feeds on attention. No self-control. Kind hearted. Self-confident. Loud and boisterous. VERY revengeful. Easy to get along with and talk to. Has an “every thing’s peachy” attitude. Likes talking and singing. Loves music. Daydreamer. Easily distracted. Hates not being trusted. BIG imagination. Loves to be loved. Hates studying. in need of “that someone”. Longs for freedom. Rebellious when withheld or restricted. Lives by “no pain no gain” caring. Always a suspect. Playful. Mysterious. “charming” or “beautiful” to everyone. stubborn. curious. Independent. Strong willed. A fighter.

SEPTEMBER BABY

Active and dynamic. Decisive and haste but tends to regret. Attractive and affectionate to oneself. Strong mentality. Loves attention. Diplomatic. Consoling, friendly and solves people’s problems. Brave and fearless. Adventurous. Loving and caring. Suave and generous. Usually you have many friends. Enjoys to make love. Emotional. Stubborn. Hasty. Good memory. Moving, motivates oneself and others. Loves to travel and explore. Sometimes sexy in a way that only their lover can understand.

OCTOBER BABY

Loves to chat. Loves those who love them. Loves to takes things at the center. Inner and physical beauty. Lies but doesn’t pretend. Gets angry often. Treats friends importantly. Brave and fearless. Always making friends. Easily hurt but recovers easily. Daydreamer. Opinionated. Does not care to control emotions. Unpredictable. Extremely smart, but definitely the hottest AND sexiest of them all.

NOVEMBER BABY

Trustworthy and loyal. Very passionate and dangerous. Wild at times. Knows how to have fun. Sexy and mysterious. Everyone is drawn towards your inner and outer beauty and independent personality. Playful, but secretive. Very emotional and temperamental sometimes. Meets new people easily and very social in a group. Fearless and independent. Can hold their own. Stands out in a crowd. Essentially very smart. Usually, the greatest men are born in this month. If you ever begin a relationship with someone from this month, hold on to them because their one of a kind.

DECEMBER BABY

This straight-up means you are the most good-looking person possible… Better than all of these other months! Loyal and generous. Patriotic. Competitive in everything. Active in games and interactions. Impatient and hasty. Ambitious. Influential in organizations. Fun to be with. Easy to talk to, though hard to understand. Thinks far with vision, yet complicated to know. Easily influenced by kindness. Polite and soft-spoken. Having lots of ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating tends to delay. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Has that someone always on his/her mind. Talkative. Daydreamer.Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Abiding. Able to show character. One guy/girl kind of person. Loveable. Easily hurt. Prone to getting colds. Loves music. Pretty/handsome. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Sensitive.

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A new jockstrap has entered the chat

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The door bell saga