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neteyamsilly · 1 year

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i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 3

summary ;; Sullys stick together. You learn the hard way what happens when you don't. PART 2 | PART 4 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; descriptions of blood and violence incoming, beware! shout out to the ppl who predicted the stuff in this chapter LMAO so um... i couldnt tag everybody who asked when i said i would... there's apparently a limit to how many people you can tag. please forgive me 😭 im not taking any tagging requests anymore since i cant do it. so sorry about that,,,, seriously also, thank you so much for 1160 followers! i still cant fucking believe it... daddy issues solidarity 🤙🏻🤙🏻

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

Rain covered the rustling of clothes and the click-clacks of readjusted weapons as concentrated silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like the morning mist swallowing up the forest.

No answer.

What face could your parents be making right now? Heartbeat in your ears, you tried to hide your shame by looking down, but a jerk on your queue set you straight. the avatar holding you digging his gun sharper in your neck.

“What, cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” The leader’s stare found yours. “Let me give you a quick remedy.”

They’d linked your device into another for the sound to be relayed outside and the voice detection range could be wider, in other words, they wanted your father to hear what was happening to you. Your braid was yanked as if the one pulling it wanted to snap it right off your skull, no amount of training could stop the scream torn out of you — all the show just for him.

The line was deadly still, save for some rustling, crackling static that you could have easily mistaken for hissing.

A ghost of a smile shadowed the man’s face, he extended his rifle to tip your chin up. “Guess we’re gonna have to be louder than that to wake daddy up sweetheart.”

“Stop!” Father yelled, the unexpected timing of it made you jump. That earned him a group chuckle from the avatars around you. “Stop.”

He talked. He didn’t leave you to fend for yourself in this. Thank Eywa!

“That was fast,” the captor behind you said.

“Thought you’d have forgotten English by now, playing native.”

“...Quaritch?”

Quaritch. That awful, awful man from the stories your mother killed? Spider’s father? But… But he was dead. How could sky people know how to cheat death?

“In the flesh.”

Father’s voice wavered, you’d think he was scared if you didn’t know any better. “That’s impossible.”

“Back from the grave just for you, Jake.”

“Then I’ll just have to put you right back where you belong.”

The squad of avatars openly laughed at that, boisterous, confident, arrogant.

This was Toruk Makto they were openly mocking. None of them would last for one minute in front of him and yet—

“Quite the teary lovers reunion we’re havin’ here, but you got busy while I was gone, huh?” He looked down at you again, yellow eyes filled with mirth. “I have this tiny bird here we plucked right out of the air. Imagine my surprise to learn she’s yours. Is this the only one, or you got yourself a litter now?”

Silence again.

“What do you want?”

“Straight to the point as always.” The smug smile momentarily twitched into an unamused, withheld resentment. This man was nearing the end of his capacity to keep taunting. “I don’t think I’ll tell yet. You know I love to be a tease.”

Your ears rotated upwards in treacherous hope at your father's next words. “If you touch one hair on my daughter’s head I swear to god—”

“You exchanged your god for this shithole, Jake. Let’s not kid ourselves now.” Any hint of playing around was gone, now, eyes fixated on something on the ground ahead. “Your daughter will be my guest for a while. Think of it as summer vacation. Don’t worry, unlike the Na’vi, we’re very hospitable.” His thumb brushed over a button. “Until next time.”

“Fucking bastard—”

With one beep, the call was over. Quaritch was touching the band around his neck this time. “Iron Sky, Blue on Actual. We are standing by for extract, over.”

You began to tussle against the avatar behind your back. “No! No! Let me go!”

“Be advised. We're bringing in a high value prisoner.”

“Dad’s really gonna flay her alive this time, I can’t wait.” Lo’ak, positioned just behind the flap of the tent to not be seen from the outside as he peeked with one eyeball just in case, was watching his parents vehemently yell at each other in whispers that started out loud, but got hushed probably to not reach him and his siblings. Aggressive limb gestures were flying in the air, and at one point, his mom had tried to run off somewhere and was forcefully stopped.

Dad was currently pacing around like a wild animal with one hand permanently stuck rubbing his face, and mom turned away from him, holding her forehead. “They’re really going at it, huh?

Kiri was not amused with his insistence to breach their privacy. “What’s so interesting about watching this kind of thing?”

“Catharsis?” He remarked in English, feeling sophisticated. “You remember Spider talking about it? Purification and emotional cleansing through relief that you’re not going through the horrible tragedy, the character on stage is.”

“You’re normally so dumb.” Lo’ak bore his fangs at her matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Your brain only comes back on when it’s about chaos.”

“I’m petty, and what about it?” A tilt of his head to dare Kiri to ask for her point, then his attention was thwarted by an incomprehensible cry from his mother. She was pushing dad from his arms, furious like Lo’ak had never seen before as the upset man tried to hold her more. “Look at mom and dad breathing fire at each other! You think they’re discussing how to punish her?”

“Stop spying already skxawng, mom will be angry if she sees you. We’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to listen here!” His ears were tilting at every angle to make out any words that reached to him as nothing but a cluster of broken sounds. “Why did they have to go far?”

“Because they wanted to be away from peeping toms like you?”

“And you’re still here too, so?” Lo’ak gave his sister a meaningful look. “I know you wanna see too.”

“Ugh!” Kiri shoved out her tongue at him, eyes dead. “And it’s not funny, by the way! They are fighting. Stop being happy about it.”

He knew they were fighting about his older sister, and that she’d get all the heat and fallout from it the moment she was back. Lo’ak’s head was full of what he could get out of it, or what to ask her for in return for helping her out in her detention. So satisfying to be the sibling who wasn’t in trouble. He should do it more, actually. “It is funny when it’s not about me.”

“You’re sick for taking joy in another’s suffering.”

“Oh, I’m doomed, then.” Kiri took whatever fat was on his thin arm between her thumb and forefinger, and twisted. Lo’ak had to blink away the tears that rushed to his eyes, snatching his limb away from the displeased girl and pushing her away in return — he was annoyed at how much that hurt, why was that so damaging for no reason? “Yeouch! What the hell?”

“Will it kill you to practice mindfulness once in a while?”

He raised his voice’s pitch to mock the wobbly, ear-scratching whine of yours, and exaggerated his body movements to match, too. “I hate you!”

“Gross.” She tried to shove him, he caught her hands in the air, pushing her back and getting the spiteful annoyance of his sister as a result. “Dad was actually hurt by that.” Lo’ak’s eyes could roll down the hills by themselves the way that sounded, but Kiri, as always, was bothered so inexplicably. “I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling.”

That bad feeling was the herald of dad’s upcoming cranky ill-temper and what would follow after you inevitably had to come crawling back home with tail between your legs, Neteyam dragging you from the scruff of your neck. Lo’ak was refusing to sleep so he could enjoy the fight.

“Me personally, am over the moon, ikran duty is so gonna be off my hands. For months.” He halted at the idea that just went off in his head, tail swishing with the hype. “I wanna tell Spider. I’ll go get him.”

“Absolutely not. You sneak off now and they’ll laser-focus all the anger on you!” Kiri was pointing a warning hand at him, but slowly lowered it, one corner of her mouth twitching up. She was holding back amusement. “Hey, you know what? Nevermind, you can go. I want you to go. I have to see this.”

“Ha-ha.” Lo’ak’s tail stuttered, losing enthusiasm. “Attempted murder, much?”

“Guys, what’s going on…”

Upon the unexpected voice that wobbled its way into their conversation, they both looked down to see Tuk gripping her weaved blanket with one hand and dragging it on the floor as she made her way to them, the other rubbing her eyes one by one so sleep dripping from them would fly away.

“See, you woke her up! What do we do now?”

“You woke her up by yelling, why is it my fault now?”

“I didn’t, you—”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did n—”

“Guys…” Tuk pulled on Kiri’s hand, and the foreign object she was clutching the whole time distracted Lo’ak. It must have dug into the older one’s skin that she carefully picked it up to inspect. The ear pieces they took off before they went to sleep. This one was Kiri’s. “Neteyam’s calling. You didn’t hear…”

Grinning, Lo’ak snatched it up and skipped backwards and put it in his own ear, ignoring Kiri’s hushed yells to give it back now and the groans about ruining it with his stinky, cheesy earwax. He had to keep bouncing around, the girl was chasing him around the tent. “Bro! Tell her she’s sooo dead. Dad’s literally keeping guard in front of the tent—”

“Lo’ak, quit it.” Neteyam’s tremulous answer was harsh. Lo’ak’s smile wavered as he dodged Kiri’s arm and jumped over discarded cups on the floor, knocking over wooden spoons. “I need you to tell me what’s happening over there.”

“Aw, baby’s so scared to come back she needs to make a game plan first?” He laughed, slapping Kiri’s hands away. “I’ll only tell if she gives back my karambit knife.”

His older brother sighed, a bit too exasperated.

“Yeah, I’m not letting that one go and I’m also making it your problem—”

“Lo’ak, she isn’t here.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“She isn’t here. I couldn’t find her.” Kiri bumped into him, unable to stop herself at the right time to hit the brakes due to how abruptly Lo’ak had stilled. They’d almost tumbled over. “Dad told me to wait until he contacts her and I’ve been waiting for minutes. Now tell me what’s going on over there.”

“Bro, you’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious, skxawng!”

He turned to Kiri in disgusted discomfort, who had damn-near glued her own ear to his to hear better. “Forget months, I’ll be free for years. Dad’s not gonna let her take one step off the camp anymore.”

The girl would stomp her foot if she was a couple years younger. “What’s this about?”

And Neteyam would shake Lo’ak from the neck for ignoring him this long while he was fussing. “Tell me already you—!”

“They’re having a fight bro.” He leaned better to peep outside the tent. “Yeah.”

“She came back? Why didn’t you tell me?”

It was uncommon for Neteyam to completely disregard the previous input he’d been given. Lo’ak didn’t understand this level of anxiety. “Are you having a brain fart? Would we be having this conversation if she was here? It’s mom and dad who are fighting.”

It wasn’t that serious — on the contrary, his sister was quite simple to understand. She didn’t want to be found and had changed her place of hiding. End of story. The golden boy’s worrywart nature was keeping him from reasoning.

“Don’t be a smartass.” Lo’ak practically felt Neteyam’s want to land a loud smack on his back. “Were they only able to reach her, then? Is that why they’re fighting?”

“You’re asking me?—”

The older boy began to grumble under his breath. “This is why I called Kiri.”

Said girl’s ears perked up over picking her name from the static-surrounded line. Lo’ak snorted. “Ouch, bro.”

Kiri shook him from the elbow. “Me? What about me?”

“Great title for your autobiography.”

Kiri raised her arms to give him a beating and Lo’ak was already bolting away from anywhere near her vicinity. The siblings didn’t even take notice of the line with Neteyam going dark as they focused on their own play-scuffle for a while.

Until Lo’ak bumped into someone.

It wasn’t Tuk.

Shoulders pulled into himself, he turned around torturously freaked out to find dad standing there like a ghost, his tactical vest packed to the brim and gun hanging from his back the way they wore their bows.

The blue of his skin had faded into an ashier tone, amber eyes wide and bloodshot, the veins on the normally put together Olo’eyktan’s forehead were bulging, even a socially clueless person would pick up something was seriously wrong. He commanded cold authority of the battlefield simply by the way he stood, immediately triggering Lo’ak into soldier mode.

He took a few steps back, chin hanging low at the lightless, unblinking stare his father pushed down on him. “Sir.”

All the sleepiness that had Tuk unresponsive and nodding off through Lo’ak and Kiri’s push-and-pull was knocked out of her at the sight, she was now unnerved and frightened. “Dad?”

The man’s intensity was somehow eased by his youngest’s reaction, but he held back from taking her in his arms like he normally would to comfort her, didn’t even care to remark on how they were supposed to be sleeping — how they’d woken their little sister up, instead focusing on Lo’ak. “I want you all to listen well. Your mother and I are heading out for a minute and your grandmother will be with you soon — Neteyam is Oscar-Mike to come back here. Stay put and don’t go anywhere, understand?” His finger pointed accusingly at him. “Don’t cause trouble. Looking at you boy, what I’m saying here is Marine proof. I’m at the end of my wits here, don’t even think about slipping a tail out of this tent.”

The potent severity of whatever the hell was making him this agitated to the point of a voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable got the wheels in Lo’ak’s head whirring. “What’s happening, dad?”

“One child!” The thundering shout came down on him with the force of a falling mountain, making Lo’ak jump out of his skin. “I need one child of mine to listen to me without asking any questions today!” Dad’s voice broke when Tuk whined, he shut his eyes as if he was in physical pain, and flexed his jaw, shaking his head and pulling the girl in from her shoulders to soothe her. Still no direct hugging. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Lo’ak said immediately, distraught by the over-the-top reaction, hands unknowingly curling into fists by his sides. Whenever that sky people word ‘Jesus’ slipped from dad not having any control between the border of his two languages, the boy knew it was demanding gravitas. “I heard you CFB.”

“Good.” He thinned his lips. “Kiri, please.”

Lo’ak frowned at dad basically asking for her to play her brother’s keeper in Neteyam’s absence in two simple words.

She nodded. “I know dad.”

He caught a glimpse of his mother running in the distance, her father’s bow in her hand.

Just what was happening? What had you done?

Eywa, it had to be sky people.

Dad saw the realization in his face. “Stay,” he emphasized, one final time before he was also gone with the wind.

Lo’ak wouldn’t have obeyed if it wasn’t for his grandmother arriving just in time, keeping them busy with a story about the arrival of a wounded ikran with no rider.

You realized the gunshot wound puncturing your upper abdomen was there the whole time when the avatars put first aid and later slapped a rectangular sky people bandage on it that helped clotting or whatever it was called, the pain simply not being there had played a big factor in it with the body running on pure adrenaline.

(Crouching close to you, Quaritch had bragged, “We aren’t so bad after all, huh, sweetheart? It’s called civilization. Your daddy ever taught you about that?”

Civilization, your ass. They needed you. There was nothing well-meaning about what they were doing.

And the nickname had ticked you off, sullying the good memories of father, your head slammed into his nose in full power after a hiss.

“Now my daddy taught me that!” you spat in English as other avatars had tackled you. The man claiming to be Quaritch was smiling as he wiped away the blood trickling down his nose.

What was the point in trying to patch you up if they were going to do this, then?)

You were now a part of an elaborate trap to lure your father in. Bait. The worst position to be in. This was the kind of trouble Lo’ak would get himself in. It was too late to go back now, the mess you’d gotten yourself into had made itself known.

Think, think! How could you get out of this?

Within the unsleeping forest’s nightly noises chirping all around you, a specific call in the air halted your train of thought.

It was mom.

Your parents were here. But how? How did they know where you were, exactly? Dread and expectation pooled in your heart, coexisting in a nauseating mix.

Father must be thinking that you already caused so much trouble, they couldn’t know you were also hurt, you’d never hear the end of it.

But there was no time to think, the pain you should have been feeling was ebbing its way into your body, and she was calling in the night to inform you to get ready.

All hell broke loose when the man who held you tight from your queue was shot right from the back of his head with an arrow, collapsing right on top of you.

You couldn’t get away in time to not be crushed by his dead body and promptly got squished between the mossy soil and him, his gun was hurting you, the wound on your stomach getting in the way of you using your core to push the body off.

How many minutes had passed with you struggling to get him off as a hurricane of bullets roared, you didn’t know (it hurt, pain was climbing towards the threshold) — mom was able to break free from the weight of a whole AMP suit, as you’d heard as a child, a Na’vi was naturally strong, but you couldn’t even crawl out. Panic was a rope tightening around your ribcage as your breathing picked up

All of a sudden, the weight was gone, and the only remaining thing from it was the big gun left from the avatar you found yourself hugging for dear life, eyes wide as saucers. Before you could see whoever had done that, you got hoisted up right back on your feet and tried to run, only to be held tighter and pulled behind the trunk of a tree.

“Hey, it’s me, it’s me!” Clumsy, overwrought hands were cupping your cheeks and — and oh, it was your father.

You didn’t know whether to be afraid or cry from happiness.

Once he was sure you registered it was him by staring intently in your eyes with that edge of the softness you’d missed so much, his hold shifted to your neck and around your shoulders, and he gave you a look-over, checking for any wounds. Too bad what he was searching for was behind the gun you were holding. “Are you hurt?” He shook you when you were too stunned to answer. “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” you shook your head automatically, it was weak against the explosions of bullets raining down all around you, but father had picked it up regardless, only focusing on you for the moment.

In the darkness, nobody could see the blood running down your body, that bandage had come out at one point.

“On my mark, we’re gonna run, okay?” He nodded to you, tomahawk axe in hand coated in a dark substance, commanding your full attention. “Follow me. Ready? Ready?”

You weren’t ready at all, stomach feeling like it was being stabbed at every heartbeat, but you couldn’t tell him that.

Instead, you ran like hell, moored by father’s taut clutch on your forearm pulling you forward to match his incredible speed dodging roots, bushes and branches.

Things stopped moving only when you were enveloped in mom’s embrace, consciousness almost flying off from the relief that washed over you. Kisses were peppered along your hairline and forehead, her mumbling your name in gratitude blending with your panting. Tears burned bitter in your eyes, but you couldn’t cry, not when father was looking at you like that, chest rising and falling. You instantaneously remembered why you were holding that gun at the intensity he was radiating, tail escaping between your legs and letting mom hold you.

At least this way he wasn’t able to objurgate you.

Over her shoulder, you saw three ikrans instead of two. Heart soaring, you were skipping towards him in pure astonishment in a heartbeat. “Hey buddy!”

His head lowered down towards you in bird-like movements. In this angle, it looked like he was giving you a razor sharp-toothed big grin.

“He brought us here,” your mother said. The hand you were going to pet the ikran with stopped midway at her dejected tone. “You have passed Iknimaya, I take it. On your own.”

You didn’t know what to say, feeling immense guilt at having made her this disappointed over it. If this was any normal situation, any normal fight at all, you would have shot back with, ‘Well father told me to do it.’

But you were tired.

Your pain threshold was being threatened, and you needed to get to your grandmother before any of your parents saw the situation you were in and this escalated into the worst fight you were going to get into in your entire life.

Father’s only response was a dead cold, “C’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

He didn’t talk to you after that. Not one word.

Squatting on an ikran’s back on a flight with an abdominal gunshot wound you were trying to hide was not an option unless you wanted to pass out midair and was looking for a free dive, so you were all but hugging the poor thing’s neck like a monkey, trusting him to follow your parents while you concentrated on mentally fighting to level out the pain.

Nonsensical as it was to believe the gun stuck between your ikran’s neck and your stomach was acting as a tampon to lessen the bleeding, you were concerned with how dumb it must have looked to father and mom, how incompetent they must think of you that their daughter didn’t even know how to ride right.

Got an ikran for nothing.

Would they be less proud of you seeing how funny it appeared, nevermind that it was to contain your pain all the while not trying to faint?

But no words were exchanged about it.

Father clamping up right after he’d made sure you weren’t hurt (yikes) had resulted in this awkward trip succumbing in total silence. They had sandwiched you between them, only necessary space for the ikrans to beat their wings freely left, so close that you could discern the scariest look on father yet, deepening the lines of age in his face while simultaneously expressing his barely contained desire to kill someone.

A ticking time bomb.

Forget speaking at all, but not only did he never address you until now, he didn’t even look in your direction for once. You knew because staring at him for five minutes straight for him to just acknowledge your existence had proven to be unfruitful.

And the tears involuntarily streamed down your cheeks with how utterly worthless and alone that made you feel, trapped in this agony you couldn’t help but hide because he’d think you didn’t deserve to complain after bringing it upon yourself. You would rather bite your tongue and bear the pain than stay dreading his reaction.

Yeah, no, he couldn’t know.

Mom was looking over at you every one minute to make sure you were okay after her ears picked up on your sniffles, arrows of worry shot from her side sinking down your skin every single time, and you hated to make her this way.

Your ikran kept comforting you through tsaheylu until you landed.

Father had promptly jumped down, agile and making haste away somewhere, passing you by and giving the cold shoulder. You all but slid off your own ikran, managing to make the gun stay where it should be, as you couldn’t help but weakly call out to him for one drop of consolation. “Father…”

He didn’t stop for you, quickening his steps, but his ears twitched, the tail beating the air ferociously halting and lowering before it returned to the previous motions, and those were the only indications that he’d heard it Lima Charlie.

The man just didn’t want to talk to you.

And you had to make yourself believe it wasn’t the emotional devastation that had you falling down, but the wound sucking out all your energy now that you had gotten to safety.

“Ma’ite?” Mom rushed to you. “Ma’ite, what’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m okay, mom, it’s okay.” You were sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Thank goodness you still had the unbreakable willpower (and not the fear of Eywa put into you by father) to hold your shit together. “I’m okay. Just tired. My knees buckled. Weak, you know?” You swallowed, smiling. “I’m just… Just resting.”

Her gaze full of concern studied you, zeroing in on the gun you clung on for dear life against your stomach. Her hands lovingly brushed your hair, gripped your shoulders and elbows even though you were disgustingly clammy all over. It was grounding, anchoring within the ocean of pain washing over you in waves.

“Oh, why are you sweating so much? You’re freezing.” You clutched the gun harder in a panic when she grasped it, most likely to put it away. It was the wrong reaction to have, but you weren’t exactly in the position to function healthily.

Mom, as any other person would, got suspicious from it, her eyes flying up to your owlish ones — blanked out like a frightened animal. “You’re fine now,” she whispered, thankfully attributing it to how disturbed you must be, still not out of survival mode. “You are safe, my daughter. Mom is here.” She cupped your cheek, but every touch to your body hurt now, even when it was away from the gaping wound, still gushing blood, trickling down your hips and getting you scared that it’d be discovered once you stood up. “I’m here.” She searched your soul to know just why you were grimacing at her attempts of comforting. “I will take this now, you do not need it anymore.”

You snapped out of the gradually darkening gray haze mom’s lulling was laying you down gingerly into. “No, please don’t,” your breathing hitched. She was going to see. She couldn’t see. You had to avoid this somehow, as long as you could. Grandmother’s tent. You would make it, you had to. “I’ll… I’ll just sit here for a while, okay? I need to just… take a small break, and then I’ll… Can you go back? I’ll follow later. Father is angry, I don’t—”

“Nonsense.” Incredulous and enraged suddenly about something you couldn’t put a finger on, and before you could stop her, she tried to haul you up with her by gripping your upper arms — colors exploded behind your eyelids, getting you you to lose consciousness for two seconds, your vision flooding back in a starry kaleidoscope. When mom’s voice reached your ears, it was in staccato exclaims your ears were ringing too much to discern. She was shaking you.

You weren’t able to sit up straight anymore, leaning forward — mom had caught you, utterly confused and panicked at the same time. And then your head was lying on the crook of her elbow resting on her legs she’d tucked under herself. The moment you’d switched from sitting to straight up lying down was missing from your memories.

A baby being cradled. Yes, this is exactly what it was like. Gentle arms surrounded you amidst the pulsating sea of agony.

Your body was letting go, but your arms were vices around the gun, still holding that last line. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. They can’t know. Father will be so mad if he learns. “‘m okay… ‘st restin’…”

When your eyes cleared enough for the surroundings to be only a bit blurry, your mom was looking at the hand she’d just tried to take away the gun with, caked with your blood that had stained it, out of it and perplexed like she didn’t want to believe it.

Her gut-wrenchingly stunned numbness sent the misery clawing its way inside into overdrive, pulling your consciousness down to the earth from the clouds it was ascending to. “Not mine,” you forced out, but it came out as begging. Everything was falling apart. The plan was so simple, why couldn’t you do anything right? “Not mine. Please. Mom, it’s okay.”

“No…” Mumbling, she started sharply swaying back and forth, and with one brutally vigorous attack, she ripped the gun away from your arms, and hurled it away — then it was over. Your sob wasn’t due to the motion hurting you, it was all entirely for the broken wail of your mother at seeing the bloodied mess, tears spilling from her eyes as she reached down to press down at the pouring liquid. “No! No! Oh Great Mother! Why did you hide this! Oh, my daughter!”

“No, mom, I’m fine, it’s nothing. Not my blood. Not my blood, okay?” You reached up weakly and wiped at her cheeks with trembling fingers, your heart got crushed worse than the pain could beat you down at her grief — lungs constricting. Where was all the air? “I’ll get up. I’ll go to grandmother, don’t cry. Just resting.”

Frantically looking around, she yelled, “Jake!—” but her voice didn’t quite come out, breathy as if she’d been punched in the ribcage seconds prior.

A heartbeat’s worth of nothingness, after which you were full-on freaking out. Only one thought: Father will be angry.

“No!” You shrieked, and blood swelled in one strong pump against mom’s fingers. She looked down at you in anguish, pupils blown wide, arm tightening around you as if you were a flailing bird. “Don’t tell him! Don’t tell father! He’ll really kill me for this—”

“No, no no no,” she shook her head, frenzied, tone cracked from beginning to end. “Do not say that. Don’t you ever say that—”

But you were struggling in her arms, wanting nothing but to crawl away into a hole, no reason registering whatsoever, only instinct. “He’ll be so angry,” you begged, pleading, pink spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth. The sound of gurgling accompanying the words you forced your whole body to form. “You can’t tell him — you can’t! He already hates me!”

The more you thrashed around and kicked your legs, the more you bled.

“Please, Great Mother!” The more mom lost her mind, hissing and howling hysterically, crazed, hugging you tighter and rocking. “Jake! Jake! Ma’Jake!” She put her temple against yours. “Not my daughter, please, Eywa…”

Why was she being like this? It wasn’t that serious! You were okay!

Delirium claimed you hot as she kept calling his name and her unbreakable hold on you kept you in a cage of a mother’s despair. In your feverish mind, a threat to your life was coming. Weakness spread like wildfire around your body and chipped away at the pain, slowly picking it apart to replace it with drowsiness. “Don’t call ‘im,” you continued to repeat, over and over again. “I’m just taking a break. Don’t call him over. He’s gonna be angry. He’ll hate me. He hates me. Please, mom.”

The sentences slurred together, shortened, wilted away pitifully, your voice died down, tongue deteriorating into only echoing, “He hates me.” A withered away, old flute.

Your ikran was bellowing in the distance and you looked. The torches on cave walls were illuminating him and finally revealing to you his beautiful color scheme.

And then your father was here, falling to his knees right beside you, his glistening wide eyes flying everywhere around your body — tracing all the blood, hands hovering above you as if he didn’t know where to start piecing a shattered vase back together.

It was over.

Fully expecting the chastising you were about to receive to shake the floating mountains so bad the enemy would be able to spot you, you began to apologize — pride be damned, this battle be lost, you’d failed anyway. “Please don’t be mad,” you shuddered, meek and unsteady, tunnel vision flickering at the edges only perceiving him. “It’s my fault—I’m sorry—please don’t be angry—”

“Stop talking,” he ordered, rough and harsh, eyebrows knitted tightly, and out of breath — probably because of how hard he was trying to hold the anger back. You knew. That had to be it. “Don’t speak.”

Ah of course. This was only natural when he had refused to utter a single word at you the whole way, denying you the temporary comfort of a simple glance.

Even the hand he pressed down so ruthlessly firm on your stomach it might as well be a boulder pinning you down was meant to be punishment, the whines your unbreathing lungs couldn’t stop turned into yowls — you hadn’t even noticed your hands were wrapped around father’s wrist in an effort to push him away, scratching him, but he only added his other hand on top of the other in return.

“Hang on, sweetheart, I got you, please hang on a little longer,” he pleaded, but you were already too far gone, Eywa was cruel to have plugged your ears to the endearment you’d been dying to hear from him for so long, making the last things you were aware father said to you the fact that he didn’t even want to hear you talking.

And you fulfilled his wish.

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bulletproofscales · 5 months

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Hey my dude Could you write a lil fic where the maknae line are stressed due to exams or sth and they cope with food so they gradually gain weight but it only gets worse when exams are over bc they get pampered by the hyung line to the point where they break chairs and get stuck in doorways 👉🏻👈🏻 - your Prince Charming 😔🤙🏻

i already wrote something nearly exactly similar with the hyung line! if anyone is interested in reading that click HERE.

but it was one of my first promtps and i felt like i could do this request more justice by digging into it a little more… it ended up being a 4-month-22k-words fic hope you enjoy!!

also im experimenting with adding my inspiration gifs into the fic, i feel like they add something, to me at least. gif credits will be at the end with links to the ops :)

(if me answering and writing a prompt from 2019 doesnt give you hope about your request geting eventually finished, idk what will)

A higher GPA, and a higher BMI

tags: namkook , chubby jungkook , fat jungkook mindless eating , stuck in furniture , oblivious weight gain , taejin , chubby taehyung , fat taehyung , student - TA relationship , public stuffings, stress eating , outgrowing clothes , sopemin , established relationship sope , chubby jimin , fat jimin , spoiling , breaking furtniture , confessions , miscommunication

22k words

AO3 LINK

Already having graduated college, Namjoon Seokjin Yoongi and Hoseok guarantee to help their younger friends with anything they need to hopefully get through this semester as smoothly as possible.

Jimin Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t mean to push that guarantee to the extreme.

Jungkook gravitated to Namjoon for help. STEM majors gotta stick together and all that. They weren’t exactly the same, but a lot of their classes overlapped at least at the early years that Jungkook finds himself in. So it wasn’t uncommon to find the two at the maknae’s shared apartment late at night hunched over a pile of exercise sheets and past exams.

It wasn’t always like this though, Jungkook started college as valedictorian, top of his class effortlessly getting honors and getting into his dream school for bioengineering. But that confidence would be his downfall because nothing could’ve prepared him for the massive effort that you’re supposed to put into a college major. His first ruthlessly failed exam needing an emergency call to Namjoon from Jungkook’s two roommates for him to come and console the poor boy. Easy enough to do if you’re Jungkook’s personal hero. But a bigger problem was brewing for the younger that Namjoon wouldn’t be entirely sure how to tackle.

Said problem being: a very suddenly anxious Jungkook, unsure of his own skill and unable to figure out how to properly study in a way that ensures this never ever happens to him.

“Kook-ah, you know what you need to know for the exam.” Namjoon tries. “You will be okay.” His hand sits on Jungkook’s bouncing knee, settling it. He can at least do that.

“But what if I forget? What if I get so nervous I can’t recall everything I studied. And all my effort goes to waste-” He is spiraling. Namjoon can see him spiraling, he says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Get up. We are getting dinner.” He stands up, leaving behind a puzzled Jungkook. Groggy from lack of sleep, puffy from stress, hair a fluffy mess from running his hands through it. He looks adorable, and he is wordlessly looking for an explanation. “You’re not gonna get any sleep locked up in here.”

“I do need to sleep tonight.” Jungkook mumbles more to himself, and Namjoon is a bit concerned about the way the younger says ‘tonight’ like it’s the exception. But he chooses not to comment on it.

“Exactly, let’s go. Hyung’s treat.” His smile grows on his face, he’s got him hooked and out of the house; and that’s what matters. Jungkook really does have this class figured out, they’ve been at it for hours and Jungkook has been at it for weeks. Continuous days of sleepless nights, Namjoon is sure if he gets as much as one beer into his system, Jungkook will sleep like a baby.

The decision is simple, something that’s walking distance because Namjoon can’t drive. The shoebox-sized fried chicken place across the street from Jungkook’s apartment. As soon as they walk in, Jungkook is groaning behind him. “I’m starving!”

It earns a squinted glare from Namjoon over his shoulder. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Do fingernails count?”

“Sit down.” Namjoon is nearly tugging at the younger’s sleeve, guiding him to a booth. Trying to be menacing but Jungkook’s giggles show that he is unsuccessful. Too much endearment in Jungkook’s eyes when he looks at Namjoon for it to work.

The place is nearly empty except for them both and some of the wandering staff. Namjoon didn’t think to check what time it was, or if their kitchen was even open still. And, call it his papa bear instinct, he is not leaving until he gets some food for Namjoon to eat. Fortunately when he calls the water, it’s all good news, he lets Jungkook take over what he wants. Since Namjoon ate the recommended amount of food today, he already had dinner.

But he’ll share a beer with Jungkook. You know, in solidarity.

Once they’re out of that stuffy apartment, it’s easy to fill the conversation with literally anything else that isn’t Jungkook’s exam. Feeling warmth spread along his chest at Jungkook’s whole demeanor lightening up. But he hasn’t seen the best of it yet, bunny grin spreading across his face when the chicken is set in front of them.

“You sure you don’t want any?” His eyes are already eating the glistening chicken, but Jungkook quickly glances up at Namjoon.

“No, no. I might steal some but I’m not hungry.” It does look like Jungkook ordered for two. But it’s nothing they can’t take home with them. “All yours, Kook.” He smiles, feeling genuine comfort at the sight of Jungkook pretty much launching onto his meal.

The conversation does die a little inevitably. Jungkook isn’t giving himself much room to talk. He isn’t giving himself room to breathe. Bringing the plate close to his chest for his chopsticks to shovel the biggest mouthfuls his lips can possibly stretch to accommodate. Namjoon wouldn’t be able to ‘steal some of it’ even if he wanted to. Eyes wide as he takes the next bite, but they always close to enjoy the flavourful bites, signature frown letting Namjoon know that the younger is absolutely loving his food.

Well, it’s nearly animalistic rather than blissful. Some of the caramelized coating of the chicken already staining Jungkook’s lips orange, and it’s beginning to cling to the corners of his mouth and some of his cheeks too; in the particularly huge bites. Not holding back any of the pleasure noises he lets out, because they all get muffled and swallowed by the food.

The first few dishes licked clean in a matter of minutes. A burp coaxing its way out of his mouth before he even sets the last empty plate down.

“Aish… Manners, Jungkook.” Namjoon feels a blush make his face all warm, as he chuckles through his scolding.

“I told you I was starving.” He mumbles already bringing up the beer, the one that he had left abandoned as soon as the food was served. Cutting his own speech short with thick gulps of beer. “Ah-” Jungkook manages to close his lips to swallow the burp that comes immediately after. “Can I get some more?”

It’s Namjoon’s turn to widen a bit beyond endearment. “Aren’t you full?” There’s a confused smile on his face, met with an uncharacteristic serious expression on Jungkook’s face.

“I really don’t wanna go home yet. I can make more room.” He sees it again, that fear and anxiety in Jungkook’s big guilty eyes. Namjoon acts on instinct, raising his arm for the waiter to see.

“Jeogiyo! Another serving of spicy chicken please!” The waiter nods quickly. He shoots a warm smile to Jungkook who is looking gratefully back at him. “And two more beers.”

Jungkook is determined in everything he does, Namjoon finds out. Even finishing every last crumb of this second serving. Even as the frown on his face stops manifesting his appreciation for the flavor, but the effort of trying to fit all this food in. Taking a few more beer breaks to possibly wash down the greasy lump that must be forming in his throat. Though that must only make it worse, if the way his cheeks expand in swallowed burps is anything to go by.

The same silence from Jungkook’s first devouring fills the table, though this time much painfully longer. And without any of the younger’s delighted enjoyment, instead a demonstration of pure… gluttony? Avoidance? Namjoon doesn’t even know what to call it.

A struggle, is what it is. And Namjoon can’t seem to look away. Eyes following how Jungkook begins to eat with only one hand, the other one mysteriously disappearing under the table. The older can only guess it’s to ease the tension that must be forming at his stomach.

Obviously already full, but he doesn’t cease until the last piece of chicken forced its way past his lips, at this point chewing slowly and lethargic. His blinking prolonged and sleepy. But he seals the deal by taking his beer and drinking the last few sips of it. Groaning immediately after he swallowed the last gulp. Noise that’s a little coaxed out by the burp that follows straight after. Leaning back on his seat, only his heavy breathing filling the silence.

“How are you feeling?” Namjoon asks.

“Ready to pop.” The younger chuckles sleepy. Namjoon was expecting something more along the lines of his emotional state for the exam. But this works too.

“Want hyung to walk you home?” He can’t help but smile a bit, that blush from both fullness and alcohol on Jungkook’s cheeks, and his pouty greasy lips, it’s incredibly endearing.

“Yeah… yeah I’ll fall asleep if we stay here.” Both his hands are on the table now, helping himself stand up. Revealing to Namjoon the sight Jungkook had been hiding under the table all their meal. A round cute, slightly reddened, bloat, that pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down; exposed by the shirt, that Jungkook seems to have folded upwards for a better rub.

Namjoon can’t help but look at it, it’s right in front of his face!

Looks tight. Small but packed to the brim. He wonders what it feels like to touch.

The thing to snap him out of his trance is Jungkook unfolding his shirt right back to cover his ballooned stomach. “Do you want anything else?” The younger askes a bit puzzled. Right, Namjoon is still sitting. Still in perfect line of sight with Jungkook’s cute little bloat.

“No no, sorry. I’m tired too.” He chuckles a bit through his excuse, standing up quickly and calling the waiter to take their bill. Ended up spending more than he anticipated. Namjoon wasn’t expecting Jungkook to order enough chicken for 3 and drink enough beer for him, Namjoon and the other few people in the restaurant.

Though it’s worth it for the way Jungkook tiredly leans to him as they walk across the street back to his apartment. Not doubting for a second before wrapping his arm around the younger’s shoulders. Keeping it there all through the elevator ride. Feeling particularly accomplished at the way Jungkook nuzzles his neck, feeling his smile against his warm skin.

His roommates, Jimin and Taehyung, give them a look from the living room; as Namjoon basically guides a half-asleep Jungkook to his room. A blush creeping on the older’s cheeks at the implications.

“H–he ate a lot of chicken.” Namjoon smiles with a nervous chuckle attached to the end of his sentence.

“If the police come asking we won’t tell.” Taehyung snickers from the couch. As he continues to help Jungkook to his bed. He plops on it like dead weight but he is sleepily smiling up at Namjoon.

“Thanks, hyung.” His voice is still a little thick with grease. Eyes beaming even with bags under them. Just from the slight shift of movement to nuzzle his bed, Jungkook’s shirt is riding up again. A sliver of skin and the ballooned little tummy that pushes against the fabric.

Namjoon diverts his eyes back to the younger’s face. “Anytime, Kook. Really.” He lets his hand comb through the fluffed up long hair of the younger. “I like seeing you so relaxed for a change.” Namjoon smiles down at him and is rewarded with melodic, slightly tipsy, giggling. “Rest up, okay?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll do great tomorrow.”

“Yes, hyung.” He is already closing his eyes. And Namjoon has to hold back an endeared chuckle. Not bothering to say another word as he quietly leaves the sleeping Jungkook behind.

It’s about the early afternoon, after what Namjoon imagines is a harrowing exam experience, that he gets a text from Jungkook.

kook: that dinner worked like MAGIC hyung

kook: that might have been the best night sleep i had

kook: NOT EVEN IN EXAMS EASON JUST IN GENERAL

Namjoon wasn’t trying to give life saving advice. Mostly just panicked in an attempt to get Jungkook out of the house. But the relief he feels is too much for him to even feel like a fraud.

Though it really must’ve worked like a charm. Because he doesn’t get another text from Jungkook for the entirety of exam season. It’s a change of pace to get a text from the younger that isn’t anxiety-ridden, a change that Namjoon entirely welcomes.

kook: namjoonie hyung

kook: i miss you

kook: come with me to a cafe to study?

A smile is already splitting his face.

you: oh i’d love to! but i actually graduated 2 years ago 😅 thanks tho

kook: -_-

kook: come work or something

kook: since when are you turning down opportunities to be at a little nice coffee shop with ambiance and good french toast?

kook: don’t you have anything to work on?

He can’t help the smile growing on his face. He gets so defensive, as if Namjoon could ever say no to him. And he has some lyrics he’s been wanting to clean up. Though he won’t tell Jungkook, he doesn’t want to remind the younger of his… artist name.

No matter how many times Jungkook says that Rap Mon was the sole reason he ever approached the older in college, Namjoon refuses to believe it.

you: sure i’ll find something~

kook: you play so hard to get.

Namjoon would think he sounded annoyed if he didn’t send the coffee shop place and the time to be there. With his headphones, laptop and little lyric notebook he makes sure to be there.

As most times, Jungkook epsters him for a reason. The place does have a beautiful ambience, and the smell of coffee and baked goods smells divine and the place is filled with mostly one person tables of people buried in their work. He spots Jungkook pretty easily, in one of the booths with an arrangement of what, from Namjoon’s personal experience, he imagines are exercise guides, the obscenely big calculator, and his glasses on, hair up in a bun.

Cute.

He must’ve been here for a while longer than Namjoon, if the few clean plates are anything to go by. Jungkook doesn’t notice the older, like everyone else, completely engulfed in what he is doing.

“You could’ve told me to come ehre earlier.” He chuckles without malice, making Jungkook perk up.

“Oh! I just got here like 20 minutes ago. I got off class early.” So he ate all this in 20 minutes? “Hi to you too by the way.” He says through pursed lips. A dimpled grin splits Namjoon’s face.

“Hi, Jungkook. I missed you.” His words are particularly sweet and genuine, just to get a smile out of him. And it works, it always works.

“You should order something, I picked a place with good salty options for you.” He says smugly.

“So thoughtful, Kook.” Namjoon sighs dreamily, picking the abandoned menu from the corner of the table. And he is right, he already sees an avocado toast that catches his eye. But when the waiter comes to them to take Namjoon’s order, Jungkook is talking again.

“I’ll get another latte and one of the cinnamon rolls.” He smiles politely to the waiter, Namjoon has to get over the fact that he is ordering more at all.

“And… an avocado toast and an americano.” Namjoon recovers smoothly. The waiter looks a little surprised too. If Jungkoko really got here just 20 minutes ago like he says, then yeah, anyone would be surprised he is getting… (Namjoon counts the plates), fourths already.

Regardless he nods and walks away. Namjoon starts setting up ready to get to work. Though in the silence it seems like Jungkook feels the need to explain himself.

“That was my lunch.”

“Oh?”

“This is… dessert.” A smile grows at the sudden seriousness in Jungkook’s tone.

“Okay.” He says a bit amused, a small chuckle bubbling at the back of his throat. “You can eat as much as you want.” He offers a gentler look, only because there’s a tint to Jungkook’s cheeks. The younger smiles back before they fall into comfortable silence. Only interrupted by their food, and then, quiet eating noises with the subtle scribbling of their paper.

Until Jungkook is done with his order, then he calls the waiter again. For more food. And Namjoon is getting a proper view of what happened in those first 20 minutes that Jungkook arrived before him. Practically scarfing down the plates without even glancing at them. The hand that isn’t scribbling obscenely long equations onto the paper, reaches for the food. Clumsily, his lips stretching and trying to catch the food without taking his eyes off the exercise. Only lifting his face when he is done and needs to call the waiter for more. Though, the entire staff seems to be alert of Jungkook.

Is this not the first time he is doing this?

Namjoon tries not to think about it, but what were once quiet eating noises turn louder the messier it gets. So he can’t ignore it, and at some point he just starts to wonder how much can Jungkook pack in? The stack of plates next to his pencil case is obscene, like something out of an eating contest. One that only Jungkook knows about, and he’s been practicing months to get a head started on.

Because, Namjoon has hung out a lot with him, and even when he was a freshman in college, Jungkook could never eat this much. Not even when the dreadful freshman 15 are supposed to hit. He is so acutely aware of Jungkook’s eating, Namjoon does not manage to do any work that day; not a single verse. Maybe for the better, since he spares himself from Jungkook’s teasing.

But it’s a long couple of hours. Namjoon knows he could’ve gotten up at any time, they’re just keeping eachother company. Yet, he finds that he can’t quite bring himself to stop stealing glances at the younger, catching him sometimes halfway through stretching his lips around a bite, or even already licking his fingers clean obscenely before reaching for another handful of food. Namjoon is transfixed in this cycle of looking up just to quickly divert his eyes away, though he doubts Jungkook even notices him there.

Alas, when he finishes his exercise guide, he proudly punches the table grinning. “Done.” He states a bit breathless, which has probably something to do with the massacre of plates beside him. And it’s not even the whole thing, as the staff took the initiative to start taking away the plates as they piled up besides Jungkook. “I can’t look at another one of these or my brain will pop.”

Namjoon has to hold back from saying he imagines there will be another organ of his popping soon. “Yeah I’m all out of juice too.” He says instead, resigned. He is not getting any progress, not today. After fighting for who covers the check, and Namjoon successfully wins, they’re packing their things.

Only then, does he get to see the impact of Jungkook’s new coping method for stress. When the younger stands up from his chair, without the table covering him anymore and reveals the rest of his body. Namjoon comes eye to eye with Jungkook’s newfound pudgy middle. A belly that hangs just a bit over the waistband of his pants, with a shirt that clings to the pillowy fat; hem barely brushing his bottom roll. As if a wrong movement would make it ride up the gentle curve of his stomach. Tight enough that the dent of his belly button shows through the stretched fabric, clinging fully to the muffin top on his hips and putting full display of the thickness of his waist.

Having him stood up while Namjoon still sits makes it even clearer that it’s not just his belly that softened, but all of him. His chest rounded out and pushed slightly forward; perky chest and slightly puffy nipples. Something Namjoon maybe would have noticed if it weren’t for Jungkook’s chronically awful posture. Stretching the shirt at the very top. Along with his arms, clinging to the short sleeves without all the definition that Namjoon had gotten used to, instead softer and thicker. And his double chin, from this angle it was evident. Face looked rounder more than ever with the padding under his jaw clear as day as Jungkook looked down to smile at the older.

“Not enough juice to even get up?” Jungkook retorts and snaps Namjoon out of his trance.

“Y-yeah yeah sorry.” He stands up quickly, quickly enough that he nearly knocks into the table a bit. Earning a deserved chuckle from the younger, and a flustered huff from Namjoon. “Shush, or I’m making you drive me.”

“I was gonna offer to drive you anyway. Come on.”

He doesn’t miss the slight heavy breathing form Jungkook as they walk to the car, and the quiet sigh when he sits on the driver’s seat; he tries to ignore it at least. But Jungkook makes it extra hard to look away when the hand that isn’t steering the wheel cupped the bottom of his belly. Thumb digging into the layer of pudge to reach the bloat, in slow circular motions.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this relaxed while studying.” He says, and it’s genuine! Jungkook has a satisfied smile on his face, Namjoon remembers when he had to pry the younger away from the exercise guides and coax him to eat a meal.

Definitely doesn’t have any of those problems anymore.

“You helped for sure.”

“Please, you were in the zone even before I got there.”

“No. No I mean like, the tip. The tip you gave me all that time ago?” Namjoon’s puzzled look must speak for itself. “You know, eating before an exam, eating while studying. Like we did last time.”

He doesn’t distinctly remember giving Jungkook that advice, but it shows all over his body. And his smile is so proud of himself, the one that reminds Namjoon of an underclassmen highschooler telling him he wanted to go to college for biology just like Namjoon. Just to impress him.

Namjoon simply doesn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

In fact, Namjoon doesn’t have the heart to tell him anything else on the matter. Anything that isn’t encouragement. Even when Jungkook isn’t in exam season, he’s become so food motivated; it makes sense to offer him treats during the semester, just to keep him on track…

It makes sense for Namjoon to do that.

Of course.

Snatching him during the week for study cafes, and bringing beer to all their late night study sessions… They’re all for the sake of Jungkook’s education.

In the back of his mind, of course, he thinks his genuine encouragement might have gotten out of hand. But it’s worth it for the starch difference in Jungkook’s grades, and overall mood. Going through his classes with ease, as well as going through bags of snacks during said lectures. Through the rest of the year it only got worse, Namjoon knows this, but… Jungkook seems so happy.

These are some of the thoughts he has to debate with every time he goes to Jungkook’s for another study session. Tonight is no different. Going up the stairs to the younger’s apartment to support Jungkook in the midst of exam season. Though at this point, Namjoon isn’t entirely sure if he is of service anymore.

But if he isn’t of service, that means he has to face what other reason he could be joining Jungkook so often for.

And Namjoon simply doesn’t have time for that, he just arrived at Jungkook’s place. Box of brownies in hand. Store bought, Jungkook’s favorite (for some reason).

“Hyung!” His smile remains just as bright as any other day that Namjoon shows up for support.

The rest of Jungkook though… It’s unrecognizable.

In a year, the student’s new “study method” took a toll on Jungkook’s body. The frame that opened the door for Namjoon was close to being as wide as the door frame itself. His waist thickened to the point it buried any trace of Jungkook’s former dainty waist, thick rolls stacking along his sides, staring with jiggly love handles and finishing at the top with, what Namjoon could only describe as, the weight of his moobs beginning to overspill from the sides, beginning to sag to the sides with rounded softened nipples that constantly push against all his shirt. Pushing his arms to the sides, both of them fattened as well, softened without any of its former impressive muscle; they wobbled gently when he scribbled on paper.

As soon as he opens the door, his belly threatens to push through the threshold on its own, stretching forward in a slope. Slightly firmer at the top and center of it, but surrounded with pillowy and sagging downwards over the waistband of his pants. Overhang girthy and making most of Jungkook’s shirts ride up as he walks. Always shifting in his chairs trying to push his shirt down from behind and then from the front, before he inevitably gives up. It folds into hefty rolls whenever he sits down, taking room on his lap. The fact his legs fattened so much too doesn’t help, pooling out of every chair he sits on, ass wobbling with each step of the stairs that he’s taken Namjoon to their apartment.

His face… probably the only thing that stayed the same. Cheeks just rounding out cutely, making his face impossibly more of a circle when he grins, bright and heartwarming. With the addition of a bit of padding hanging off his once sharp jawline, into a squishy double chin.

“Hey Kook.” He says before his staring becomes too obvious. “I bought some motivation.” Namjoon smiles, proudly patting the brownie box.

“How did you know I was craving these?!” The younger whines thankful, as he steps aside to let Namjoon in.

“You’re always craving the worst quality brownie in the market.”

“Hey! There’s definitely ones worse than this! There’s always the cafeteria ones.” Namjoon is already making his way to the dining table. Guided by the scattered papers and books that are already taking over the surface.

“Second worst, then.” He gives in with a fond smile, like he always does. Taking a seat in front of Jungkook. Who makes the poor IKEA chair creak when he takes a seat on it. “Does that make you feel better about yourself?”

“Immensely.” His shit-eating-grin isn’t any less endearing.

“What are we studying today?” Namjoon cuts him off instead, only for Jungkook to start showing him the exercises he’s been having trouble with. Wordlessly and poutily. “Oh… oh I remember hating these.” The older’s face scrunches at the memory.

“I know… It’s gonna take a lot of brownies to get me through this.” Jungkook sulks. And right, because they’ve been implementing a new system. As well as the plethora of “study snacks” that Jungkook mindlessly gorges on while working, there’s the reward snacks. The ones Namjoon keeps out of his reach only to give him when he finishes something.

It’s been so long, Namjoon doesn’t exactly remember how it started. All he knows is Jungkook is too dependent on it now to go back to not getting snacks as rewards now.

“Just start with this one.” He points to one of the exercises on his study guide. Before picking up the brownie box and giving it a gentle shake. “There’s enough for the entire syllabus.” That’s the thing that makes Jungkook’s eyes sparkle with newfound motivation. Wordlessly taking the guide and his notebook before starting to quietly scribble down.

It was about 10 minutes, Namjoon using that time to revise Jungkook’s notes and get accustomed with the subject again. But, fast as ever, Jungkook slides the resolved exercise. “Let’s see.” Namjoon mumbles adjusting his glasses, feeling the younger’s eyes glued to him, switching from Namjoon’s reaction to the unopened brownie box. “This one is good!” He chirps, but it’s nothing compared to the full body beam Jungkook gives him, reaching for the brownie

The cycle repeats endlessly. Jungkook is a skilled diligent student, Namjoon isn’t entirely sure why the younger keeps inviting him over to study, almost never fully needing to ask questions. If there ever is a mistake, once Namjoon points it out, it is like something clicks in Jungkook’s mind. Entitle up to speed with the older.

The brownie box is emptying quickly. And Namjoon feels entirely useless, yet he can’t find himself to say it outloud. Not when Jungkook is in front of him with crumbs all over his cheeks and chest, chocolate clinging to the corners of his lips. And the hand that isn’t writing down is under the table mysteriously. Or well… It hasn’t been a mystery since that time at the coffee shop.

Another exercise done, Namjoon isn’t even done revising it before he catches a hand reach to the brownie box from the corner of his eyes. In a reflex the older reaches for it faster and brings it towards himself. “Ah ah ah, don’t get cocky. You don’t know if it’s correct or not.” He has a teasing smile, and Jungkook looks startled for a second, as if he had done it unconsciously, before smiling back.

“I’m pretty sure it is, hyung.” As he says it his hand reaches for the box again. And Namjoon has to bring it further back; this time with the glint of competitiveness that the younger always inspires from him.

“Not until I say so.” He’s finished reading, he knows it’s correct. But still, he holds the box away from Jungkook’s grasp, with a playful smile that the younger mimics. This isn’t about the exercise, not anymore. Jungkook tries to reach further from the table, leaning out of his chair. Just for Namjoon to react quicker than ever leaning back. From Jungkook’s angle, Namjoon can see the way the top of his belly is sinking into the edge of the table. Softer chest sagging barely against his shirt.

He can see Jungkook beginning to prepare to lean closer. And when Namjoon stands up already grinning from ear to ear, ready to possibly be chased by the younger.

And when Jungkook launches at him… He can’t. Namjoon’s smile fades a little, as he watches Jungkook try again. His own expression cracking into disbelief as he looks down at himself. Realization dawning on both of them slowly.

Jungkook is stuck in the chair.

The room feels death quiet, Jungkook clears his throat looking down at himself, hands gripping the armrests. Now that he is standing, Namjoon can see the way they’re digging into his fatty sides. And tries to push them down. Making his body ripple with each try.

Namjoon feels a little petrified where he stands. Before pleading doe eyes look his way. “A little help?!” Jungkook whines, snapping the older from the trance he was in.

“Fuck sorry.” Namjoon chuckles a bit nervously before rushing to him. “Come on, let’s get you out.” He mumbles getting behind Jungkook, fingers gripping into the legs of the chair and begin to tug backwards.

“Yes!” Jungkook groans. With each tug his apron belly slap against his lap. “I really really want that brownie!” He throws his head back whining pathetically. As if everything in his body didn’t scream that he had one brownie box too many.

Namjoon is grunting behind him, but it won’t budge. “Has this happened before?!” He can’t help his desperate tone. And Jungkook throws an insulted look over his shoulder.

“No?! You think I would’ve sat here if I got stuck already!?”

“I don’t, but it looks like this chair is three sizes small, Kook.” He chuckles a bit, slowly getting the chair off the curve of his plump love handles. Both of the younger’s hands are on the table, pushing his ass to Namjoon in an attempt to collaborate.

“I’ve been studying in my room a lot!” Jungkook’s voice gets higher pitched as he whines. Making Namjoon more forceful until he stumbles back. Flimsy wooden chair in his hands as he frees Jungkook.

“Ha!” He is a little breathless but victorious still. “Freedom.” Namjoon punches the air. Before noticing Jungkook’s silence.

He is eating another brownie. Namjoon guesses, the one Jungkook thought was owed to him for getting that exercise right. But then he is grabbing another one while still munching on the previous brownie. And his other hand is grabbing another one after that.

“What are those supposed to be for?” Namjoon crosses his arms with a teasing smile.

“Emotional reparations.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Taehyung hates critique day. Which sucks. Because in an art major, every day is critique day. He knew what he was getting into, of course he knew. Taehyung just didn’t expect to feel so personally about his art.

Though, he knows how to behave. Of course he doesn’t make a scene, and he takes all the critiques. But his frustrations end up manifesting elsewhere.

It’s not even his turn, there’s another 10 people before him. But Taehyung’s thumb is already against his lips. Teeth anxiously nipping at his cuticles. He doesn’t think his art is beyond critiquing, of course not. That’s the whole reason he is majoring in art. But he pours so much of himself into each piece, vulnerable and grotesquely intimate. It’s so hard to expose in front of everyone, relating the quality of his art directly to his own value as a person.

What if what he is saying is overdone? A cliche experience that everyone goes through and is not worthy of being represented through art. Or worse, what if it’s too much? Too personal and private to expose in a room full of strangers. What if these types of things should be left for the little epigraph under a painting for only the willing to read? Instead of stating it proudly as a defense for the homework you did in front of a bunch of strangers-

A hand places gently on his wrists, warm. Cutting the middle of his rampant spiral. Taehyung still has his fingers grazing against his lips when he turns to see the hand owner, his upperclassman and TA, Seokjin. Who has a patient smile on his face that seems like he can read all of Taehyung’s thoughts.

“If you’re gonna nip on anything, have this.” He whispers as to not call attention to them while the professor gives her critiques to another student. Taehyung’s hand is lowered gently and a candy bar is placed on it. His jaw drops, looking at it before looking up at Seokjin; who looks even smug about it.

“Thanks.” Even if his response is short, the admiration and gratitude must show on his face, because the older has to stifle a laugh. Taehyung doesn’t waste another second ripping open the package and bringing it to his lips.

Being able to press these anxieties onto the crunchy bar feels too relieving. The delicious nutty flavor is an amazing bonus. Taehyung can’t hold back from finishing it in only a few hurried bites. Relishing in the way his thoughts are taken over by the small snack, instead of his sprinting anxieties. And then he is pushing the last of it with his fingers, only realizing he hasn’t taken a single moment to enjoy the candy bar once he is gulping the last bite. And he isn’t even close to having to expose his artwork.

Does he go back to panicking? It feels like he should- Correction, it feels like he is.

Unconsciously, his hand is already reaching for his lips when Seokjin intercepts it again. Another candy bar in hand. Making Taehyung’s eyebrows fly to the roof.

“I get cravings during the day, okay? Don’t look so judgy.” Seokjin defends himself whispering, but his smile gives away that he didn’t take it too personally.

“I don’t wanna waste your stash, don’t you have some gum?” It’s the younger’s turn to hold in his giggles.

His TA’s face scrunches up. “I don’t like mint.”

“You are weird.” Taehyung says with a smile, hands already focusing on tearing the wrapper apart. Seokjin is rolling his eyes, while the younger is stifling his giggle with the first bite. He wordlessly passes Taehyung his backpack so lay by the student’s side where he is sat. Opened already and showing the plethora of candy bars and different snacks stashed in there.

How is this man so fit?! Taehyung rather brings the backpack closer to his side with his leg, as he’s already working through the second candy bar. He really tried to space it out and enjoy it a bit. But he still finished it in the span of only one student getting their critique. Only throwing a pleading glance at Seokjin, whose eyes are already on Taehyung with a patient nod, he is reaching deep in the bag for another one. Without looking into the bag, it really does feel like he has the entire thing full to the brim.

He pulls another one out, this time not so worried in making sure he makes it last throughout the like, 8 other people who have critiques before Taehyung. And he doesn’t. But his hand is already reaching for the bag without a second thought. He is sure Seokjin will be fine without 3 or 4 of his bars. The supply feels so endless he doesn’t even keep track.

Letting the candy bar wrappers pile around him, it doesn’t take long before a warm feeling starts to set on the bottom of his stomach. Blood circulation his stomach as it digests all that chocolate, peanut butter, and whatever else they put on them. It’s making him sleepy, but Taehyung welcomes the feeling with open arms, sedating him from all his anxieties. Mind too lethargic to worry, and hands too busy on the slight bloat of his tummy to reach for his teeth to nip at them. Taehyung doesn’t even notice when his time for the critique comes, catching him half way through a snickers bar. That he brushes to his lap, along with all the other wrappers that piled on his desk around his art piece.

The warmth emanating from his stomach is enough to even make him feel more soothed as he explains his piece. Something Taehyung had been struggling with since he got his first critique, and he realizes he can’t in fact be perfect at something from the get go; like he had unconsciously hoped for. Not this time though, he has a calm tone as he explains the inner workings and reasonings behind his assignment. And he doesn’t know if it’s that, or if this piece is particularly good, or if his lethargic mind is playing tricks on his perception of the world, but the critiques don’t seem as bad as they usually are.

The rest of the class passes by in a blurr. And he has Seokjin to thank for it.

And he does! Walking up to the TA once everyone starts walking out.

“Sorry about almost emptying your bag.” He smiles shyly. “But I really never felt that relaxed during a critique, ever.”

“Don’t mention it, I know it took me ages to get used to it.” His smile is patient as ever, Taehyung is beginning to wonder if it was this charming from the beginning of the semester.

“And what did you do then?” If he is tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, it’s nobody’s business.

“I was bringing entire boxes worth of snacks.” Seokjin giggles. “Really took my freshman 15 to a whole new level.”

If Taehyung lets his eyes go up and down Seokjin’s body with a smile, then maybe it’s a little bit of his TA’s business. “Doesn’t look like you have them on you right now.”

Seokjin smiles with a bit more confidence. Taehyung has never prided himself in his subtlety. “I told you I got used to the critiques, didn’t I?” If the older takes a step closer, Taehyung’s heart has no business pitter pattering this way. “Now I just keep a stash in case anyone is getting a little panicky.” Taehyung is about to object, but Seokjin anticipates it. “Happens more often than you think!”

“Sure it does.” His arms are folding over his chest, but it’s not as defensive as it is flirty. Seokjin seems to notice.

“You can just say thank you.” The fact his tone gets even cockier should not be as attractive as Taehyung is making it out to be.

“If it manages to calm my nerves consistently. Then you’ll get your thank you.” It feels like they’re standing much closer than when Taehyung first walked up to him to thank the TA. But he is leaving with a lot more.

“Keep me updated then.” Seokjin smiles unfaced.

“I will.”

And Taehyung leaves that class with an entirely different feeling of nerves than the one he walked in with; much giddier too. Though, airhead at heart, he notices he forgot to ask Seokjin for his number; and Taehyung definitely won’t be flirting through their school emails, and finding his social media and dming him is out of the question. Taeyung has some dignity left, thank you very much.

Instead, he limits himself to keep Seokjin’s memory alive in his mind every time he has a class where he has to present some of his artwork. Stocking up on a bagful of snacks for him to work his way through until he gets his critique. Mostly figuring out what’s the right amount, since that first time he only ever started snacking about 2/3rds of the the class in, so naturally Taehyung has more time to fill if he is starting to eat from the get go. But also, he can’t get too full too early! Because then the feeling could possibly wash off in the span of his 4 hour courses.

Though the most exciting part of his week was trying out what he enjoyed snacking on the most. What offered that warm hazy sensation that Taehyung was seeking, what settled best on his tummy, and what was most appropriate for class. He is not making the same mistake of bringing some chips and spicy sauce to class; not only making a lot of noise, but having the spice make his stomach gurgle and churn as he held back from farting in class.

After extensive research, Taehyung found out that sweets were the best option. Fluffy and noiseless, and perfectly filling. Instead of cramping to fit them into his bag, Taehyung proudly walks into class with a bakery box that sits on his lap. They’re bigger and more filling than candy bars, just (if not more) as delicious. And Taehyung plops it open as soon as the first student begins to expose. He is able to make them last the entire class, chewing unhurried but constantly throughout. Taehyung’s always had an appetite, but he always brings enough to end up with both hands under his desk on his bloated tummy, and a fuzzy feeling of fullness.

It’s only been two weeks, but Taehyung really does feel like he owes Seokjin a thank you. He thinks to himself as he walks into the classroom where Seokjin assists. The younger considered talking to him after class, but he finds the TA’s eyes on him… Probably due to the bakery box he brings with him into the classroom. Taehyung quite frankly, had already naturalized the snacks he has been bringing with him to most classes. Completely forgetting that Seokjin only comes to help out once every two weeks.

“I take it you’re trying out my advice?” Seokjin catches him as Taehyung walks to his usual desk.

“Trying it? I’ve already adopted it.” He sits down and smiles up at Seokjin. “I haven’t been this relaxed ever since I got into art.” Taehyung leans back into his chair, smug, before beaming. “And look at this!” His hand wiggles his fingers daintily in front of Soekjin’s face, his eyes crossing a bit to get a better look at the sight.

With perfectly healthy cuticles.

He gently takes Taehyung’s hand into his. Thumb rubbing up and down his middle finger; making the younger’s insides churn. “Wow… Look at you.” His tone is a little teasing, but his smile is endeared. Though, Taehyung can only focus on the world around him again, once the TA has let his hand go. “What’s on today’s menu?”

“Cinnamon rolls, some red velvet slices…” He purses his lips. And shies a bit when he sees Seokjin’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “And–and just a few more things. Can’t remember.”

“Certainly a lot more than those 5 snicker bars you ate last time.” This time there isn’t much endearment in Seokjin’s smile. Taehyung widens.

It was only 5?! He had felt so overwhelmingly full back then…

Now it wouldn’t come close to doing the job.

“I always had an appetite.” He shrugs with pouty lips. “I was just guilty of eating too much of your stash.” Taehyung excuses himself with arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m glad you’re bringing your own then.” Seokjin chuckles, making Taehyung worry if he even believes the younger’s excuse. “This is definitely more than all of my stash.” He eyes the big bakery box on Taehyung’s desk, and looks up with a smile that doesn’t say the full truth; the younger’s cheeks burn a little warmer.

But he doesn’t get to say the last word, the professor is calling Seokjin over; who only offers a wide grin before ushering to her desk.

This interaction definitely echoes in Taehyung’s mind, only silenced with the first few bites of the cinnamon roll. But not entirely, since flashes of Seokjin’s teasing smile as he eyed Taehyung’s portion size creeps on him. Catching him mid-bite, with his lips stretched, buttercream coating his lips and red velvet crumbs already beginning to fall onto his lap. His cheeks blushed everytime. All that nonchalance he had these two weeks, acquiring this habit, unbothered by the weird stares, suddenly shifted into self awareness when Taehyung sensed the TA’s eyes on him.

Taehyung didn’t dare look to check; he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he actually caught Seokjin staring at him making a pig out of himself in class. Maybe he was just deluding himself and the older was nowhere near paying him attention. Why would he be? They barely know each other.

All this just represented more thoughts for Taehyung to have to silence with food. Or at least try to. Determined to silence his feelings of sudden awkwardness, like he had managed all those classes before this one; where he ate without a care. And besides, if anyone would be nonjudgmental of this… coping mechanism, it should be Seokjin out of all people, shouldn’t it? He advised Taehyung to do it after all.

A thought in the back of his mind wonders if maybe it isn’t judgment that Seokjin is showing. But Taehyung decides to bury that thought with another one of the cinnamon rolls, taking an obscene bite of it. Guiding his thoughts to the warmth stretching his stomach, not taut yet but getting there. Pressing against his shirt with a slight curve. Already making him blissed and a little sleepy.

And he still has so much more food to go.

Perfect.

With newfound determination, and a mind determined to not think for the rest of the class, Taehyung loses himself to the food before him. Not only the sound of his professor giving critiques, but the sight from the corner of his eye of Seokjin (possibly) watching him, all fade away. As Taeyung focuses on looking down at his bakery box, focusing on his own hands as they reach more fervently for the food, feeling how the icing and buttercream make his throat feel thick and his entire body tingle as all the blood goes to his distending stomach. One hand goes idly to caress the growing curve, feels like with every heavy gulp, it expands against his fingers. Though it doesn’t feel unbearable like it used to be.

He brought enough food that when it’s time for his critiques, Taehyung hasn’t even finished. But he still ate enough for that comfortable warmth to ease his nerves. It goes by smoothly, like it has for the past few weeks. And he has left overs! Taehyung could probably take these back to his apartment, he is sure Jungkook will appreciate the extra study snacks.

Yet as soon as his professor is done talking to him, his hand is reaching for another slice of cake. Even when he has no reason to be nervous anymore, no anxiety rattling his bones; it’s like his hands reach for the food all on their own. He doesn’t even question it, let alone try to stop himself. But in the back of his mind, Taehyung is beginning to realize, he’s trained his body to do this. To eat without conscience, to eat to lose conscience.

Which isn’t really all that good. But then again… Being this full does feel really nice. Especially when these last baked goods are all he needs to fully push to the edge of comfortably full to stuffed to brim. The thought on the back of his mind isn’t enough to stop the automated path of his hand, as it grips the velvety piece of cake. It doesn’t matter if it’s not as enjoyable as it settles in his rounding stomach. The taste is amazing.

Fuck Jungkook, he has enough snacks already. That waistline speaks for itself.

Taehyung has to force that last bite down with his index finger, chewing lethargic and slowly; a little painful. His stomach gurgling under his desk in complaint, as if to convince Taehyung to not swallow. He does, obviously. The only thing more embarrassing than eating like a hog in front of everyone, would be spitting something out. He gulps it down and has a burp stretching his cheeks almost immediately after. Having to cup his swollen stomach when it vibrates and gurgles whining.

Ow.

He might have overdone it. His eyelids feel heavy and it feels like all those sweets are taking space his lungs need; making his breathing heavier and his body warm all over.

As if on cue, the class is dismissed! Perfect timing, Taehyung is ready to get these pants off and take a fat nap. Already tidying up his desk from all the little disposable plates and trays, he has good student etiquette thank you very much. Ignoring the weird stares from fellow students that walk past his desk. If they haven’t gotten used to this in the last two weeks, it’s out of Taehyung’s hands.

When it’s time to get up. His stomach churns painfully, cramping and complaining to the point Taehyung plops back into his chair. A little ‘ouf’ leaving his lips; as if he hadn’t already been breathless before attempting to stand. It takes a second try, and a second failure for Taehyung to realize… he might need a little help.

This time around, he does feel like the side-eyes he is getting from his classmates are somewhat deserved. He overdid it. Most definitely. Taehyung has never been this full, belly expanding with each shallow breath; agitated from trying to stand and pinned by his taut belly. Full enough it stretches his poor shirt; he’s always had a bit of padding around his tummy, and it barely shows from how tight his stomach is rounding out. Only able to feel that chub when he massages his gurgling stomach; but it looks hard enough to be a baby bump.

In a meek, breathless attempt, Taehyung tries again. Only to fall back in his chair. Desperation beginning to tie his overstuffed stomach in a knot, not only are his classmates leaving; but the people from the class after theirs are entering. His head turning for any familiar face he could ask for assistance.

The only one he finds is the one Taehyung is most embarrassed to call for help. But he doesn’t have much of a choice, does he?

“Seokjinssi?” The TA was picking up some notes, his back to Taehyung, thankfully. There’s at least some hope that he didn’t see Taehyung’s pathetic attempts to get up.

“What is it?” He comes closer slinging his backpack on and getting a proper look at Taehyung’s situation. Bloated belly, pushing at the waistband of his pants and shirt, holding onto the desk for momentum. Seokjin’s entertained smile makes him want to shrink away.

“Could you…” Taehyung is not gonna look at his face when asking, instead looking at the mess he turned himself into. All of that flirty energy he had felt for Seokjin when he first helped the younger out, was gone. Replaced with mortifying embarrassment. “Uh… I kind of overdid it. I need a little help.” He says instead, avoiding Seokjin’s reaction.

A hand comes into his line of vision.

Phew.

Taehyung takes it and lets Seokjin tug him up. Amazed by the soft grunt that slips from the back of his throat; feeling his swollen stomach try and pin him in place. But that’s not nearly as embarrassing as the way he accidentally leans closer than he should to Seokjin’s torso. The hand that isn’t holding Taehyung’s holding him by his waist; hand big enough to brush the side of his bloat.

He is mortified, and Seokjin’s little smile does nothing to help the feeling.

“You okay?” The way even the TA’s charming expression has his eyebrows slightly raised and his eyes a little widened. Even he wasn’t ready for Taehyung’s display of gluttony.

“Y–yeah… Yeah, thanks.” Taehyung forces himself to smile. But what’s even harder is separating from the firmness of Seokjin’s torso. Brushing the crumbs that collected across his chest. “That’s a first for me.” He feels the need to comment.

“Eating so much you can’t get up?” Seokjin chuckles. “Yeah, you’re the first time I see it too.” His tone is friendly, but Taehyung can still feel his cheeks burning red. Only worsened by the up and down glance Seokjin gives of his body.

“You should meet my roommates.” Taehyung tells a joke only for himself to laugh at. Ready to wash off all the embarrassment he accumulated in this class. “See you around, Seokjinssi.” He scrambles to grab his stuff and nod off. Weighting if this much humiliation is worth being able to handle the critiques.

Taehyung doesn’t really decide. Not really. Because the next day comes, Taehyung doesn’t even have a critiquing that day, but his feet still drag him to the bakery close to campus. Staff already familiar with his face and gave him the freshest donuts of the batch. In the back of his mind, he does question himself again. If it really is the best for him to be eating beyond his capability to stand up.

But he got the donuts already. And even if he won’t be getting critiques today, it’s still nice to have a snack while he paints. It’s just once more.

Except it isn’t, Taehyung finds himself facing the fact he underestimated how much of a habit he had made of Seokjin’s little advice. Part of him started feeling guilty to not go to the bakery, feeling like all the staff was expecting him there. And the very few scattered days that Taehyung didn’t go, his worries were confirmed when the caring lovely staff asked about what happened. Besides, whenever he skipped, his stomach would grumble so much he would eventually end up dragging his feet to the college dining hall and buying anything he can get his eyes on.

Seokjin doesn’t bring it up again, but he does continue walking over to Taehyung’s desk to chat. Never able to be subtle in the way he always glances down at the younger’s desk; as if to check if he had brought any food this time. And Taehyung always had.

Luckily though, he never has to ask Seokjin for help getting up in what’s left of the semester. The more used he got to eating these huge quantities of sweets, the easier his stomach stretched and adapted to the heft of Taehyung’s snacks. But, simultaneously, made him harder and harder to satisfy.

It got to the point where there wasn’t enough food he could physically bring to his class for it to be enough to make him feel as full as he used to be at the beginning of the semester. He keeps his portions similar to the ones he had when he first started bringing food to class, only to stuff himself with anything he could; whether it meant another stop to the bakery, a demolition of the lunch menu at the dining hall, or cleaning whatever his roommates had stashed the fridge with. Though that last option got him a scolding most of the time.

In the back of his mind, he knows. Taehyung is overdoing it. Ending his school day stuffed to the brim and waddling home; even on the days he has sculpting class, and his hands are in no condition to be touching food. Let alone classes where his hands are in full capacity to eat, a professor’s critique not needed for his body to crave that hazy drowsy sensation of being full.

And it’s beginning to show. He knows it. Taehyung can feel it in the way his clothes begin to fill out. Waistbands sinking into his middle when he sits down, and then even when he is standing up. His inner thighs rubbing together when he walks, covering all of the chair when he sits. The front of his tummy always pressing against his shirts, which have only gotten tighter with the course of the semester. Then, it’s not just his stomach pressing against the fabric, but his chest too. Small but puffy mounds of fat, with softened and overly sensitive nipples. Then his sleeves start feeling a little fuller as well.

And if Taehyung gets another comment from his roommates about how chubby and round his face has gotten, he will throw another paintbrush at them.

But it’s fine.

The semester will end, and without the routine of his classes, the routine of his snacking shall also stop.

Taehyung has it under control.

Even if he was determined to not need a change of clothes until the end of the semester. Yet here he is, rummaging through Jungkook and Jimin’s laundry for anything oversized.

Whatever, it’s not a change of clothes. Jimin and Jungkook steal his clothes for fancy events all the time. Or… they used to. Taehyung doubts they fit them now.

He finds one of Jungkook’s sweatpants and he rather not ponder on how they’re not an oversized fit. He leaves for uni decidedly. Today he has a live painting session, his favorite. He arrives there early even! Ready to pick his favorite spot in the circle of canvases, and display all his paints and–

Seokjin is there.

“You don’t take this course.” He states a bit bluntly. Excuse him, but Taehyung has to mentally prepare himself to engage with Seokjin, and have him smiling all charming at him.

“I don’t.” Luckily, the older only seems endeared by Taehyung’s straight forward greeting. “Ms.Lee called in sick, I’m covering for her.”

“Are TAs allowed to do that?” He can’t help scrunching his face. And it downright earns a bit of laughter from Seokjin, smile only growing.

“It’s just a live painting session, Tae.” Endearment rolls off his tongue. “Take a seat.” Seokjin’s shit eating smile shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. But that’s an existential question Taehyung had to give up ages ago.

“You’re not the boss of me.” He scoffs, but does in fact walk to his preferred canvas. Just because he wants to. Not because Seokjin instructed him. Setting his bag and walking to the line of aprons hung up at the back of the class.

He doesn’t think twice before grabbing one, putting his head through it and beginning to tie it as he walks back to his spot. But… as he feels his belly press against the cloth, rolls on his waist shifting with each step, Taehyung feels the straps sink a little into the folds that stack on his sides. A sensation he’s gotten used to.

However, he can’t seem to be making the two ends of the straps meet…

Not even close.

Stopping in his tracks, he focuses on sucking in. And feels his stomach retract the slightest bit, he pushes the straps. The two edges barely grazing each other, not nearly enough give for him to tie a knot. And panic starts to set in.

Yeah, he hasn’t had a live painting session in a while. But it hasn’t been that long, has it?

And he hasn’t gotten that fat in said short amount of time, has he?

He turns his back to the rack of aprons, almost resentfully. There has to be a bigger one, isn’t there? No, Taehyung is in Korea. Where he was a size large even before this… gain.

“What’s the matter?” Seokjin asks, but his voice sounds more knowing than what Taehyung feels comfortable with. And his voice is closer than he was prepared for.

Almost automatically, he takes the apron off his head, holding it defensively to his chest. Acutely aware of the way his hands sink into the new padding that rounds his pecs. “Nothing.”

Seokjin’s smile only widens at that. “Nothing.” He repeats, comedically unconvinced. Though he is looking at Taehyung with endearment, helpful almost.

“Yes.” But Taehyung is too prideful.

“Okay…” The older doesn’t argue. “That’s a really nice shirt, would be a shame to spill oil paint on it.”

“I won’t.” He purses his lips, shrugging bratty. “I was about to put it on.” Taehyung’s thick-headedness gets the best of him though, and he can feel it bite him in the ass when Seokjin crosses his arms and leans against the wall; expectant.

“Go on then.”

“With what?”

“Put it on. I’m gonna start the class on time, so…” Taehyung doesn’t check the clock to know if the clash should actually start soon or not. Not willing to show that he has anything to worry about. At least he knows they’re still the only two here, if the way Soekjin is acting is anything to go by. Taehyung knows by now that as confident as he likes to act, the TA would die of embarrassment to be caught flirting like this.

Does this count as flirting? It feels like he is just tormenting Taehyung.

“Whatever…” He mumbles, putting it over his head again. But not bothering to tie it behind him. “There. Happy?”

“You’re so stubborn, did anybody tell you that?” Seokjin’s tone is too soft to be taken seriously.

“Endlessly.”

“Do you want some help?”

“No.”

“Do you need help?” He rephases much to Taehyung’s dismay.

“…Maybe.” His surrender is worth it for the cackle Seokjin lets out as he walks behind Taehyung. “B-but I doubt you can do anything.” He grumbles as he feels Seokjin’s knuckles brush against his fatty sides as he takes a hold of the straps. The rolls that won’t leave no matter how much he sucks in.

“Let me try…” He can practically hear Seokjin’s concentrated frown as he brings the straps behind the younger; Taehyung can feel them sink into his folds once more. There’s a beat of silence, where Seokjin doesn’t move the straps and seems to be calculating his options. Taehyung doesn’t want to wonder what the view must be like for him from behind. Finally, he instructs. “Suck in.”

“Tsk, you think I didn’t try that already?” He responds a little defensively.

“Just do it!” Seokjin’s voice is close to a whine. And Taehyung ‘eughs’ but compiles. Taking in a deep breath and forcing his pudgy belly inwards.

There’s another beat of silence, before Seokjin talks again. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean that’s it?” Taehyung can’t help his voice sounds a little breathless, still holding in. The end of his sentence cut short as a tug of the straps coaxes the air out of him. Straps not only sinking further into his rolls, but the front of the apron beginning to fold into itself too, riding up the curve of his belly just a little.

“Suck in more!”

“I can’t- OUF!” The sudden tug cinches, or at least tries to cinch, at Taehyung’s middle. Fat overspilling from over the straps in a poor attempt to resist the restrictions of the apron.

“Yeah, we are gonna need some extra fabric for these straps.”

“You didn’t need to choke me to know that.” Taehyung is still catching his breath. And once he stops sucking in, he can feel all of Seokjin’s efforts come undone as the straps go back to reaching the far back of his side rolls.

“I wouldn’t need to help you at all if your apron fit.” Seokjin retorts, giving a light squeeze to one of Taehyung’s thick love handles before moving to the front desk in the classroom. Just in time to avoid the indignant turn Taehyugn does to face him.

“It’s your fault I don’t fit into the apron.” Or any of my clothes, for that matter. He holds back from saying. Seokjin has his back to him as he rummages through the drawers of a desk that most definitely isn’t the TA’s.

“What did I do?” There’s a chuckle attached at the end of his question. That makes Taehyung believe Seokjin knows exactly what he did. “Aha!” He doesn’t let the younger answer, as he pulls out… A string.

Walking victorious towards Taehyung, this time with a charming smile, he instructs again. “Turn around.” He complies, too curious to question the older’s strategy. Taehyung turns around and lifts his arms a bit.

He can feel Seokjin take one of the straps once more. And in the comfortable silence with a very concentrated tone he asks. “Where were we?”

“I was gonna tell you how you are responsible for my apron not fitting.” He deadpans.

“Ah yes… Blasphemy.” Seokjin giggles behind him. Now he is grabbing the other strap.

“It’s not! Your trick for critique-anxiety worked too well.” The younger hopes his pout is coming through his voice for Seokjin to hear. “I’m surprised you aren’t struggling to put in your aprons either.”

“I used that trick maybe one or twice for my final exams. Not… every single critique I was ever given.”

“It’s not my fault I get more anxious than you.”

“Was critique-anxiety the one making you eat during your normal classes too? I’m surprised you didn’t bring any snacks to this one. I feel robbed.”

“How did you know I was eating in other classes?”

“You have a bit of a reputation by now, Tae.” The endearment is ever present in Seokjin’s voice. “There!” He stands up straight finally, giving Taehyung’s peaking love handles, exposed by all the cinching and tugging of his shirt, one last celebratory pat. Making them giggle right above the slightly tight waistband of Jungkook’s joggers. “Your apron now fits. You are very very welcome.”

“Thanks…” Taehyung tries to twist and get a proper look at Seokjin’s contraption, the extra yarn sinking a little into the padding that now covers his back. “And what do you mean I have a reputation?” He snaps up to look Seokjin in the eyes. A little sense of dread coiling at his stomach.

Or that might just be the apron restricting his belly.

“Don’t look at me like it’s news to you. Do you think people weren’t gonna notice the guy walking in with a picnic’s worth of food into every class? Even professors know who you are.” His face is starting to burn and even if he was the one to daringly try and lock eyes with Seokjin to get an answer from him, Taehyung isn’t quite liking what he is hearing.

So… to make his case even worse, he eyes the clock. Still 15 minutes till class starts, he has time. “I’ll go buy some breakfast.” He states pouty, feeling heat flare at his cheeks.

“That definitely will help the apron.” Seokjin’s comment is already far behind, because Taehyung is fleeing this humiliating scene with quick steps. He doesn’t turn around to respond, his face burns too much for him to do so.

He won’t buy much, he tells himself. Just keep himself out of class long enough for other students to arrive. So Seokjin stops making him blush.

The cafeteria is always a welcoming sight, the staff already knowing his face, much like in that bakery that he still very much goes to on a daily basis. Putting a polite smile for the staff as he begins buying anything he can get his hands on. Once he starts it’s so easy to just keep piling his plate. Getting his money’s worth on that student meal plan. But it’s so hard to stop.

Only once Taehyung can’t physically fit more into his plate does he realize he overdid it. He glances at the wall clock again. Ten minutes.

Taehyung can definitely manage to eat all this before class.

With a decided nod he takes his plate to one of the empty tables, still a bit before most students start to get lunch. And Taehyung will definitely be there with everyone else a second time too, even if his meal plan doesn’t cover it. He knows his hunger won’t let him skip a meal, no matter how much he ate before.

He feels like such a pig. Out of control and eating to avoid the nerves and the confrontation that Seokjin seems so comfortable bringing to his class. Forcing Taehyung to acknowledge just how fat he got.

And that maybe it’s not entirely Seokjin’s fault either.

Taehyung shovels that thought right to the back of his mind where it belongs with a bite of his food. He wasn’t entirely aware of what he had gotten either. It was a nice surprise when sweet cinnamon batter took over his lips. Sweet, of course he got sweet. The taste so addictive and soothing to his body, he can’t help his other hand reach for something else to bring to his lips, a cookie. Taehyung can pretty much feel the clock ticking, interchangeably taking bites of the two baked goods, looking like a ravenous animal in front of the few people scattered across the cafeteria.

10 minutes, he reminds himself, forcing to stretch his lips with bigger bites, mixing the sweets as he goes. Not caring if the tastes don’t fit or blur together. All Taehyung wants is for the comforting ballooned feeling to take over him.

The one that gets him to forget about critiques.

About Seokjin’s charming smile.

About how he managed to get so fat in the course of the semester. Ironically.

He is starting to feel it. Bloat beginning to make his shirt ride up a little bit at his side.

No, not his shirt.

Jungkook’s oversized shirt.

The stretch of his stomach making his belly, that now was covered in a thick layer of chub no matter the size of the bloat, press harder against the poor apron. Taehyung can feel the way the extra lace Seokjin used to tie the knot, sinks into the fat padding that covers his lower back.

5 minutes, he glances at the clock. And he still has nearly half of his serving left. Maybe he underestimated himself.

Maybe, Taehyung isn’t as much of a pig as Seokjin’s eyes make him out to be.

He leans closer to the plate in an attempt to make the food pass the stretch of his opened lips faster. But he feels something snap behind him, and a sudden pressure release from his swollen abdomen.

The straps of his apron broke.

That gets him to stop eating. Staring at the plate blankly. Refusing to get a proper look at himself.

Taehyung definitely won’t be attending class.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Jimin can’t see another video of “music majors when they remember they need listen to a song due at midnight”. The ones Jungkook doesn’t get tired of sending him. Excuse you, Jimin spends more time in his home-made studio than Jungkook does in his silly little labs. No, he doesn’t have a song-listening due at midnight. Jimin has to finish the rough demos of a soundtrack by the end of the week. Not quite the same, no.

These thoughts keep running through his mind as Jimin leans inches away from his monitor, FL Studio open as his own raw creation blasts through his overly expensive (maybe a little pretentious) headphones. He heard Jungkook and Taehyung come in at some point in the night, he is sure they’ve taken care of dinner. Lately this apartment has started to ditch the “skipping meals” plan that most broke students seemed to adopt. But Jimin always has a hard time remembering to take breaks when he has projects like his one plaguing his mind.

It’s 2 am already. He can wait until he has this one song finished before forcing himself to the kitchen. The weight of this project already lulling his senses and numbing him to such trivial things like eating and “drinking something that doesn’t have caffeine”. Jimin is way beyond the line of feeling uncomfortable, having pulled several late nights of work, letting Taehyung’s snoring guide the beat of his songs. Rolling around to class the next morning looking worse than in his prima-ballerina days. Jimin works nearly in autopilot as he adds layers of texture to the song, he doesn’t care if it’s shit. He just wants it to be finished.

Done.

And it’s only… 3:45am.

Fuck.

He needs to eat something and go to bed.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for the complete masacre of what used to be “dinner”. Absolutely nothing, the hogs of his roommates left him nothing.

Jimin thought he had it under control. The stress, his emotions, the hunger. But his eyes begin to water against him. He doesn’t have anything to eat! And he has been looking forward to it for hours! And he is sure his roommates didn’t mean to but his bottom lip is wobbling against his will and he has to cup his lips before he dejectedly walks back to his room. Sniffs heard throughout the room.

In an attempt to distract himself, he downloads the file and sends it to Yoongi. Rubbing his eyes and leaning on his chair, his entire body catching up with him, pain swelling on his lower back and his knees as he tries to stretch.

And as if to make matters worse, his stomach complains with a roar.

He can’t help it, his face is scrunching up and sniffles are making his body spasm gently and his shoulders tense with each shaky intake of air. Before he can stop it, his hands are covering his face, where he feels himself begin to cry.

Ping!

The notification noise anticlimactically cuts him off. Hands leaving his face to peak at his phone.

yoongi hyung: what are you doing up

you: what are YOU doing up?!

yoongi hyung: i asked first.

you: was finishing the thing i sent you

you: and crying

Jimin is one to try and find humor in his everyday misery, but he does feel a little guilt when he sees Yoongi take a bit longer to reply.

yoongi hyung: why were you crying?

It’s his time to ponder his answer. And, deciding he doesn’t want to get a lecture about his time management skills and Jimin’s incredible ability to neglect his basic needs, he chooses something that’s still very much true.

you: tae and kook didn’t save me any food (｡•́︿•̀｡)

His response is immediate then.

yoongi hyung: wanna come over?

yoongi hyung: I also need your opinion on something.

Tsk.

yoongi hyung: and i got food

Sold.

you: be there in a bit!

Jimin tries to be quiet. But also, when he worries about possibly waking up his roommates, he quickly realizes he doesn’t care.

Serves them right. Hmf.

He texts Yoongi when he is outside, really not waiting to wake Hoseok up. He doesn’t deserve it. But to his surprise it’s him who opens the door for the younger.

“Oh. Hobi hyung.” Jimin pouts a little worried. And the older beats him to it.

“If you’re going to apologize, don’t. I was awake too.” His smile is gentle, but his hair is a little messy and his face is a little puffed up.

Either Hoseok is lying and Yoongi and him totally woke him up. Or the couple was having a fun night and Jimin interrupted.

He doesn’t know which one makes him feel worse.

“Still, thanks.” Jimin’s smile is a little guilty but some of his worry smelt away when he hugs Hoseok tight. A little bit of that uncomfortable tension on his body leaving with the lithe (but strong) man squeezes at his sides.

“Yoongi is in the kitchen. Only you can get him to start cooking at 4am.”

“He told me he had food already!” Jimin whines as he walks in.

“Well…He lied. I offered to grab something from a convenience store. But you know Yoongi wouldn’t let you have that.” The chuckle attached at the end of his sentence screams endearment. Jimin follows behind him into the couple’s apartment like his second home. Which it practically is.

Yoongi and Hoseok were both the ones to first introduce him to music in highschool. And Jimin was the witness of the very beginnings of the most obnoxiously romantic couple he knows. A delicious smell already takes over the cozy apartment. “Hyung, you’re cooking for me?” He smiles teasing when they make their way to the kitchen. Loving to tease whenever Yoongi shows his tender side; the one that always comes when Jimin needs it most.

“And I might throw it all out if you don’t shut it.” He pouts and Jimin only giggles, launching forward for a back hug to the other. His cheek pressing to his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t.” He says with certainty, and a shit-eating smile. “You love me.” Jimin doesn’t care if Yoongi doesn’t answer, all he needs is a quick peek at what the older is cooking. Kimchi jjigae, Jimin’s personal favorite.

“Go go to the studio.” He tries to shimmy Jimin off. “Babee.” The youngest feels particularly accomplished when he gets Yoongi to whine for his partner. Hoseok chuckles behind them both, taking Jimin’s hand gently.

“Come on, we can set up in the office.” Jimin doesn’t need much convincing. Easy to manhandle around as Hoseok drops his arm over the youngest’s shoulders. He can’t help it, being in both of their presence is so soothing. That and the all nighter (or week of consecutive all nighters) is catching up to him.

He comes here so often, the little room turned into a studio not only has two chairs for the producer couple, but a third one for Jimin’s frequent visits. Well… He visited a lot more often before this hellish semester. But it still feels like home when he tiredly plops down smiling at Hoseok.

“I missed you.” He says simply, getting Hoseok’s expression to soften as he sits beside him. “Sorry for crashing your sex.” And his sleepy state immediately ruins it; judging by the choked sound Hoseok lets out.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says instead of denying it. In his sleepy state, Jimin’s mind unhelpfully provides him with mental images.

Not that he’s thought about this before. Or anything.

Yoongi thankfully interrupts his brain, kimchi jjigae bowl in his hand. “You said you sent me something to listen to?” He takes a seat at Jimin’s other side. Who can’t answer because he is already shoveling a mouthful of stew into his cheeks. He only nods. “Let’s give it a listen then.”

The youngest gulps suddenly then. “R-right now?” He can’t help the nerves. Hoseok is right here, he only shows Hoseok his finished pieces and this was just a rough demo. His eyes darted to both of his sides, suddenly self conscious. Jimin doesn’t know if he can handle the exposure right now.

But he doesn’t exactly know how to tell that to his two hyungs. Because that would just mean he has something to be self conscious about. And yes, Jimin has endlessly heard both Hoseok and Yoongi tell him that demos don’t have to be perfect. Jimin just chooses to not apply that to himself.

“S-sure, sure, let’s play it.” Jimin corrects himself. Not very smoothly. But after an exchange of looks between Yoongi and Hoseok, they decide to give into it anyway.

“Fine. But we aren’t giving feedback until tomorrow.” Hoseok states opening the file on Yoongi’s computer.

“What? Why?” He pouts.

“Because if you knew you could fix something you wouldn’t sleep at all.” There’s an endeared chuckle attached to the end of his sentence, and a big warm hand massaging the base of Jimin’s neck. But even that is not enough to soothe the sudden knot that tied into his stomach.

Feeling the dread as the file downloads, and Hoseok starts opening the producing software that’s much better than his; Jimin busies himself with the first thing he finds. And that’s the delicious homemade dinner Yoongi made him. Leaning back on the chair, his knees up to his chest and the bowl close to his face as he begins to scarf down the delicious homemade stew. It takes over his senses, warmth trickling down his throat and setting perfectly on his stomach.

Jimin would much rather focus on that. Especially motivated as the first chords of his demo start to play in the expensive speaker system. He buries the first beginnings of stomach-twisting cringe with warm spicy goodness. Lulling his senses and soothing his heart rate. Almost warming along the knots of his back and relaxing them at least somewhat. The speakers are too loud though, pulling Jimin back to the stress of this assignment. The endless work, endless stress. The endless idea in the back of his mind that he has his two idols to live up to.

It only encourages him to tilt the bowl a little upwards and begin to focus into slurping it down. Not caring if all the broth begins to settle a little uncomfortable in his stomach. He welcomes the feeling, it drowns out everything else. The breathing through his nose echoing in the actually quite big ceramic bowl. The warmth of the food making its way down and curling at his belly in a way that makes his head feel fuzzy and nice. The demo becomes background white noise as his thick gulps become louder and rhythmic, easy to get lost in.

He is gasping for air the moment the song plays its last chords. He completely spared himself from the experience, he realized gleefully. But immediately after, realizes Jimin ate all that food in the 4 minutes the song lasted. Or well… He doesn’t realize, per se, his stomach makes a very painful statement; accompanied with a loud embarrassing rumble. Loud enough that makes both Hoseok and Yoongi turn their heads to him for the first time in the night.

At least Jimin hopes so, he wouldn’t want to seem like a pig in front of them.

“You finished it?” Hoseok is the one to ask, shock clear in his voice.

“He hasn’t eaten a thing in who knows how long, leave him alone.” Yoongi hushes him with a pout, before turning to Jimin; who is having to concentrate on his breathing. “Want some dessert with that?”

Even turning his head to face Yoongi feels like a heavy effort. Lips a little tingly from the spice of the stew. Parted as he breathes heavily, having to collect his hazy thoughts even to realize what he’s being asked. Let alone what he wants.

“N–no… No, I ate too fast.” He sighs, Hoseok sets his hand on Jimin’s thigh, rubbing endeared.

“Okay, we heard your thing. So it’s bedtime now.” His chuckle is gentle, and Jimin can feel Hoseok’s knuckles brush against his rounded tummy when his rubbing inches up his thigh, just before rubbing back down. It makes him realize just how big the portion was, looking down at himself as he nods lazily. Jimin sees the curve that pushes against his snug shirt. Little but no less mesmerizing.

Jimin has never bloated like that.

He is too entranced to hear the couple get up, only when Jimin’s vision is obscured by a hand that’s a lot less dainty than Hoseok; Yoongi’s. “Come on, up.” He looks up tiredly and dumbly. As if all his blood is leaving his head and traveling down to circle his stomach and help him digest. That mixed with the sleep deprivation making him lethargic, almost drunk-like.

The grunt Jimin lets out as he stands makes the two older giggle. They each wrap an arm around Jimin’s lower back, letting him melt in their hold as they walk to bed.

“I can take the futon.” Yoongi mumbles to Hoseok, basically hearing their silent communication as he stares ahead. Jimin’s head snaps back up to obstruct their vision at both his sides.

“Your bed is big enough.” He states simply. Not asking before he plops in the middle of the bed, not questioning its state of messy. Shifting perfectly in the middle till he looks at them both with a smile.

They’ve done this so many times already, it only takes the couple a few seconds to recompose themselves as they walk to the bed too, to lay at Jimin’s sides. Making the younger feel properly at peace, the memories of his stress and how awful he had felt about his demo already blurred by the nice rumbling sensation of his stomach digesting. His thoughts silenced, only a faint comment going on in his head as he falls asleep.

He should definitely try this more often for all his producing sessions.

They wake up at noon. At least Jimin does, the bed is empty and the sunlight is warming the covers perfectly. The sound of faint talking comes from outside, and it’s not nearly as strong as the smell of food.

Looks like today he will be putting his theory to the test.

He has lunch first thing, and then Yoongi and Hoseok make a spot for him in their home studio. That, now that he has the full proper hours of sleep, he finally notices how much better and more professional it is than the one he has at home. He isn’t sure if it’s the most productive Saturday afternoon of his life. But it’s definitely the one he’s enjoyed producing the most in. At least for the last few… semesters.

When he leaves, the couple makes sure to tell him that “You always have a free spot here if you need some creative break.” And Jimin clings to that. It’s perfect, isn’t it? Jimin gets to see his hyungs more often, rekindle the relationship he had neglected ever since getting overworked in college. But not feel too guilty about hanging out with them since he gets to be productive too!

He doesn’t even have to think it the few days later when he texts them to hang out again. And Jimin welcomes it with open arms, even when it becomes a couple-of-times-a-week thing. Getting to eat their delicious cooking and work on his projects without the churning of his stomach distracting him, or overworking himself to the point where his lower back stabs for a break.

Yoongi will always go to the bathroom and come back with snacks for everyone but Jimin mostly works his way through them, Hoseok will stretch and whine a bit and urge Jimin to watch some short episodes of the shitty reality shows (that jimin tried to resist before inevitably getting invested in) as a break. Usually accompanied by some delivery, doesn’t have to be a meal, sometimes it’s ice cream or some baked goods “to boost up energy”. And around lunch and dinner, they all get up to just hang out around the kitchen.

The youngest hasn’t felt this well rested in ages. And… Ironically, workflow hasn’t been this smooth in ages either. Jimin spares himself from saying that out loud and getting a big fat “I told you so.” from both of them. But it’s clear they know, from the way they encourage Jimin and praise their work and praise how much more energetic he sounds and how his work starts feeling a little bit more creative and alive.

He personally would blame having his two biggest inspirations in the room with him while he produces, but he supposes the sleep and food have something to do with it too.

Jungkook and Taehyung won’t stop teasing him about it. But they just don’t get the friendship he has with Hoseok and Yoongi. A relationship that feels like he isn’t just regaining the closeness he had with the couple, but Jimin feels impossibly closer than ever before. Maybe the age difference was too apparent in highschool. Now that they’re all adults, Jimn can feel the way Yoongi and Hoseok treat him differently, letting him get closer.

Babying him still, always. But they trust Jimin more, not trying to guard him as much as they used to in highschool. Guarding that only resulted in forced distance. When Jimin wanted nothing more than to get close…

Maybe a little too close.

He’s matured now, and so has their relationship. Jimin is fine with this. His crush in highschool was definitely a little too noticeable, and probably the reason why the couple tried to restrain themselves around the younger. Though now, he gets to see them behave like a couple. And it’s nothing short of endearing.

The way Yoongi’s hands always find their way to Hoseok’s skin even in subtle ways. When it happens, even if he is deeply concentrated working, or halfway through talking, a small smile brightens Hoseok’s face.They can’t get enough of each other, Jimin would feel bad about third wheeling if it weren’t such a delight to see.

Or if the food weren’t so delicious.

And if the couple’s bed weren’t so comfy.

His semester started like one of the worst in Jimin’s university years, and now he doesn’t remember ever being this easy going with all his assignments. With the olders’ assistance and inspiration, and care. It was like producing had never been easier. But he still can’t help getting nervous whenever it’s time to show his work to either Yoongi or Hoseok. Or worse, both of them.

Today Jimin should feel relieved, it’s the day he is finally handing in that assignment, the soundtrack he had been working on for most of the second half of the year. But Jimin can’t give himself the pleasure, because he knows Yoongi and Hoseok won’t let him get by this achievement without them listening to it.

Thankfully, though, the couple prepared a celebration feast. So at least Jimin will have something to keep busy with as the 20 minutes of soundtrack play in the background. The sole trick that has been getting him through every work session with his hyungs.

Tonight, his distraction is looking like a big big portion of KFC. Because he mumbled craving fried chicken a few days ago, and of course, Yoongi and Hoseok weren’t gonna let that slide. He is eager to silence the jittery feeling down his navel, anxious to know what they will think of all this hard work.

In the back of his mind, Jimin knows they would never say any critique without the perfect words. And Jimin knows how to take critiques, he doesn’t mind them! Unlike Taehyung. But something about them makes Jimin’s lower back shiver with goosebumps.

So he doesn’t hold back from picking up the bucket of fried chicken and bringing it to his lap. Beginning to eat even as Yoongi starts to decompress the zip file of Jimin’s album. The crunch perfect to drown out the noise around him, that and the oily delicious flavor giving him something nice to focus on. Already chewing on a drumstick as the first chords start to play on Yoongi’s nice speakers.

He’s heard these songs so many times, engraved them into his mind through the course of the semester, that they’re surprisingly easy to let fade into the background. That or the chicken is too good. Jimin closes his eyes too, for full immersion. During the last few months, with him inhabiting Yoongi and Hoseok’s apartment more than ever before, he has actually grown somewhat of a resistance. It’s harder to have enough food to distract him for as long as he needs.

Jimin has gotten faster at eating, is what he wants to say.

But all this chicken should last him enough. Or at least long enough till he is full and hazy and able to drown out the critical ear that plagues him whenever he is forced to listen to any of his work. His chewing becomes more fervent as he starts to nip the drumstick clean of meat. Letting himself get lost in the hunger he feels. Convincing himself at least.

It’s been a while since Jimin felt properly hungry. Impossible under his hyungs’ care. But still, he convinces himself to grab another piece of fried chicken even as he is still chewing the first one, barely managing to swallow as he pushes the new one in. Focusing on anything but the music, the crunchiness of the fried batter, resonating between his ears, the oil coating his tongue and the roof of his mouth, the taste that’s so delicious it makes Jimin feel the closest next thing to hunger.

Gluttony.

Relishing the sensation of warmth that spreads at the bottom of his stomach. The faster he eats the more time he has before he realizes just how heavily all this food is gonna make him feel later. Though, Jimin has realized, he doesn’t mind that heavy hazy aftermath either. In fact, it motivates him even more, the soundtrack becoming plain background noise. As he fully succumbs to it, each hand with a piece of chicken as Jimin loses his manners in an attempt to fit as much food as he can. Stretching his lips around him, thankful that he is sitting a little bit behind the two older producers, so they can’t see him like this. Desperate and unmannered. But he bets the animalistic chewing sounds are revealing enough.

It does the trick though, the music sounding more pleasant the fuller he gets, leaning back in his chair with the bucket still on his lap as he continues to eat at a more heinous and lethargic pace, wanting to keep this sedated high state for the entire duration of the soundtrack. He can feel his bloat begin to brush the bucket of chicken, but he doesn’t feel as full, not yet at least.

Like he said, he’s built some resistance, even if he feels his stomach press against the fabric of his shirt and the bucket flush against his tummy. Jimin feels like he definitely has more room to finish this serving at least.

As the soundtrack reaches its climax, so does he, his eating becoming impossibly more ravenous even as he starts feeling a proper tightness down his navel. Even if he has to push the chicken past his lips a little more forcefully, and leaning to eat the drumsticks becomes a little bit harder with the tautness of his bloat. The pile of clean bones collecting at the bottom of the bucket.

Whipping his oily fingers on his shirt, sensation the curved stiffness of his belly. The pressure of his hands a welcoming feeling, it releases some of the tight stretch that makes his breathing a little heavier. Or that might just be the way he is suffocating himself with pieces of fried chicken, edges of his lips hurting a bit as he stretches over the humongous bites. Probably both.

He has never timed it more perfectly, one oily hand reaching for the bucket while the other throws another clean bone in, and finds that he had finished it. Just as the last outro song begins to play. Jimin opens his eyes for the first time since he started eating, looking down at the bucket to find that yeah, he finished it. The warmth that spreads across his stomach borders on painful, but he adores it nonetheless, soothing and numbing. He can see his bloat too, stretching the shirt tight and pressing back against the bucket, rounded out cutely. A small plushness rounding the bottom of it.

Though when Jimin looks up, he sees both Hoseok and Yoongi looking over their shoulders at him. The mess he made.

The mess he turned himself into.

“I thought we were eating after… to celebrate.” Hoseok is the first to comment, an endeared smile growing on his face. Oh… They had… mentioned something along those lines.

“I—” Jimin tries to speak, though his voice sounds thick and greasy with all the oil. And speaking itself feels like an extension on his poor breathless state. Seems like Yoongi takes pity on him.

“Leave him, he was hungry.” He wasn’t, and by the little smile Yoongi has on, he seems to be thinking the same. “Wanna go to bed, Min?” His tone is so gentle with him, like Yoongi knows just how lethargic and drowsy he feels right now.

“N-no…” He huffs out a breath after the sentence, like itself is an effort. “What did you think?”

“I don’t know if you’re awake enough to hear.” Hoseok giggles, getting a light slap to the thigh from his boyfriend. Prompting him to correct himself. “We loved it, Jiminie. Your hard work shows.”

“Really?” His tone sounds childishly hopeful as it does sleepy.

“Yes.” Though Hoseok’s tone sounds genuine nonetheless. “Your take on things is so unique, Jimin.”

That seems to settle him, Yoongi prompts. “You can go to bed, I’ll take this.” He stands up and picks up the empty bucket. Leaving Jimin bare to his impressive bloat. The hem of his shirt even rode up a little at the very bottom, leaving a sliver of skin he hadn’t noticed before. But he is painfully self aware now. Blush creeping up his cheeks as he tries to fold his arms over his torso in a way that’s casual, but also hides the damage.

Jimin knows he is unsuccessful when Hoseok giggles. “It’s not that bad, Minnie.”

“I look huge…” The words slip out easier and less filtered when he is this full, all that food lulling him to sleep.

“Well it suits you a bit.” Hoseok is standing up too, offering a hand. “Come, let’s get you to bed.” That sounds like the best idea anyone has ever had.

He’s overeaten a lot in this apartment, looking for ways to sedate himself into enjoying his music more. But never was it this hard to stand up, even with Hoseok’s hearty pull upwards Jimin can’t help a grunt slipping from the back of his throat. Feeling all the food in his stomach shift with the movement, he has to cup the (naked) bottom of his bloat for some comfort. It’s not that taut.

Hoseok is there to help, wrapping a slim arm around Jimin’s waist, letting the dainty palm settle on the side of his tummy as they slowly make their way to the bedroom. The younger feels his breath shallow as if he had come from a marathon. Every step making his bloat bounce against the waistband of his sweatpants and aching a little in the process. He’s never been more thankful for the cozy size of Hoseok and Yoongi’s apartment, because it’s only a few meters before he is plopping heavily onto the center of the bed. The movement caused a burp to push its way out of his lips. Jimin whines and throws his head back, careless enough to let both of his hands settle on the curve of his bloat and massage the tight skin. Coaxing a few more burps to slip out, though he lets them fill out his cheeks instead of ripping them out.

He can feel Hoseok’s eyes on him, even with Jimin’s own eyes closed in a mixture of bliss and discomfort. Hearing a few footsteps get nearer. When Hoseok mumbles “Look at him.” His smile is audible too.

“Are you alright, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi’s voice has a chuckle attached to the end of it, and Jimin can feel the bed shift as the older makes his way to sit next to him. He wants to answer, of course, but all that leaves him is a pouty whine. Opening his eyes only to put them in puppy mode for both of his hyungs.

“Want a heat pad?” Yoongi’s voice offers kindly.

“We leant it to my sister.” Hoseok comments, though his voice feels closer. And sure enough, there’s another feeling of shift at Jimin’s other side. “But I think we can give him something else.” Trustful, Jimin doesn’t bother to open his eyes to know what that is. But instead he feels the grazing of Hoseok’s soft but cold fingers against the center of his bloat. “Can we?” He doesn’t need to specify, Jimin knows they both saw him massaging his gut after stuffing himself.

All he does is nod, before Hoseok’s palm is pressing flush to the warm skin, his fingers are squishing at the center of his taut stomach. Jimin’s jaw drops, a soft gasp leaving his lips. “Is this okay?” It prompts the question, that he answers wordlessly again with a quick eager nod.

The extra reassurance makes another hand graze a bit lower on his stomach, not as soft, calloused, but warmer. So irrevocably Yoongi’s. His massages are slower but firm, some of it pressing against the naked bit of skin. Though only for a few seconds, before he tugs down (or tries to) the hem of Jimin’s shirt. Only for it to ride back up again to sit on the biggest part of his bloat. Yoongi doesn’t bother to pull it down a second time. Instead, the tips of his fingers, roughened up by the guitar, slip under the hem. Making Jimin sigh in relief, the older’s hand like a heat pad on its own, as Yoongi begins to slowly grip and knead the bottom.

Hoseok takes initiative. Not just letting his hand slip under the snug shirt. But tugging it further up Jimin’s torso. Exposing the rounded out, swollen tummy, his hand setting on the hardest part right at the top. The gentle pressure makes a groan slip from the back of his throat, throwing his head back.

“You really overdid it, Min-ah…” Hoseok muses, there’s a teasing tone hiding somewhere under his warm voice. But Jimin feels too much bliss to properly acknowledge it, thighs shuddering as his back arches to their touches.

Yoongi is painfully quiet, but his hand keeps moving slowly along the bottom of his belly. Massaging what feels like a bloat, but is somewhat easy on the hands, easier than the top where Hoseok’s hand is. Pudgy…

A choked sound leaves his lips, it errands a small but no-less teasing chuckle from Hoseok. “That’s it, you worked so hard today.” His voice sounds closer to Jimin’s ear. The warmth coming from his stomach only grew with the presence of the older next to him.

“Don’t hold back.” Hoseok’s breath brushes against his ear and it’s a sudden contrast with the warmth that’s beginning to emanate from his skin. His heavy breathing hitches, feeling not only the bloat coaxing wheezes of air, but Hoseok’s closeness too. That does nothing to help his breathing either. And he is sure Hoseok knows his impact, his smile pretty much palpable when he hums. “Hm?”

Jimin doesn’t think he can answer something properly in the stuffed state he is in. Let alone with the way his heart skips a beat.

“O–Okay.” He manages to whisper, letting his head tilt to the side, meeting Hoseok’s shoulder.

“That’s it.” The older’s voice is barely above a whisper, the hand on the shelf of Jimin’s rounded bloat pushing him closer to Hoseok’s side, to lean a bit of his weight against his lithe torso. He doesn’t resist the guidance, not caring about the suffocating heat if he is sharing it with Hoseok. But the push against the top of his stomach, it makes him grunt at first, feeling the tight pressure.

And as he shifts his hips lethargically, though, a deep burp comes out. Right next to Hoseok’s face.

That makes Jimin’s eyes pop open, feeling pretty much the bucket of ice water that showers him. Meeting Hoseok’s equally widened expression.

“Pfthahahah!” Bubbly giggles make Hoseok’s body shake. A sense of relief washing over Jimn’s suddenly tense muscles. As Jimin follows along with a shy chuckle. He notices, Hoseok wasn’t watching him. He was watching at Yoongi.

Jimin had almost forgotten about him. And he is met with a stoic, serious expression; a tint of pink on his face. Was it always that color?

“I think you should go to sleep, Jiminie.” Hoseok interrupts the younger’s analysis with a smile. His hands guiding Jimin away from his own body to lay fully against the bed. He doesn’t fight back but he probably has a confused pouty expression on his face. Luckily Hoseok seems to notice. “We haven’t had dinner yet.” His tone is so endeared. “We’ll come back to you in a bit, okay?”

Jimin can only nod, his eyes avoiding Hoseok as he continues to study Yoongi’s expression. But the eldest doesn’t look back. Staring at some spot in the mattress.

“Night, Min.” Hoseok’s hand combs his fringe out of his forehead as he stands up, Yoongi following suit. But only mumbling a quiet:

“Night.”

Jimin stays quiet himself, controlling his breathing as he watches the couple walk out of the room.

He doesn’t know what just happened, but he is pretty certain he ruined it. But, the now soothed, warmness clinging to his belly is pulling also at his eyelids, lulling him to sleep.

Though he is soothed to find the couple snoring besides him when he wakes up.

Not all that ruined, then.

It would make sense… Now that Jimin’s semester project is finished, and his vacations are starting, Jimin doesn’t have a need to be hanging out at their apartment to stress-manage once every two days.

But they keep inviting him. And…. Jimin really likes their company. And their apartment is much nicer than the shoebox he is sharing with Jungkook and Taehyung. And now he can just hang out with them without the stress of his assignments.

It’s a no-brainer.

And, if he felt the couple slowly open up to him more during these months, putting down the walls they had with Jimin in highschool.Now it’s like Jimin can free himself too. Letting himself hang out in their apartment and not just their secluded studio. Hanging out happily on the couch, Hoseok by his side, feeling comfortable enough to cuddle close. Until Yoongi got back from his music teacher gig and then they started working on dinner.

Or even going out vinyl shopping with Yoongi, since Hoseok thinks he has an obsession. And getting to hear the older talk for hours, even asking for Jimin’s opinion on which he prefers. They stop to get take out and bring it back home, to eat dinner while they listen to the entire thing. With Hoseok’s too-warm-to-be-disapproving expression on his face.

And Jimin still sleeps in their bed, with them. For tradition’s sake, of course.

He could also argue it’s for the sake of tradition the way his eating hasn’t diminished in the slightest. Even if a situation like that hasn’t repeated again, and Jimin truly doesn’t have an excuse to stuff himself at that anxious desperate pace anymore, he’s now switched to a constant state of snacking.

Now that he doesn’t have assignments to keep him concentrated, or to have prize-meals, once he finishes said assignments; and that he is all around just hanging out more at their house. Jimin began to make himself comfortable in the couple’s kitchen. Feeling free to rummage through cabinets; during the course of the summer finding more and more of his favorites. Which might have something to do with the one time (in their moment of peak domesticity) Jimin went with the couple to buy groceries and they let him pick out a few things since “you’re there often enough.”

A joke when he heard it, but those things have become now regular stock in the Min-Jung household. Much to Jimin’s detriment. When he once felt embarrassed to only be at the couple’s house to work on his assignments. Now he feels guilty of emptying their kitchen.

But they’re so encouraging. If not to say, they’re the ones filling Jimin’s plate. Whether it’s giving him second or sometimes third servings of their dinner. Or taking the empty bowl of snacks Jimin has by his side on the couch, only to come back with it filled again. And all this on top of Jimin’s slow wanderings into the kitchen, standing on his toes as he reaches for the couple’s cabinets. Already accustomed with where to find his stuff, and stray away from Hoseok’s granola (He’s invited Jimin to try it… but he’s grown a taste for… yummier things).

Jimin notices a shift, Hoseok cuddles him closer, even if the situation like the one of his last assignment didn’t repeat. Hoseok’s hands still wander and pat and praise where they can get away with. Which is way more than whatever Hoseok is doing. But he likes this. The push and pull, the giddy smiles and playful glances. It feels like something that would’ve made highschool Jimin swoon, but now not only is he different and (in his personal opinion) much better and matured, but Hoseok is too. These past months it’s felt like all he has been doing is rediscovering his old crushes and falling for their new selves all over again.

He hasn’t been noticing that shift… with Yoongi. Always friendly, always warm. Always indulging to Jimin. But at arms length. Still some of that hesitance from highschool clinging to him. The younger can’t say he blames him. But instead he is getting mixed feelings about all the attention Hoseok has been giving him.

Is this okay?

Nothing ever actually happened, Jimin could really just be making all this up, his highschool hopes and dreams coming back to haunt him; due to all the Hoseok-Yoongi exposure. He can imagine it. Yoongi and Hoseok looking at him with a fond warm smile, the one they’ve given Jimin all of his youth. Seeing the two of them fall in love while they were probably aware of the younger’s feelings. Kind but so impossibly condescending. The idea of possibly putting himself in that position is enough of a motivation to push these thoughts to the back of his mind; and rather enjoy this while he can.

Living almost exclusively in his gym shorts, the waistband of which feels tighter as the summer goes on. The hems at his legs digging into his thighs when they’ve never done that before. Sinking into his ass as he walks. All his shirts are constantly stretched over… his belly.

This lethargic lifestyle… It made Jimin gain a few. Maybe more. He’d worry about it if Hoseok and Yoongi weren’t treating him all the same, encouraging and doting him with anything he wants. And, Hoseok in particular, Jimin is sure he is touchier. Patting him all over, maybe that’s when Jimin should have noticed the fact he was getting softer all around, before properly plumping up. But… Hoseok’s praise and hands feel too good to focus on anything else.

It was definitely there, though. Comments like “Your appetite nowadays is something else.” When Jimin is reaching for thirds, stomach is already heavy with a meal but still roomy for more. Still not stuffed over the edge, where he gets breathless, red, and a little sweaty.

“Got you a refill. Since I know you can work your way through a whole bag of these.” He chuckles while setting another bowl of cookies next to Jimin on the couch. His usual spot in the house nowadays. Even when he is producing he hasn’t been in the studio much at all. He likes to joke that it gives him war flashbacks.

He feels a bit like an idiot for not noticing. Only really realizing he’s fattened up when he needs to pull his gym shorts under his belly. That hangs comfortably over the waistband and pushes forward, squishy muffin top clinging to his shirt too. Probably the only thing keeping it from riding up the curve of his gut. Though he can feel the sliver of skin up his chubby back when he sinks into his comfortable side of the couch.

The tightness follows up his thickened waist, where rolls were stacking up comfortably. There’s a logo on the front of his shirt, that’s stretched white from the expanse of his chest. Rounded, pudgy and emasculated. He gives a tentative squeeze. No sight of muscle, thumb and index sinking right in.

Even the sleeves feel tight sinking into the new chub that hangs from his arms. And the collar of the shirt seems nearly suffocating. Not to mention, this has been the hardest summer has ever been for him. Needing the constant company of the AC. He turns it off out of pity for Hoseok and Yoongi’s electricity bill. But it’s only a few minutes until he starts getting sticky with sweat.

Jimin hasn’t just gained a few, he’s fat. And he let himself be blissfully ignorant for most of the summer.

But, then again, Hoseok doesn’t seem to be against it.

And Yoongi… Well he hasn’t even acknowledged it even happened.

Hoseok must be the only one who has a thing for it. Just like he seems to be the one who has a thing for Jimin anyway….

If he sounds a bit sulky. He is.

Though, his conflicted feelings about his weight gain, liking it, liking Hoseok like it, and feeling frustrated at Yoongi’s lack of response, aren’t enough to keep him from showing up. Lately he doesn’t even have to warn the couple, Jimin knows their schedules already.

Yoongi opens the door for him. “Hey.” Even if he wanted to, Jimin can’t read into Yoongi’s actions. Always so genuine and so particularly warm towards the younger.

“Hi hyung.” He really tries not to let his own intentions with them ruin the amazing relationship he already has, especially with Yoongi. Who’s only ever given support and love in Jimin’s life. They reach for a hug, the few instances in which Yoongi ever so much as touches him. But they’re always the same, perfectly respectable. His broad hands spread in the upper part of Jimin’s back. Even as the younger’s belly is big enough to overspill from the sides of Yoongi’s torso. Not too long. Perfectly standard. Almost calculated when he separates.

Okay, maybe Jimin is reading too deep into Yoongi.

“Smells delicious.” He puts a giddy smile on his face, and Yoongi rolls his eyes. As if pretending the only reason he didn’t go above and beyond in his cooking is Jimin’s almost daily appearances.

“Got some Ssambap ready.” That answer alone makes Jimin groan in delight as he walks further into the apartment.

“Hiii!” He exclaims, waiting for an eager Hoseok to rush to greet him. Give him a proper hug. Hmf. “Is he in the studio?” It wouldn’t be the first time he had to pretty much keep his hand pressed on the doorbell to get the producer couple to take off their headphones and notice he was outside.

“No, no, Miss Jung had some problems with her car. Hoseok just went to help out.” That makes Jimin’s head turn over his shoulder. Shit-eating smile already on his face.

“Miss Jung?”

“Hoseok’s mom.” Yoongi states simply.

“You call your boyfriend’s mom ‘Miss’?” He can’t help the giggle that slips out as he says it. Getting the respected reaction when Yoongi scoffs jokingly offended. “You’ve been together for like 9 years!”

“I’m a respectful son in law!” He whines. Before his face morphs into a pout. “And she is a very scary woman.”

That makes Jimin burst into a fit of giggles. Folding over himself, feeling the overhang of his belly fully press against his lap. Shirt riding up his back for him to quickly adjust it down when he stands back up right.

“You are adorable.” “I don’t know why I keep letting you come here.” Yoongi deadpans, eyes looking particularly anywhere that isn’t Jimin and his hands adjusting this shirt to fit over his love handles. Ouch.

“Because Hoseok likes me.” If Jimin were bolder he wouldn’t have said it in such a joking tone. But for the sake of keeping the peace. He’s now becoming acutely aware of how long it’s been since he and Yoongi hung out alone. “And because you’ve become incapable of cooking for two anymore.” That gets a smile out of him.

“I did enough for us to eat ssambap for breakfast and lunch tomorrow…” He confesses. “Are you hungry?”

“Always.” Jimin grins and follows the older to the kitchen, the smell is downright mouth-watering. But he is stopped as he tries to set the table.

“No no, I’ll take stuff to the studio. I wanna show you what I’m working on.” The small smile on Yoongi’s face is enough to make Jimin’s stomach twist in excitement. No matter the inner conundrum Jimin has, he will always be excited for either of his hyungs’ music. Especially when he has that confident smile on his face. Yoongi looks amazing when he is confident.

Is it excitement he feels? Or are those just the butterflies?

“Got it.” He interrupts himself to nod and turn on his heel. It’s been at least a few months since he’s nestled into the studio. But it feels just as familiar as it did that last time when he handed in his final work… And also all that stuff happened during his final hand in.

It does feel more cozy than he remembers, feeling himself get hot in the smaller room as he walks to his designated chair. What must’ve been an old one that either Hoseok or Yoongi used. At least judging by the screech it lets out as Jimin settles his weight into it.

Jimin looks down at himself, it’s a tight fit. His sides nearing the edge of the chair, nearly grazing the armrests. Though he can feel his thighs sink a little into them, as well as overspill from the edge of the chair. Jimin says feel, because he can’t get a proper look at it. His belly, only cramped forward by the armrests, takes a comfortable seat on half of his lap.

With pursed lips, Jimin makes himself bounce gently onto the chair. His belly slaps against his lap, and the rest of him jiggles in unison. But the chair only gives a few creaks in complaint.

Okay, he’s good-

Yoongi clears his throat; the younger snaps his face in his direction to find him standing by the door. Did he just see Jimin testing if the chair could hold his weight?

“I’ll–I’ll go get the uh… the food.” Jimin’s heart sinks to the pit of his stomach with the awkward look on the older’s face. Nearly fleeing the scene before he could catch Jimin behaving like the hog he turned himself into.

Or well… The one they encouraged him into becoming.

A bitter taste takes over his tongue, if he finds it so uncomfortable, then maybe he shouldn’t have been so doting towards Jimin. Let him go completely crazy these past three months, just to show him rejection once he’s gone too far. Once Jimin started realizing he actually still cares what his hyungs think about him. A little bit more than he’s proud to admit; a lot more than he has any right to.

The sweet smell of ssambap, the pork belly caramelized by its own fat, fills the room as Yoongi walks in with a tray with the big serving, some lettuce, rice, kimchi and two little bowls for them. That little smile is back on his face, like he is trying to brush off the awkwardness of barley a few minutes ago. The taste on Jimin’s mouth becomes unbearingly bitter. Maybe that’s why he is so eager to reach for the assortment of little dishes beginning to assemble his ssambap; while Yoongi begins to open the file he wanted to show him.

His mind feels far away, deep into himself. It feels unfair that Jimin is being rejected like this when Yoongi and Hoseok were the ones to instigate it. But then again, part of him wonders if the oldest took notice of how Jimin and Hoseok’s relationship became more playful; flirtier. That would be a pretty justified anger.

“Okay, this is for the opening of a short film they hired me to do.” Yoongi eyes briefly at Jimin with a smile; the younger already with the perfect, maybe a bit overstuffed, piece of lettuce in his hand. “Tell me what you think.”

Even before he is turning to play the song, Jimin is pushing the ssambap into his mouth, brushing the hem of his stretched lips. Okay, really, overstuffed that one. But he can’t help but feel a little bit seductive as he is wrapping his plump lips around his chubby index finger that pushed the bite in and slipped it out. Already making a second one as he chews. The sucky thing about this dish is, there’s really no way for Jimin to eat ravenously as he has gotten used to. But Jimin can at least let himself relax; feel a bit more confident as the delicious crunchy and perfectly oily pork belly reaches his tongue.

He has to hold back the moan that threatens to resonate in the back of his throat; it would definitely be disrespectful to interrupt the song with his gorging. Song that by the way, has this ethereal feel to it, gently creating the dreamy setting. It only feels fair that Jimin quickly scrambles to prepare a second bite, only to slowly lean back in the poor office chair. And not even the loud creak can ruin the religious experience that takes over his senses as he closes his eyes, letting himself get lost in the music, followed by the orgasmic balance of flavors that take over his mouth as he drops his jaw and manages to fit the humongous bite in.

But… The sudden snap of the lumbar support of the chair, with the loud thud of Jimin falling to the ground. That’s enough to snap both of them out of the listening experience. Hitting the carpet floor with a thud and a loud. Not giving Jimin time to react before he is “oufing” against the floor staring at the ceiling. Taking the entire seat of the chair with him and leaving behind the headless wheeled legs.

Yoongi comes into view from above, looking as stunned as Jimin feels. Maybe a little less out of breath.

“A-are you okay?” The younger only now has time to feel the mortifying embarrassment, as Yoongi kneels at his side offering his hand. Eyebrows raised almost comically with worry.

“Y…yeah-” He can only breathe out a reply, following the way Yoongi’s widened eyes graze along his fatteened body. The shock threw away any attempt at subtlety, letting Jimin see… the mortified expression.

Jimin’s heart tightens. Its disgust Yoongi is pathetically trying to mask.

“I’m–I’m fine, I’m fine.” His chubby hand shoos Yoongi as he slowly starts sitting up. “Ow…” He pouts his lips. Yoongi’s hands rub down his own thighs nervously, not knowing what to do with himself.

That’s okay, Jimin doesn’t know what to do with himself either. Though, as if to make matters worse, the front door opens.

Obviously too flabbergasted to act on his own, still looking at Jimin’s body with panicked eyes, Yoongi screams “Office!” Not giving the youngest time to react before hurried steps are thumping quickly through the apartment. Hoseok probably noticed the slight panic in Yoongi’s tone. Both his and Jimin’s head snapping towards the door frame when Hoseok’s slim silhouette appears; in complete quiet as if they were getting caught in the middle of something they shouldn’t have. At least Jimin felt that way.

“What’s wrong??” Hoseok speaks before he gets there. Both Yoongi and Jimin’s head snapping towards the door frame when Hoseok’s slim silhouette appears; in complete quiet as if they were getting caught in the middle of something they shouldn’t have. At least Jimin felt that way. Hoseok’s eyes bulged out at the crime scene before him, switching between Yoongi, dejectedly kneeling on the floor and, and Jimin laying with the armrests of the chair still squeezing into his sides.

“Sorry about the chair.” He blurts, unmoving from his spot on the carpet.

There’s a brief moment of quiet. Before Hoseok, folds over, bursting out laughing. High pitched and cutting through the uncomfortable silence Yoongi and Jimin were drowning in. Hand having to hold onto the door frame to hold himself from falling.

“Oh Yoonie…” His voice is 3 octaves higher and breathier, through barely contained laughter. “I leave for an hour… And this is what you get into-!” He can’t finish his point, interrupted by another fit of laughter.

“Shut up!” Yoongi’s voice also sounds higher pitched, for all the opposite reasons. Outraged, whiny and embarrassed.

“Enjoying yourself?” A teasing tone clings to his voice, and Hoseok has that distinctive shit-eating grin. The mocking in his words does nothing to soothe Jimin’s self consciousness about the older.

“The opposite" Jimin snorts humorlessly. “You should see how he is looking at me, hyung.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out that bitter, and the eyeing he gives Yoongi doesn’t help. But it’s something that has been eating him up, and Yoongi should seriously be more subtle about his distaste for Jimin’s weight gain.

“What do you mean?” The oldest’s eyes are suddenly fully on him. Making Jimin feel extremely exposed. The idea of backing down and brushing it on flashing through his mind.

“You’ve been weird for weeks now!” The whine slips out of his mouth before he can even consider that alternative. “Ever since I got fat!” His chubby pointy finger points at Yoongi’s gobsmacked expression.

“W-what?” Even Hoseok looks stunned.

“I’m sorry if my weight gain, that you two encouraged, is ruining the mood for you! And whatever’s happening between us!” Jimin can’t help but snort, he is tired of the confusion. “But you could try and be, I don’t know, nicer about it!” Jimin is suddenly very aware of the fact that he is screaming. Suddenly shrinking a bit into himself and looking anywhere else; he finds a nice spot on the floor. “A-and help me up.”

The silence is palpable, at least for the two seconds before a hollering laughter makes the walls shake. Hoseok nearly folding over himself and having to grip the door frame to avoid falling down. It’s shocking enough that even Yoongi and JImin share a puzzled look before looking at Hoseok.

“You told me– You told me you were going to tell him! Yah!” He manages to finish a sentence but it’s attached to a string of giggles. Jimin was startled enough to ponder if Hoseok was talking to him, but Yoongi beats him to it.

“I–I was going to!” His eyes darted between the youngest and his boyfriend. “The time just wasn’t right.” Jimin’s own eyes are bulging outwards between the couple, huffing as he sits up from where he was laying on the floor.

“Tell me what?!”

There’s another beat of silence.

“Yoongichi here, has a weight gain kink.” The mocking smile doesn’t leave his face. Jimin feels his heart stammer erratically. “And I was dumb enough to think he would’ve told you by now… With how much weight you put on and all.”

He is at a loss of words, though Yoongi speaks before he can even begin to formulate words. “You’re making me sound like a creep! It’s not like that!” He speaks through a pout, looking at Jimin with desperation. Who can’t offer any comforting words back, jaw hanging limp in complete shock.

“We— I didn’t plan on making you gain any weight.” He explains exasperated, suddenly not looking at anyone’s eyes. “You were just so spent with work and–and it just was my way of looking after you!”

Jimin never would’ve considered…

“I obviously uhm… noticed the gain. But I didn’t want to freak you out.” Yoongi does dare to look at Jimin in the eyes then, genuine and a little scared. “I may have taken it too far with my acting. And caused the opposite effect I wanted. I’m sorry.” His face scrunches up into a flinch the more he goes on, as if preparing for another one of Jimin’s explosive reactions.

“I…” The youngest starts to speak, mainly because he can feel it’s his que to respond. But without the slightest clue what he should say. Seeing from the corner of his eye Hoseok stepped closer to where the pair was sitting on the floor. “You like it?” His eyes darted between the two of them, not able to help the hopeful tone of his voice; impossible to hide it after these old feelings resurfaced with full force.

“I don’t have a kink for it, personally.” Hoseok’s hand finds Yoongi’s shoulder. “But I think you look beautiful, Jiminie.” The oldest is nodding eagerly.

“I don’t like you just because of the weight either.” His face is serious but his nodding is desperate, as if still scared of giving the Jimin the wrong idea, whose heart is stammering out of his ribs.

“I like the weight.” He sounds more sure than he has all night. Nodding softly as his eyes dart between the two. “I like getting to hang out with you again, and getting taken care of by you.” Once he starts he doesn’t think he can stop. “And I like that you two don’t look at me like I’m a kid anymore, and finally feeling like I have a chance.” He smiles a bit, Jimin knows he is risking it all, but he can’t bring himself to care when it feels so good to let go of all these emotions.

Hoseok kneels behind his boyfriend, at eye level with Yoongi. He is biting his lip with an endeared smile on his face. “Well… we have all changed since then.”

“You’re not a tween anymore.” Yoongi jokes with a shit-eating smile that shows at least some ease on his part.

“You are 2 years older than me.” The look on the oldest face eases him enough to retort back. “Only one year younger than Hobi hyung. You two just behave like senior citizens.” Hoseok breaks into giggles and Jimin feels quite accomplished about that.

“It feels more drastic in highschool! You know that!” His melodic laughter fills the room. Jimin feels his own shoulders slump in proper relief. And he catches the older looking at Hoseok with lovesick eyes as his laughter calms down. “Babe… offer him dessert.” He whispers to Yoongi with an amused smile.

“Oh!” He smiles a little embarrassed before turning his face back to Jimin. “Min-ah, do you think you have any more roo-”

“Yes.” Jimin answers without giving Yoongi time to finish. “Help me up.”

gif credits!1st gif : gainerbf on tumblr, October 3rd 2023

2nd-4th gif : overfedbutterball on tumblr, September 11th 2023

5th photo: fatbellygirl-piggy on tumblr, November 16th 2023

#BTS #bts feederism #namkook #taejin #sopemin #chubby jugnkook #fat jungkook #chubby taehyung #fat taehyung #chubby seven #fat jimin #stress eating #stuffing

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