#there was one line i read in a fic on ao3 that inspired this entire thing

[omgpoindexter]

more nurseydex fics!!!

i’ve been doing my duty properly and reading some different nurseydex fics on ao3 lately 🫡 i tried to find some that are more recent, however i inevitably found some that are older but slipped through the cracks for me.

here are some of the ones i came across that you need to read! i might make this a thing again if anyone is interested, im sure y’all have been much more on the ball with reading nurseydex fics than i have over the years but i do love reccing <3

suddenly this summer it’s clear by @dessertwaffles

The summer before senior year, Nursey and Dex become closer than ever.

Or, Nursey and Dex's developing relationship, as told through their text messages.

i was absolutely grinning the entire way through this. it’s a texting fic, with images rather than plain text (so clever!) but their personalities are so strong and their interactions are just perfect! and you know i love a texting fic

getting used to letting go by @jennybeantime

Dex was supposed to have a fancy job in some city upon graduation, but his plans changed once his uncle died and left the family home in Maine to him. Without immediate obligations of their own, Nursey, Chowder and Farmer follow Dex up there to help him clear it out and clean it up.

this fic is BEAUTIFUL. if you haven’t read it then please do yourself a favour and do it now. it captures certain feelings and emotions so effortlessly and i felt like i was in a little maine bubble living this story with them. i can’t believe i missed this one before, please please read!!

got the feeling you’re the right thing after all by @bisexualnursey

Two and a half years after he breaks up with Dex to go to grad school across the country, Nursey runs into him again when he visits New York for the holidays. What starts as them just rekindling their friendship quickly turns into a whole other thing: a 100% no-strings-attached friends with benefits arrangement while they’re in the same city.

Which is totally chill because Nursey is definitely over Dex. He swears. He’s going back to California soon anyway.

i seriously CANNOT BELIEVE i never read this before but i think i was in my inactive era when this was posted. it’s just so perfect!!! all the feelings and interactions with not only dex and nursey but all the other characters, friends and family, they all felt so real and i loved them so much. i’ll be rereading this a LOT! you should too!!

here i am (leaving you clues) by @averteddeyes

Will loves Nursey. Nursey loves Will. Will isn’t really quite sure how to deal with it.

(Alternatively: Will learns acceptance through poetry, hesitant communication, and brightly colored sticky notes.)

this is really gorgeously written. angst warning, because ouch!!! also poetry as a love language, like a really good selection of poetry, i really enjoyed it and how it weaves into the story. and the bittydex friendship is so important to me!!!

volta by @plusoultres

volta (n.) a turning point or point of change in a poem, most commonly a sonnet.

Or, five times a poem doesn’t reach its intended recipient, and one time it does; five drafts, and one work completed; five turning points, and one ending.

the second fic was inspired by this one, and thank goodness it was because this one totally slipped through the cracks and i’m so glad i read it. their banter is just brilliant and i love the variation in medium, and the poetry is beautiful! i could quote lines from this but im not going to. just. read it

things got weird (when we made out) by @andtimestoodstill

Nursey is being stupid about this. He knows he’s being stupid.

super fun and really cute, i love it when these two are just being idiots. great inclusion of the other teammates too. read it for this line alone: “[You’re doing] That thing where you forget to look like you hate Dex and just stare at him like some Victorian lady who just saw a hot dude for the first time.” because it made me laugh out loud

things that go bump in the night by @smashthatlikebitty

The first time it happens, Dex rolls over and flings so many obscenities in Nursey’s direction that even his Grandmother would have to sit down — and she cursed so much at Dex’s cousin’s wedding that the whole family has been banned from that church ever since.

Nursey just stills in the dark, one shoe off. A languid, infuriating presence. “Chill, man.”

essentially all the times nursey’s clumsy ass wakes dex up in the night. oh how i love pretending these two roomied their way into a relationship! this is so cute, smiled all the way through

some things take two people to build by @cricketnationrise

“You are the single most dramatic person I have ever met,” Dex mutters, trying valiantly to hide his grin.

Or, 5 times Dex wishes their relationship was real +1 time he doesn't have to

this was so fun, yet again i love them being idiots!!! these two in new york city is so important to me. and i for one would LOVE to read the work party 5+1 fic. just saying

[connorsnothereeither]

So, Brink is canon to Fable… but how, exactly?

Well we sure talked about it on @venear-tmblr ‘s stream and here are my thoughts. None of them are canon, but none of them aren’t canon either. Pick one. Or pick none of them, this was just me being goofy :D

The Brink books in Fable-canon aren’t exactly like the Brink fics that exist irl. In a way similar to the fictional “The Princess Bride” book within William Goldman’s The Princess Bride. They exist, but different to the story we know about. The books in Fable are the real story, and the fics we have are a retelling of them, recontextualised to be more in line with Fable SMP. Maybe they have a similar story, but characters names are slightly different, or certain characters don’t exist. Certain things happen in different ways, and to the people reading it, it’s similar enough to their lives to be an odd coincidence, but not similar enough to be unsettling.

They actually are a weird, prophetic series of books in universe. Think like the “Supernatural” book series written by Chuck in the show Supernatural. Someone in the world of Fable, at some point in history, is/was getting these horrible visions and premonitions, and they treated them as inspiration for their novels, not knowing those people actually existed when the books were published. Maybe they intentionally added the Lovecraftian twist, or maybe that’s how they perceived the visions.

They’re literally the fics from AO3, leaking into the Fable universe from our universe via ✨multiverse shenanigans✨ We know thanks to Sherbert that our streamer reality exists in that multiverse. Maybe Ocie’s blood ritual, or Rae and Centross accessing the void, caused them to slip through the cracks. Or maybe Quixis is wacking them in, intentionally or unintentionally, trying to get Icarus’ attention. We know that once a book exists in Fable, it can show anywhere, any time, so they could have been hurtled through time and space enough to become an established book in-universe. Books are appearing, memories and timelines are crossing, it’s just one of those elements of the multiverse that’s a little bit unstable.

Elizabeth has secretly been writing RPF novels about the people he meets/secretly watches from a distance this entire time. He publishes them under a pseudonym, and has a cult following of readers, who eagerly await the next chapter to arrive by mail. It’s only recently anyone has actually started connecting the dots…

OR if anyone has their own little theories (goofy or serious) as to how/why the Brink books exist in canon, I would absolutely love to hear them /Gen

[maddilynmuse]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55890415/chapters/141920194

Huh. I wrote almost 10,000 words in less than a week. When the brainrot hits, it really fucking hits.

WARNING, POST GAME SPOILERS, CONTINUE AT OWN RISK! (And if you do click the link, y’know, mind the tags)

Anyways, hello In Stars and Time fandom! Look what I just finished up earlier today~ For those who don’t obsessively check ao3, it’s a little series I’ve made about Siffrin post-canon having some time loop trauma manifesting as getting stuck in just repeating his lines (well, most lines are his, hehe) and going semiverbal. This here is a prequel to the smaller fic “Line, Please” which is the same basic premise, but later chronologically (so the fam isn’t quite as freaked out).

Do mind the warnings, this is a trauma response after all, but what can I say? For as much as I like to break characters open and see them bleed, I also adore some hurt/comfort and recovery. I think this game and fandom ought to understand, Change is destruction, but can be good too.

… and I wasn’t sure whether to go into it on ao3 or if it’d be weirdly personal and TMI, but fuck it. This was partly inspired by me going nonverbal about a week prior to “Line, Please.” It doesn’t happen to me often (I could count the times on one hand), but the mortal terror and sheer, prolonged dread of hearing people talk about imminent tornadoes all day, hurriedly packing as much as you can into a bag and going to the closest thing you have to shelter only to realize it is closed, it will not accept you, you cannot get in, desperately looking for anywhere else and slowly realizing you have no good options… Well, good news (for me at least), it missed us. I didn’t lose my life, car, apartment, or anything I owned. But turns out an entire day of slowly building terror and helplessness will fuck up your mental state. Im lucky that was the worst though.

… so yeah.

Anyways! Back to fic, there’s a nonzero chance I’ll somehow manage another insane bout of productivity next week, but there’s also a nonzero chance I will once more fall off the face of the earth for months (for more details, see the unnecessarily long author’s note on chapter 3, but good news! Job’s been confirmed, YA GIRL WILL CONTINUE TO HAVE INCOME!!! NO STARVING! YAY!)

Hope y’all have enjoyed, and sorry not sorry for the rant. You chose to click Read More, I wash my hands of responsibility /hj (but seriously, thanks for reading and have a good day).

And zero pressure, especially since I really don’t put too much on there, but link to Kofi.

[lvndrlondonfog]

ok so basically I saw your post asking for prompts and I have been thinking for days about cat good omens . again. let me explain

so a while back I wrote a super fucking long cat omens fic (long for me at least) where they’re stray cats, it’s called strays on the street, almost 60k words. BUT in my head is ANOTHER CAT AU where they are warrior cats ok idk if you’ve ever read those books but there’s hundreds of them and they’re about clans of cats who fight and hunt and fuck and it’s crazy and not child appropriate. I was reading cats get mauled and give birth graphically in 2nd grade but anyway I WANNA READ THEM AS WARIROR CATS OR WRITE IT MAYBE?? Cuz all I’ve written is this snippet from my notes app from weeks ago

/ “I’m sorry,” Serpentfang gurgled, his eyes rolling back in his head, his paws convulsing as he tried to reach for Angelwing. But the white tom stepped back. /

NO CONTETX NOTHING IDK WHAT

but anyway i also need more fanart and fic of crowley with greying hair. same with azi tbh but especially Crowley i want them growing old together in the sense that they don’t have to grow old but they choose to :) ))) also i want an au where crowley becomes Duke of hell post s2 just to send petty notes through heavens administration

SORRY MY ADHD DOES NOT LET ME HAVE A STRAIFHT LINE OF THOUGHT AJSSJDK anyway i am all for new tumblerers and if you have an ao3 or something id love to follow it incase you do write or post anything! <3 random ideas to shoot at ya: sailor aziraphale x siren Crowley, crowley pretending to date furfur post s2 to get supreme archangel aziraphale’s attention, muriel trying to get Crowley and aziraphale back together PARENT TRAP STYLE, orrrr yknow what sweet and fluffy aziraphale reading and drinking tea in south downs cottage while snake Crowley listens to him read aloud and sips from his cup with his silly forked tongue

GO CRAZY (and also be my mutual? 💍)

OH ABSOLUTELY. Warriors cats was my SHIT growing up, and sosososos many ideas I cannot thank you enough: I’ll link one of my fics below and I just started writing so they aren’t AMAZING but decent I think still!!! Ones about Angel Crowley finding inspiration for the entire universe after one (1) passing glance at a specific Angel and the other about Crowley struggling a bit after the fall, past angst but wings and fluff!!!

THOUGH I ABSOLUTELY GET ZERO STRAIGHT LINES OF THOUGH FELLOW ADHDER SO LEMME SEE IF I CAN RESPOND TO ALL OF THESE AKFKRLS

So basically I have also thought about warrior cats au before and BASICALLY

Crowley is a dark forest cat (kicked out like Ashfur) and Aziraphale is a Starclan cat!!!! Remember in the first books when they have to move from the original forest bc it was getting chopped down? Instead of moving, Starclan saw no way out of that and was like “what if they all just die instead than problem solved and we never have to worry about issues ever again?”

Crowley and Aziraphale are obviously like NO THATS A BAD IDEA and after an accidental meeting at the foggy border between Starclan and the dark forest, they are both elected by their respective forces to take over two clan’s medicine cat’s bodies and make sure that the 9 layers of Armageddon that Starclan is sending to wipe out the clans will go through. Instead, they try to thwart things while each dealing with clan life once again, and of course, shenanigans ensue!

Okay growing older I literally love the idea of as they drift further from their respective sides, they lose more and more of their ethereal powers, but it means they can be together and be left alone. While it’s a sacrifice that they’re both willing to make, it does come with some unintended side effects (mostly for Crowley; human bodies don’t tend to handle a million year free-style dives into pits of boiling sulphur too well) but they again find ways. Essentially a lot of fluff post-Armageddon’t and s2 in the South Downs Cottage????

And thirdly what if post S2, Crowley doesn’t really know what to do with himself but he’s PISSED. And there is no more “their” side, only Crowley’s side and he’s not exactly thrilled to be back alone. He has nothing else to do and he wants petty revenge, so he matched Aziraphale’s position as Supreme Archangel as a Duke Of Hell, mainly as an excuse to fuck with Aziraphale and make sure that Aziraphale won’t be able to forget about him any time soon, because Crowley certainly hasn’t thought about him.

AND TWO SPLIT ROUTES ONE ANGST ONE CRACK

1) With nobody left on Earth, Crowley and Aziraphale are out of the loop and before they realize it, the second coming had happened. Earth is dead, and Heaven and Hell are preparing for war once again. Meeting on the battlefields, each full of anger and with nothing left to go back to, what will happen? Either they fight and one accidentally wounds the other before they’re both like OH SHIT WAIT WAIT WAIT THIS IS STUPID MISTAKES HAVE BEEN MADE or one is hurt by the enemy side and found by the other; how do they stick together when no place is safe anymore?

OR NOT HORREDNOUS ANGST

2) Crowley finds out about the second coming, which he doesn’t think Aziraphale knows about, and vice Versa. Cue notes with ridiculous clues and stupid Spelling Things Out with random capitals to send a message, and completely obliviousness on both sides because they’re too desperate to get their own sides across that they don’t even stop to consider that the other may Also be trying to send a message. Cue increasingly grand gestures from both sides before Aziraphale shows up at Crowley’s office holding the Son of God, and they have to figure out how to stop the second coming while finding out ways to acknowledge the emotional damage they both still carry from their last meeting in the bookshop

Sailor x Siren writes itself: maybe shipwrecked Aziraphale finds Very Almost Miraculously Convenient things on this abandonded island that he’s trying to survive on, before one night he finds a certain someone repairing the broken boat little by little. They get scared off before they can talk but Azi leaves an offering back, and cue not-meeting-but-absolutely-communicating until actual meeting than bam! Eventually they both realize that there’s nobody getting him off this island and the ultimate choice for Aziraphale to drown and become a siren too, he takes the offer and is literally just held by siren!Crowley as he takes his last breath and a bit of suspense before BOOM REBORN HAPPY ENDING YIPEE!!

Than dating Furfur to cause jealousy, specifically knowing how similar the two can look, Crowley makes it VERY obvious that he’s complimenting and highlighting all the similar traits of Aziraphale but TO SOMEONE ELSE. Aziraphale refuses to directly confront but cue more and more aggressive signs from the heavens that try to break them apart that Crowley keeps spinning into good things. Aziraphale convinces Muriel child-of-divorce style to miraculously decorate the bookshop that Crowley had been living in to an EXTREME for Valentine’s Day, and Crowley spins it into ‘I did this myself’ for FurFur. Eventually, Aziraphale gets so spun up that he can no longer focus on the planning (or thwarting) of the second coming and gets so pissed with Crowley little shithead antics that he leaves the rambunctious 10 yo son of Christ at the door, with a small note reading something along the lines of ‘Fine, deal with this yourself than; PS this is Jesus!’ And the exact opposite silence, Crowley flailing to win Aziraphale’s good graces and communicate with him, handling Jesus, and dealing with some growing guilt after Furfur genuinely seemed to become attached. Not sure how this would end, but probably Crowley working through everything on his own, separate sides angst, alternating POV chapters, and they ultimately team up again to solve all the issues

Also for Parent trap Au: Muriel and the Bentley power-duo: Crowley’s depressed so Muriel can use the Bentley, and it drives Muriel places and hints at what to do next ect ect while Muriel figures out human stuff, romance, heaven, and after numerous failed attempts- a happy ending for the wonderous Mr.Fell and Mr.Crowley who had taken her in before!

Also Absolutely Dyslexic Crowley having pretended to just really hate books for the longest time, but Aziraphale eventually noticed that Crowley struggles to read menus and other stuff too- just poor eyesight and with knowledge being the root of the original sin, heaven found it quite ironic to block that in more than a few ways for the very demons who perpetuate sin! Confrontation, and eventually Crowley gives in and cue absolute fluff; Aziraphale reads and finds a new side of Crowley, who despite what he had spent many years convincing himself, actually ends up enjoying various things and even asking further questions and speculating and thinking about things (which Aziraphale is more than thrilled about to finally have someone to discuss with!)

Also I am currently on SOS Internet on the drive home, so I can’t risk opening a new webpage lest everything is risked but my Ao3 is LvndrLemonade! Top two fics are what I was talking about earlier and I will absolutely keep you updated on these ideas!!!!!!!!! Thank you for allowing me to yell I love all of tjeese sosososso much oh my god

[juicyflawless25]

Bon Appétit (Ch. 1) Nsfw

Word Count; 2,779 (for the first chapter)

Notes; Inspired, somehow, by the song Bon Appétit by Katy Perry. I mean, who doesn't think Larissa Weems is good enough to eat, right? This is my first fic in quite some time, so please be gentle with me. However, I'm open to hear anything and everything you guys have to say! Also cross posted on ao3. Sexy part will come in chapter 2! Thank you for reading!

Melt in your mouth kind of loving. That was the way you could best describe your love life with your wife. Ever since you had first laid eyes on her gorgeous form, her angel-like hair and piercing eyes, your mouth would water. There were many times where you would find yourself staring, getting lost in the pure unadulterated beauty that was Larissa Weems, literally drooling on yourself as your mouth hung open.

When the two of you had first become acquainted, Larissa had wondered why you continually stared at her. Sometimes she would wonder if perhaps you were just lost in thought and she happened to be in the line of sight, or lack thereof. To be truthful, she began to ponder if perhaps you weren’t as bright as you had let on. The way the drool would slip down the side of your mouth and you didn’t even seem to notice, it always made her brows furrow and her painted lips to turn downwards at the corners.

But then as it continued on, time after time, she began to realize that wasn’t the case. No, something was going on behind your eyes. At times, it would drive her mad trying to figure out what was going inside that skull of yours. For quite a while, she had come to the conclusion in her head that you found her to be atrocious, a monster, a thing to be gawked at in disgust. After all, it wouldn’t be the first or last time she’d be thought of that way. The way you interacted with her, however, told her another story entirely. You were always kind, forever having something nice or sweet to say to her. You would go out of your way to do something for her, even if it was inconvenient for yourself. And the light touches, disguised as accidents? Well, it made the cogs turn in her head and her mind began to wonder even further than she had previously ever let herself.

The pinnacle for it all? The moment it all came together and finally made sense? Well, it was a day Larissa would never forget. She had been typing away at her laptop, sending off email after email, her glassy blues getting increasingly tired by the minute. Larissa was on the brink of done, her pointer finger poised just so over the button to hit send, when the doors of her office flung open. Her head snapped up, eyes wide and clearly conveying a sense of dread for a moment. When she realized who was marching their way towards her desk, Larissa’s head tilted and her eyebrows knit together in both worry and confusion.

Your eyes looked wild, scanning Larissa’s face as your bit at your lip. Your hands were fidgeting with one another, giving off more clear indication that something was bothering you. Larissa opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but you beat her to the punch before even a syllable could slip past her beautiful lips.

“Larissa!” You exclaimed, making her jump from the sudden sound coming from you. You almost stopped to apologize, but you had to push yourself to continue or you were never going to get done what you had come to do. 

“Larissa Weems, if I don’t tell you now how I feel about you, then I am going to burst at the seams!” You were breathing rather heavily, the principal realized. And it occurred to her that perhaps you had run to her office, set on letting her know something she had no clue of.

“I’m listening.” Larissa said with a nod of her head, eyebrow slightly raised in anticipation. Her head was tilted as well, her ocean eyes gazing at you incredulously. 

You took in a deep breath, trying to steady yourself and your nerves. Your insides felt like they were trying to vibrate right out of your body, but you opted to ignore those feelings as you took a few steps forward to get closer to Larissa’s desk.

One more breath, as Larissa stared at you expectantly. You could see the questioning and worry in her eyes. You could see how your long stretch of silence was beginning to irritate her, which was not your intention at all. So, you straightened your back and let your feelings roll off of your tongue, just as you had intended to do.

“I find you…so, so incredibly attractive! And I know you’ve caught me staring at you so many times. You probably think I’m crazy, or dumb, or a variance of both! And that’s okay because I can imagine how uncomfortable I’ve probably made you. And I am so sorry for that! It’s just…I….I! God! You’re just so damn captivating and I’ve wanted nothing more than to tell you. But I didn’t want to scare you away or make you fire me! I mean, you’re my boss and this probably isn’t appropriate, but I just really need you to know how utterly gorgeous you are. All I want to do is show you exactly how I feel about you. So…there…there it is!”

When you were done, you took in a very large breath and let your arms fall to your sides. You had been gesturing wildly as you spoke, letting your hands talk along with your mouth. You had been staring at Larissa the whole time, but you had been so deep in your thoughts and your words that you realized you hadn’t gauged any of her reaction at all. It was hard for you to make yourself really look at her because you were afraid of how she was going to react.

As you gazed into her eyes though, conveying as much emotion as possible with your own, you saw a myriad of emotions parade through her face. It started with confusion, your words not making sense to her at first. Then it moved on to disbelief, as if she couldn’t trust the words she was hearing. That one hit you the hardest, but that feeling didn’t linger long as the disbelief moved on and smoothed itself out into a smile on her pristinely painted lips. 

When you realized she was smiling at you, at your words and your truth, your heart began to pound in your chest. It flipped and thumped against your ribcage and butterflies fluttered rampantly in your stomach. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t as bad of an idea as you had originally thought. 

Just when you thought the butterflies and the rattling of your heart couldn’t become any stronger, Larissa’s eyes gazed longingly at you as she rose from her chair. Your eyes followed her face all the way up, moving along as she strode around her desk to approach you. Larissa’s tantalizingly long fingers reached out towards your face and cupped your cheek, keeping your eyes on her own. A grander smile spread her ruby red lips wider and it felt like your heart was going to burst into a million tiny, happy, beautiful pieces.

It looked like Larissa wanted to speak, but it seemed that she was tongue tied. No one had ever driven her speechless like that before, her own heart likely matching the beat of yours as your words sank deeper and deeper into her soul. As the words continued to elude her, Larissa decided to opt for something to replace them.

With a small lick to her lips, her eyes flicked to yours at the same time. Your breath hitched in your throat and stayed there, her gaze keeping you in place, feet feeling like stone that had sunk into the ground. Without hesitation, Larissa leaned forward and placed her lips gingerly to yours. It took you a moment to realize what was happening, but when your mind caught up, your body wasn’t far behind.

You savored the taste of Larissa’s lips, mingling with her lipstick, as you gently kissed her back. You hand had a mind of its own as it laid itself on Larissa’s hip, fingertips tingling as you touched her there for the first time. Larissa stepped closer, bringing your bodies together in a mold of newly formed lovers, and your heart stopped dead in your chest for a moment. When it picked back up, it did so in double time as you deepened the kiss with the goddess before you. This was more than you could have ever hoped for, more than you had even imagined would happen once you expressed yourself. 

That was ten years ago, and you have cherished every moment you’ve had with her ever since. This memory played through your mind as you went about your day, teaching your classes and catching fleeting glimpses of the statuesque woman you had so happily married. Each time you saw her throughout the day, you would smile at her, or wink, sometimes even blow a kiss her way. If there were no students around, you would wiggle your ass just the way she liked it. She would look at you with an eyebrow raised, the look in her eyes saying ‘There are people around! Behave!’ But you knew she loved every second of it.

It was the end of a school week, Friday evenings always giving you both the best kind of feeling. It meant time with each other, time without students bothering you or anyone needing something. Well, usually, anyway. There were times something would happen with a student that had to be immediately dealt with. You always felt a pang in your heart for Larissa when something would happen because she was always the one to take care of things. The school was her baby, her lifelong dream of becoming something she could be proud of. So at times, things could be quite stressful for her.

However, you were determined to keep your wife’s mind off of all things school related for the weekend, starting at the very moment she walked into your home. There would be no talk of emails, no discussions of a troublesome student (Wednesday Addams, to be specific). You were determined to keep any troubling thoughts from Larissa’s deliciously attractive mind. No, you had other things in mind for her.

When you heard the front door to your home creak open and close just seconds later, a grin spread across your lips. Hearing your wife come home always brought a sense of peace to your entire being, but today it also brought with it a longing. A deep, sensual, explicitly exciting feeling that dug deep into the pit of your stomach and burst outwards towards your extremities. You had been having terribly naughty thoughts of Larissa all day, mouth drooling for her just as much as it always had. 

“I’m home, lovely!” Larissa called out, her angelic voice ringing upwards to the second level.

Your heart skipped a beat and you bit your lip, fully ready to unleash the ideas you've had swirling around your brain. You stepped out from your shared bedroom and straight to the top of the stairs, knowing full well that Larissa would be heading up them to undress herself. She never varied from her routine after work, even if she came home later than usual. 

As you appeared at the top of the stairs, your eyes focused on the angel gliding up towards you. The sunlight from the front door was shining behind her, coming in at just the right angle to light Larissa up like she was heaven. And truthfully, to you, she was. Your wife was your heaven on Earth. The beat to your heart and the deliciousness that fed your soul day in and day out. 

Speaking of deliciousness, your mouth watered nearly uncontrollably as Larissa looked up at you through her lashes as she ascended the stairs. The way the sunlight filtered around her body, dancing around the edges of her goddess-like frame and accentuated every part of her that you adored took your breath away. The smile that graced her red lips made you suck in a deep breath and swallow hard. You could feel your pulse starting to move southwards just by staring at her.

Larissa reached the top of the stairs and stood next to you, tilting her head as she watched the expressions of adoration on your lively face. The way you looked at her always made heat rise up to her chest and face, sometimes even reaching out towards her ears. It did so today as she noticed a certain glint in your eyes and the way your mouth hung open as you stared up at her.

She suddenly cleared her throat and placed a kiss on your forehead, lingering for just a moment. “Are you alright, darling?” Larissa questioned, noticing how no words had come forth from your mouth quite yet.

You blinked and realized that you’d been so lost in gazing at her that you hadn’t returned any greeting to her at all. You grinned wide and nodded as your hands came up to softly cup her cheeks. 

“I’m doing wonderfully now that you’re home!” You leaned your head forward then and placed your lips to hers, kissing your wife lovingly. You could feel Larissa’s smile against your lips and you hummed as your thumbs swept smoothly across her heated cheeks.

It never seized to amaze her how you reacted to her coming home. It always lit a fire in her heart and her belly at the same time. The two of you had been together for quite some time, but the senses never dulled with you. It always felt fresh and new, like two young lovers just getting to know one another. The way you treated her would sometimes nearly bring Larissa to her knees in reverence for you, wanting to worship you in any way that she could. Little did she know, that was exactly what you had in mind for the evening. Of course, in the opposite way. You were more than prepared to be on your knees for her.

As Larissa pulled from the kiss, she leaned her forehead against yours and smiled sweetly. “You always say the sweetest things.” She commented, moving to brush her nose against yours. 

Larissa gave you one more quick kiss and then turned to walk towards the bedroom. “As much as I enjoy your lips against mine, I need to get out of these clothes. It has been quite the day.” She stated, the tone of her voice giving away exactly why it was that kind of day.

You frowned as you followed behind her, things already heading in the opposite direction of where you wanted them to go. Of course, you weren’t going to let that stop you. No, you knew exactly how to turn things around.

Quickly picking up your speed, you slipped past Larissa and opened the bedroom door for her as you waved your free arm towards the inside of the room. “In that case, my lovely, let me make this evening much easier for you.”

Your wife gave you an appreciated smile and let her hand brush against your shoulders as she walked by you. She squeezed one shoulder before she slipped into the bedroom, the hand carrying her bag dropping it in the designated area. You closed the door behind you and followed her into the attached bathroom, eyeing her ass all the while. 

Larissa could feel your eyes on her, but she chose to ignore it for the time being and begin taking the pins out of her hair. You immediately stopped her before she could pull even one pin out, however. Her eye darted to the mirror in front of her to eye you curiously. She raised an eyebrow at you, but all you did was smile at her and shake your head.

“Let me do that for you, Larissa.” You offered softly, one hand coming up to cover the one already in her hair. With the other hand, you gestured for her to sit down so you could more easily access her head.

Without a word, Larissa nodded and gracefully placed herself on the chair and sat back, letting her hands fall to her lap. She watched you through the mirror as you smiled and leaned towards her to place a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Good girl.” You breathed in her ear, just before standing up straight and placing all of your attention to her hair. You heard Larissa swallow thickly, but you dared not gaze back at her just yet. No, you were going to set the mood as you pampered your wife to the best of your ability. 

[bulletproofscales]

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

[newpathwrites]

Arms Wide Open - Chapter 1

Gods, you touched him - nobody ever did that.  He struggled to appropriately respond, stumbling over his words.  “No, no… there’s no need…” he replied.  Was his voice really high right now?  “I’ve had plenty of near misses with this one…” he gestured toward Grogu.  “So it was my pleasure…”

Pleasure!!??  What a dumb and awkward thing to say…

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Summary: Din didn’t see you coming, or… one fateful trip to the market and a platonic night together changes everything.

Notes: This fic was unexpectedly inspired by the opening scenes of “Anyone but You” - I loved the sweet, companionable dynamic featured in that first night together and imagined Din meeting someone who brought out the lighter side of his personality.  I do not take it on the circuitous route taken in the movie, though.  Din and reader will get their shit together a whole lot quicker here.

Warnings: Language.

Word count: 1.3k

Read on AO3

________________________________________

You had to go… like really bad.

Your first day of work in the field office on Nevarro had gone quite well, but there had been one teensy little problem.  You had no clue where to find the freaking fresher and nobody around after lunchtime to ask.  So you held it.  All day.

There wasn’t even enough time to run home to your small cabin on the outskirts of town when you finally left in the early evening.  Your bladder was about to burst at the seams.

You looked around as you exited the building for any establishment likely to have customer facilities before running across the street to a small indoor market as quickly as your feet could carry you, praying to the Maker that you could manage to hold it for just a few more minutes.

Upon entering, you grabbed the first item within your line of sight, a small loaf of bread, and booked it to the checkout line…

…which traversed the entire length of the store.

Kriff.  

Time to resort to begging.

“Excuse me, sir?” you attempted, approaching the cashier who was busy with a customer.  “May I use your fresher?  I promise I’ll buy this.  I just really have to go… like immediately.”

He didn’t even look in your direction.  “You pay first, then you get to use the fresher.”

“Please,” you begged, crossing your legs in a vain attempt to keep the urine at bay.

He simply pointed behind him to a sign which read ‘Fresher for Paying Customers Only’.

“Damn it!” you exclaimed in frustration, then muttering to yourself under your breath.  “I’m going to wet my pants.  And then I’ll have to walk all the way home like that.  Fuck!”

“She’s with me,” you heard a distinctly staticy male voice say somewhere behind you.  “I’ll buy the bread, too.  Let her go to the fresher.”

You turned to see what stranger had intervened on your behalf.  

A Mandalorian - decked out in full armor and faceless, metal visage with a small, green child in his arms.  You’d never expected such a contradictory sight, but who were you to question it?  This man just saved your dignity.

The young cashier, suddenly alert and attentive, subtly bowed in the man’s direction.  “Of course, Mr. Djarin.  I didn’t know she was with you.”  The teenager finally looked at you and thrust a key in your face.  “Go ahead, ma’am.”

You took it without ceremony despite your annoyance with the boy, and even as you rushed to the back of the store, you took a moment to mouth a sincere ‘thank you’ to the mysterious man who subtly nodded back in recognition of your gratitude.

________________________________________

Damned Grogu’s cute face.  Nobody could resist it - not even the teenage attendant behind the register who offered the child free samples of those kriffing blue cookies.

Din didn’t dare refuse.  If he did, the treat would find its way into Grogu’s mouth instead by way of the force which he still preferred his son not use around aruetti.

As they sat at a small table in the dining area of the store, Din’s thoughts turned back to you - the desperate woman he’d never seen before begging to use the fresher.  Did you not know about the public facilities right in the center of town?  What were you even doing here in Nevarro?  It wasn’t exactly a bustling tourist destination.  

Perhaps he needed to do some sleuthing, make sure you weren’t a threat.  

It couldn’t possibly be that he just wanted to know more about you… your age… marital status… No, of course not.  He was just Nevarro’s sworn protector… It was his job… obviously…

The fact that you were both beautiful and appeared appropriately middle aged like himself had absolutely nothing to do with it.

“Mister… Djarin…?”

Din was startled out of his musings by your voice and looked up to see your lovely face beaming at him.

“Thank you again for your help,” you started, taking one of his gloved hands in yours for a moment before letting go.  “Stars, I’m so embarrassed… But please, let me pay for your groceries.  You can even keep the bread - I didn’t even need it.”

Gods, you touched him - nobody ever did that.  He struggled to appropriately respond, stumbling over his words.  “No, no… there’s no need…” he replied.  Was his voice really high right now?  “I’ve had plenty of near misses with this one…” he gestured toward Grogu.  “So it was my pleasure…”

Pleasure!!??  What a dumb and awkward thing to say…

To his great embarrassment (and relief), you laughed.  “I suppose it’s not every day you get to save a grown woman from wetting her pants.”  Ah, so you were funny, too… not that he was keeping track of your attractive qualities…

Grogu, bless him, intervened then to save his father’s dignity, reaching out to you with a cookie in hand.

“Why, thank you, little one.  I would love a cookie.”  You took it from him and placed it in your pocket.  “I’m not hungry right now, but this will be a very fine dessert after my dinner tonight.”  

Good with kids - check… and smart enough not to actually eat something that had been in Grogu’s grubby hands.

The child made a series of hand gestures in response, and Din was forced to translate.  “He says ‘you’re welcome’ and…”  A sigh emanated from the vocoder.  “... he wants to know where you came from…  Grogu, she doesn’t even know us.  We shouldn’t ask personal questions.”  Says the man who wanted to investigate your background.

Din looked back up at you apologetically before adding, “I’m sorry - he’s very curious.  You don’t have to answer that.”  But he hoped you would.

You smiled - and stars, he might die if this conversation didn’t end soon.  He was getting redder and redder under the visor.

“Well, Grogu, it’s very nice to meet you.  I am new here, just started a job directing the agricultural field office - see if we can get more vegetation growing so that Nevarro never goes hungry for healthy produce.”  So you were smart, too… check…  “Today was my first day, and silly person that I am, I let everyone go early to enjoy the pleasant weather before they could show me where the fresher was located…”  And kind… another check… not that he was counting or anything.

Grogu gave her a toothy grin in response - he found this woman quite nice and funny.

“They’re uhmmm…” Din started. Why was he struggling so much to speak?  “They’re in the building next to the magistrate’s office - public facilities…”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, knocking yourself lightly on the forehead.  “That makes a lot of sense.  Thank you.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly.  “You’re welcome…”

You stared back at him serenely for just a moment, sparking his heart rate, before holding out your hand.  “I’m Flora… nickname…”

Din’s hand moved to take yours of its own accord, and he responded dumbly, “Din… real name…”  Maker…

Grogu looked up at him through scrunched eyes for a moment before bursting into a delightful fit of childish giggles, and you couldn’t help following suit.  Din finally gave in, allowing himself to take this all as lightly as you were, despite his humiliation with the entire interaction, chuckling softly under the helmet.

Din didn’t have many light moments like this.  Could he have more?

“Din… and Grogu…” you said as you regained your composure.  “It was very nice to meet you.  Thank you again for helping me out.  I hope we run into each other… often.”  Well, that sounded promising… and terrifying…

He didn’t trust himself to say anything more, so he simply nodded as you turned away and walked out the door.

The moment you were out of sight, Grogu began furiously signing in his direction.

Din sighed - Grogu was too insightful for his own good.  “Yes, kid, I like her…  No, we can’t follow her - that’s creepy…  Yes, I know I do that all the time, but those are bounties - not innocent women… Stars… ok, fine…”

________________________________________

Next chapter

[everwitch-magiks]

I'd like to add my two cents to a topic that I understand some fanfic readers fret about: what to write in a comment on AO3. Many have weighed in on this, and there are useful guides out there (such as this one) to peruse if you find yourself wanting to leave comments on fic but having no idea what to write. This post, however, will not give such a broad and comprehensive overview of ideas for different types of comments - instead, I'd like to talk about what my favourite type of fic comment is, and why.

If you're curious about a type of fic comment that will really make a writer kick their feet and shriek with happiness... read on.

"I see what you did there!" I got a comment on a fic the other day that made my entire week. I've been thinking about it ever since. It was an "I see what you did there!" comment.

The comment was about a subtle element in the story, something that was very much between the lines. The commenter briefly described how they had interpreted that element; all the ways they had noticed it, the subtle mentions they had caught, and exactly how the commenter had picked up on all of those things. The bottom line was, simply put, that the commenter saw what I did there, and chose to tell me so.

And here's the thing: I had, in fact, intentionally put all of those things in the story. I had tried to work that element in between the lines - subtly - and deliberated at length about whether or not it was obvious enough, or too obvious, or so subtle that noone would notice. I had plotted and planned and clarified and rephrased, and in the end I'd settled on a final version - one that hopefully conveyed what I wanted it to convey.

Key word: hopefully.

Writing is lonely. It's you and your doc and your words and your commas, and you're constantly second-guessing whether what you're trying to express is clear enough. Does it work? Does it hit? Is it doing what it's supposed to do? Beta readers do help with all of this - in fact, beta readers help immensely, and they all deserve flowers and a treat of their choice - but even after quizzing your trusted beta about whether that thing you're trying to do is working or not, there is still room for lingering doubt.

The best cure for that doubt? You guessed it: the 'I see what you did there!' comment.

Seriously, I can live on a comment like that for months.

It's the ultimate dopamine hit, the unquestionable confirmation that yes, it worked. The words did what they were supposed to do. All that work trying to get it just right actually paid off.

Hopefully, at this point, you're at the edge of your seat wondering how one actually writes a comment like this? And luckily for you, it is pretty simple!

How to write an "I see what you did there!" comment If you notice any of the following in a fic you're reading:

A subtle parallel

Something that's a metaphor for something else

Something that 'bookends' the story - an introduction that is mirrored by the ending

A line that recurs subtly

Any type of foreshadowing

Anything that is hinted at, but not clearly spelled out

Anything that makes you go "I see what you did there!"

Point it out in your comment. Describe what you picked up on and how you picked up on it. Say: "I see what you did there!"

I think this is the sort of thing you'll know when you see it, and now you hopefully feel confident that you'll absolutely make the writer's day by pointing it out to them! It may seem like you're just explaining the story back to the writer, which may feel a little silly since the writer definitely knows what they put in there, but what you're really doing is confirming to the writer that you now know what they put in there, too. And that's such a cool thing for the writer to get confirmed.

Take care of each other out there in fanfic land, folks! I hope you're now feeling inspired to support your local AO3 author with a good ol' "I see what you did there!" comment! A classic for a reason.

[phillippadgettwrites]

The First Time, Every Time: Space

Rated X / 1198 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“I still have a hard time believing that watching the rocket launch did nothing for you.”

“Of all the things you believe, that’s where you draw the line?”

She’s been teasing him relentlessly, but he appears to enjoy it. She’s not sure if it’s because he has unshakeable self-confidence, or because he’s so used to being made a mockery of that it doesn’t even register anymore. She chooses to believe it’s the former simply because that’s more fun.

They’re killing time at a deserted airport bar while they wait for their re-booked red-eye flight back home, their suit jackets and her heels in a pile on the floor beside their bags. She’s tipsy, not drunk, and she’s not sure that he’s inebriated at all. They’re just loose from a long, strange day and more consecutive hours in one another’s company than is typical.

“I’ll give you this, Mulder,” she says with a cheeky smile, leaning across the table. “Watching you watching that rocket launch did something for me.”

Something dark and unfamiliar flashes across his face and it makes her belly tumble.

“Please elaborate,” he says evenly, and she suddenly feels nervous.

She shrugs and looks away, downplaying the comment.

“I just mean it was clearly significant for you and I enjoyed…sharing that experience,” she says.

The truth is that she finds the boyish, awe-inspired side of him incredibly attractive. Most men she’s known are either immature or take themselves entirely too seriously, but Mulder seems to play both sides. He can be stern and domineering one minute, and the next he’s delighting over a comic book that he remembers reading as a child.

Mulder sits back in his seat and considers her for a moment, and she feels like he’s reading her mind. Her cheeks warm at the idea that he might know what she’s thinking, or what she thinks about when she’s alone in her apartment. The thoughts and fantasies that she won’t even acknowledge to herself.

“Let’s take a walk,” he suggests, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

The handful of other travelers they cross paths with are all either dressed for business, such as themselves, or are wearing the wan, worried expressions of someone navigating an emergency. They wander away from the active concourse where their gate is located and into less populated areas that are illuminated only by emergency lights.

“It’s strange to see it so empty,” Scully comments, stepping up to a windowed wall that overlooks the tarmac. The only trace of the storm they drove through earlier is a slight sheen on the pavement, and she tilts her face up to the clear, starry night sky.

“Imagine how it must feel up there,” Mulder says, standing right behind her, close enough that she can feel the heat of his body radiating against her back. “No one but you and the stars.”

“Well, and the little green men,” she quips, but the tone doesn’t come out quite right. His proximity is making her nervous.

Mulder sighs, and the tickle of his breath over the crown of her head sends a shiver down her spine.

“I’m disappointed in you, Scully,” he says, and she turns around to face him, dismayed to learn that she’s done something wrong.

His expression doesn’t match his voice at all. He’s smirking mischievously, and he’s standing so incredibly close.

“Why?” she asks, confused and oddly excited.

“Grey, Scully,” he says, quietly but emphatically, reaching out to squeeze her waist for emphasis. “You can’t go around saying they’re green. You’re going to ruin our reputation.”

A slow smile blooms on her mouth, and his hand doesn’t leave her waist.

“My mistake,” she says. “Won’t happen again.”

He just keeps looking at her, and she can’t bring herself to look away. It feels like a game of chicken—a challenge to see who will back down first. Scully has never been keen on losing. She parts her lips and pushes onto her tiptoes, just to see what he’ll do. She quickly learns that Mulder is no chicken.

His lips are surprisingly soft, and his tongue tastes like juniper berries. Her arms thread around his shoulders and he lifts her a little to compensate for their height difference, holding her steady with two hands on her ass. Her heels clatter to the floor and she pulls away abruptly, scanning the area for any onlookers. When she looks back at Mulder, she follows his eye to a door labeled “utility.”

The tiny room smells like bleach and cheap hand soap, and Mulder kicks a mop bucket across the floor to free up space against the one open wall. There’s a single naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, and it flickers across his nose as he hikes her skirt up around her waist and tears her pantyhose at the thigh. His level of urgency is incredibly arousing, and she reaches out to help him unbuckle his belt and pop the button on his fly. He lets her do the honors of sliding his boxers off his hips, and at the sight of his thick cock swinging free she lets out a little involuntary moan.

“You sure?” he asks gruffly, even as he’s pinning her to the wall with his body and slipping his fingers behind the gusset of her panties to pull them to the side. His knuckles brush across her vulva and she’s never been more sure of anything in her life.

She doesn’t answer, just reaches down and takes hold of his cock so she can line him up. He pushes into her in several small increments, kissing and humming all the while. Once he’s all the way inside, when she can feel the scratch of his pubic hair against her clit, she whispers, “Please,” and he slowly withdraws before slamming back into her.

They’re lucky that no one is around to hear. Their slapping skin, her high-pitched cries, his throaty groans, the crash of half a dozen bottles when she reaches out to steady herself on a nearby shelf—the exchange is far from discreet. Mulder mumbles all kinds of shockingly dirty things that make her cheeks warm and her cunt throb, and when she comes her body goes so completely lax that he has to step up even closer to keep her from falling to the floor.

“Shit,” he hisses before pulling out of her abruptly. She feels the brush of his hand against her inner thigh as he strokes himself to orgasm, presumably coming right on the floor beneath her.

They stay like that for a moment or two, both panting and sex-drunk. Scully lifts her arm and squints at her watch in the dim light, and when she finally reads the time her eyes go big and she slaps Mulder’s arm.

“Our flight leaves in five minutes!” she tells him urgently, pushing him away from her so she can get both feet on the floor.

They dress in a hurry, and she sees Mulder cringe at the mess on the floor before deciding that they don’t have time to clean it up. After giving each other a quick once over, they make a mad dash for their gate.

[thehoneybeet]

Desiderium (E, 6.1k): draco/harry

Tags: POV Draco, clubbing, minor drug use, fuckbuddies, Draco is a writer, EWE, canon divergence, thunderstorms, body shots, kissing, edging, oral sex, legilimency, wandless magic, pining, staying up all night, this fic is almost entirely one sex scene, except they talk through most of it Summary: Their club, their loo, their writing on the wall—it has to be enough. Until it isn’t.

Draco kept his arm glued to Potter’s waist, clinging to the pretence of keeping him upright as they navigated the maze of sweltering, moving bodies out into the night. It was humid, threatening rain, and Draco faltered at the sidewalk, sucking deep breaths into his lungs, with no idea where to apparate. He’d never been to Potter’s house. Evening flowers poured out over boxes along the street, spilling over the eaves, the scent cloying, and on the horizon was the last indication it had ever been day—a greenish line, like the flash of a curse.

Potter breathed hot into his neck. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Ah, well,” said Potter, as he sucked them out of sight.

For @hp-poetry-fest, inspired by Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Much love and thanks to @mono-chromia, @the-fools-errand, @nv-md, and @epitomereally for your eyes on this🌹

Read on Ao3

(some spoilery thoughts/author notes under the cut!)

I loved the concept of poetry fest and have been wanting to push myself to write longer scenes, and this was the result. Something I love about Kubla Khan as a poem is how sexy it is, especially upon a second read, and how beautifully it represents paradise not only as a state of artistic creation, but also a feeling that we constantly strive towards but can never quite reach. I was captivated by a Harry who goes through life still halfway in Xanadu, the liminal place between life and death he visited when he died. But of course, 'his flashing eyes, his floating hair'... Harry needed a witness, someone who was both drawn to him and terrified of getting too close. Draco, who initially believes Harry doesn't care for him, still can't help himself, and offers Harry both a reminder that he's alive and a witness to Harry's worst and most wonderful memory. And ultimately, while Draco is Harry's path to Xanadu, Xanadu becomes Draco's path to Harry.

I also wanted to explore this theme through the sex by writing a story where neither of them come. There is no moment of release in that way, which to me was important to convey the feeling that what you most desire is close, but just out of reach. I loved playing with the tension, edging both them and the reader, and in the end leaving them still searching. Anyway, just some thoughts I had while writing, and know that I love you if you read this far.

[morningberriesao3]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tysm to @runninriot for the tag. tbh i often don’t do these things ‘cause I never have anyone else to tag to keep the chain going, but this one is too fun not to 💕

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

currently—13. 10 are completed, 2 are old wips, 1 is my current wip. baker’s dozen.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

431, 629 and counting 😳

3. What fandoms do you write for?

stranger things, exclusively. no other fandom inspires me the same way.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Many Ways, Many Days, to Say ‘I Love You’

Dirty Words

Done Deal

Sneaky Link

Sweet Surrender

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

YES. omg i will always respond to a comment because they make me wildly happy. although sometimes (currently), i feel too overwhelmed to reply right away and i end up with an overflowing inbox. right now i have 200 unanswered comments that i WILL reply to 😂

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

as far as finished fics, Hate the Way It Feels So Good has, i guess, the most unsatisfying ending. generally i always write HEA. although i have a wip that was never supposed to end happily: Wicked, to Let Me Dream of You.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i’d say Sweet Surrender is the happiest considering all the angst you have to read to get there 😂 but like i said, most have a happy ending

8. Do you get hate on fics?

generally, no. but i have gotten more hate than anyone i’ve talked to about it! (certain word choices ‘ruining’ an entire fic for someone, grammar corrections, people telling me i’m a liar when i didn’t upload fast enough… all mostly surface stuff that hasn’t been too bad yet 😩)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

the real question is: have i ever not written smut? and the answer to that is no. what kind? every kind. tame, not-so-tame, porn with plot, porn with feelings, gross stuff, cute stuff, you name it 😉

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

not really. the closest i’ve been to writing a crossover is How I’d Kill, in which the first few chaps are pretty inspired by ACOTAR.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not copy and pasted, as far as i know. there have been a few instances where i’ve noticed bigger accounts posting eerily similar plot lines to some of the stuff i’ve written, but i’m 100% sure it’s just coincidence. we have to remember nothing is outright original when it comes to plot. as long as you’re not intentionally plagiarizing someone’s work, similarities are bound to happen.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no!! i’ve never had a translation, a pod fic, or artwork done for any of my fics! i’m just out here in my own little bubble lmao

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i haven’t! although i’ve definitely talked about it with @the-unforgivenn!! i get nervous because i’m such a procrastinator when it comes to getting my own fics done—i don’t want to drag someone else down 😂

14. What’s you’re all time favourite ship?

take a wild guess.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i honestly hope/plan to finish ALL of my posted wips, even though a couple are on pause. there’s a few saved on my laptop that I’m sure will never see the light of day hahaha

16. What are your writing strengths?

i’m blind to my own writing so it’s hard to say. i’d like to think just general improvement as i’ve written more/read more. a lot of repeat readers have complimented me on how i write angst so maybe that?!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i could write an essay on this. first—no matter how many times i read through my fics—there’s some autocorrect that i missed or a spelling error or just SOMETHING 😂 not to mention the procrastinating. always getting major writer’s block. and generally being very hard on myself.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i MIGHT be able to get away with a few french phrases here and there, being half french, but in general i only know english well enough to write. reading? LOVE it. make all the characters multilingual—i’ll have google translate ready.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

stranger things 🥹 and most likely will be the only fandom i ever write for. (unless you count the RPF i wrote and will NEVER publish about joseph quinn 💀)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

i personally think my best written fic is How I’d Kill, but Sweet Surrender will always be my favourite just by default—there was no better feeling as a first time writer reading the lovely comments that i got on that fic. i’ll never forget it 🥹

no pressure tags:

@numinosmoon @cuips-not-cute @bettyfrommars @the-unforgivenn @rip-quizilla @etherealmontilyet @wroteclassicaly @wynnyfryd

sorry if you’ve already been tagged or just plain old don’t want to do it 💕

[captain-mj]

Hey, I commented on your fic but I just wanted to let you know that lemonwrap on AO3 wrote a fic that was pretty similar to yours, like point by point. When I looked through their account, it looked like they'd written another fic almost exactly like another of yours... A little death, I think. I just wanted to make sure that you were aware of it

Sorry this took me a couple days to answer!

I am aware of it, yes. They came to me and asked me if they could and I said I was uncomfortable with it both for myself and because of the anon who asked for it.

They went and asked the anon, who apparently commented on the oneshot, if they could. When they said yes, they came back and asked me, again.

I once again said I would rather they not.

I saw the day they uploaded it, but I wasn't sure how I wanted to handle it, yet. I wasn't even sure if I could handle it.

I am incredibly upset by this, for reasons I will state below.

I have read (I believe it was your comments) on their fic, and you are correct.

My wife, Bunnie, has an entire shifterverse. Shifter content exists on a multitude of scales and I do not need anyone to ask me permission for use of shifter content. However, they came and asked me first, said it would be fine if I said no, and when I said no, they wrote it, anyway.

It is also the same exact concept. It is about a wolf shifter, Ghost, in a fighting ring that Soap rescues. They even use the same plot point of Ghost refusing to shift back. There is also a few lines that are, while not being completely verbatim, just rewords of my own lines.

And, if they had never asked for permission and just did it anyway, it wouldn't really be the same level of a big deal. Yes, it would have sucked, but I honestly would have just let it go because, at the end of the day, it's fanfiction. Inspiration is the whole point of fanfiction.

However, the fact that they came and asked me first, then when I said no, I wasn't comfortable, they didn't take it as a full stop and instead went and asked the anon and then asked me AGAIN and when I AGAIN said I was not comfortable with it, they ignored me, wrote, published it, and if I remember from their A/N correctly, they lied about where they got the idea from.

I might be fuzzy on that one, I will admit.

I don't know if their fic is similar enough to A Little Death to really be concerned about it. There are also plenty of fics that are similar in concept, enough, for me to be willing to take that at face value.

Bunnie has a saying that goes; Once is a Mistake, Twice is Coincidence, and Three Times is a Pattern. Since we're only on the second one, I'm going to take it as coincidence.

However, as such, this situation has left me with a deeply icky feeling, and I'm going to be taking a step back until I figure out if I want to keep doing request based writing.

(And, once again, this is not about them drawing inspiration from my writing. This is about them asking my permission, me stating I was uncomfortable, and them squashing that and doing it anyway. So do not try to twist it to be about the first issue when it is not.)

[This was ghost-written by @callsign-bunnie because she articulates better than I do.]

Aside: The only person I am upset with in this situation is lemonwrap. They are the one who pushed down my boundary. I am not upset at the anon who said it was okay, and I am not upset at any of the comments defending them.

[cottonraincoat]

making of monday: the stressed student's guide to binge writing a one-shot

(not that I'm a very good writer, but I loved seeing these on the dash, and decided to join. all this is only a little tongue-in-cheek.)

step one: try to work on an irl assignment*

(* not fandom related at all. preferably an intellectually challenging task that is also time-sensitive and reasonably important.)

There's nothing like the looming dread of deadline that stimulates the mind! Combine the perfectionist's fear of beginning, the procrastinator's tendency to distraction, and the pressure on the brain to produce something— for the most bizarre results. Namely, mildly unhinged fic ideas. Just sit down (curl up into a ball in the corner of the room), relax (stress), and wait for inspiration to come!

step two: "just, uh, just to note this down for later"

You never know when the idea would come, but it does. Now, you've got a seed, that your brain has instantly latched onto. It's growing and blooming and taking over every thought. "damn it," you think, "this is a fun idea. I can't write it before I finish the assignment though!" But the idea doesn't let you go, it's like a haunting, which is in all honesty very rude. Well, what can you do.

You open a doc.

Within half an hour, you realize that you should have known better than believing the idea (tm) would leave you alone.

step three: give in. you're writing the fic instead.

Congratulations! Your brain has once again chosen the path of least resistance instead of what you should be doing. But there's no time for guilt when you have to finish the fic (and finish the assignment after that). So you're writing the fic like your life depends on it, and the words come surprisingly easy because given the baseline stress, you aren't overthinking every single word or ridiculously lines of narrative. It's been hours, your mind's afloat, and you (unfortunately) forget approximately every duty to your body. But it's fun and you swear you've never written like this in your life.

From time to time you swap back to the page where your assignment stares helplessly back at you. You blink. You drop it back under the metaphorical rock.

step four: "fuck, the deadline is in [x] hours. I can't do this anymore"

By now, the first draft is probably sitting there in a messy, wonderful glop. And depending on the circumstance, it's either [start editing now, future rain can deal with this shit] or [despite all evidence to the contrary I actually do not want to fail this degree. time to pull myself by the hair into doing the Thing]. Either way, you've maybe slept for 6 of the last 40 hours, and you're contemplating the strange quality of your vision and why you can hear the inside of a conch at the back of your head, etc etc.

step five: sleep, and spare a moment to pause and wonder what the fuck is your life

when the assignment is done, it's like someone's poked a hole in your sand balloon and your entire being sags. it's a nice feeling, kind of. the fic stops you from spending too much time wondering why the hell are you doing the degree at all.

time to turn the glop into coherence! this is the most time consuming part, and could take up to days after the initial burst of [stuff].

step six: edit until your eyeballs fall out

what it says ^

step seven: when you finally cannot stand another minute of re-reading and editing, throw it onto ao3, and hopefully never think about the fic ever again.

that's a lie. you'll be checking the ao3 stats approximately every two hours for the next two days at least.

fics that actually happened like this:

Infinite Joy (the one that started it all)

Designation (in which I forgot Plo Koon had a mask)

on not sleeping with your students

(the first chapter of) the prophecies spoke of you and I

family line

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fic] My Song Can But Borrow Your Grace

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Dream) Rated: E Word Count: 6867 Tags: Dragon AU, Top Dream, Bottom Hob, dragon sex, dragon x human sex, in appearance at least, they're both dragons but Hob is in his human form, anal sex, shapeshifting, size kink, kind of, does this count as macro/mini maybe?, self-lubricating dragon dick, rimming, oral sex, a brief moment of mild sounding, anal gaping, creampie, come eating, cuddling, protective Dream, needy Hob, inspired by fic, inspired by art

Notes: This is smutty fanfic for Flatter the Mountain Tops by @teejaystumbles , specifically inspired by this art and this art. Tashina, thank you so much for letting me play with them - they were a delight to write for and I hope I've done them justice.

***If you're somehow here without having read Flatter the Mountain Tops, please be aware there are spoilers herein and this will make better sense if you've read that first.***

Summary: Hob wants Dream in dragon form to fuck him while he stays in human form; Dream is beginning to see there's more to it than just a size kink

On AO3

It would be easy to grow frustrated that Hob so often comes to him like this, yes, but. Dream understands. He knows Hob's love for humans, Hob's love of his own human shape, and he is not so unyielding as to deny his sweet amber the right to these preferences.

And besides. It is undeniably pleasant, to stretch out on his back, to have Hob's small human body perched naked atop him like this, bedecked in treasures he has selected from Dream's hoard—gold and silver chains strung with glittering gems looping about his neck and nestling into the hair on his chest, bangles and bracelets lining his wrists and arms and ankles, bejeweled rings adorning his fingers. Hob's hands stroking and petting through the soft downy feathers of Dream's belly leave him purring; he enjoys the way Hob's small human prick ruts through those same feathers while Hob rubs the cleft of his buttocks up and down against the slick exposed shaft of Dream's sex, and the way he reaches behind to angle it down and then scoots forward, lifts himself to squirm back against the tip, as if a dragon cock could possibly fit within a human arse—this never fails to stoke the heat in Dream's blood.

But tonight, Hob is not drawing up and away to transform, that they might couple properly in dragon form. No, tonight, he is still reaching behind himself and stroking the tip of Dream's cock, eliciting a rumbling purr as pleasure cascades through Dream in waves—and then he is holding it firmly against himself, rising up on his knees and bearing down upon it where he has worked himself open, is straining to tuck it within him as he sometimes does.

Dream stills, allows the indulgence; it is a heady feeling, Hob's small and delicate body stretched tight about the narrow tip of his sex, and he is always careful not to move until Hob has transformed or pulled off again.

But Hob does neither, this time.

Instead, he spreads his legs a little wider, knees damp with sweat against Dream's feathers, and the shift pushes Dream a fraction further inside him. The sound Hob makes is not entirely one of pleasure, and his scent spikes with something that is not fear and not pain, but might become either one very easily.

Dream's talons are poised along Hob's thighs, where he has been idly stroking while Hob plays; now, he settles them lightly, barely pricking against Hob's skin, a hint of a warning. "Hob."

Hob makes no answer, but squirms another centimeter onto Dream's cock instead. He leans forward with a gasp, shifting Dream within him, bracing both hands on Dream's belly. His face is flushed and damp, more exertion than pleasure, and Dream curves the length of his neck up to flick his tongue against Hob's cheek, scenting and tasting in equal measure. He smells of want, of intent, of determination, and Dream's body answers with a growl that resonates deep in his chest, vibrating the ruby and the other adornments that Hob had fastened about him.

"Hob."

"I can take it." Hob's voice is taut and trembling, but his eyes are bright and his mouth wet and smiling when he meets Dream's gaze. "I want it. Like this."

And Dream. He can imagine it, for just an instant, the impossibly tight grip of Hob stretched all around him, the pleasure of sinking fully into him; he flexes, minutely, and Hob jolts with a moan at the movement.

Dream blinks away the fantasy, strokes his talons restlessly over Hob's thighs, wings fluttering up around them both like feathered privacy screens. Hob is physically incapable of what he says he wants, his human form far too small to accommodate Dream's length and girth, but he continues to try all the same. He is making beautiful little sounds of effort, the scent of his determination rising from him in waves. None of it ever quite crosses over into pain but it is a very near thing, and Dream's feathers rustle slightly in agitation. His mate risks harming himself, and every instinct clamors to intervene, to prevent, to protect.

Hob drops down to brace on his elbows, the jewelry hung about his neck swinging to brush Dream's belly, knees spreading wider as he pushes carefully back onto Dream's length a little more. His breath sucks in sharply, sweat beading on his brow.

"Enough." Dream cannot let this continue. "Just change, Hob. Stop being so stubborn."

"Ah—n-no!" Hob pants, face tightly drawn, continuing to flex around the minimal bit of Dream within him, intent on working it deeper. "I-I'm fine!" His own prick is rigid where it hangs beneath his belly, dripping intermittently into Dream's feathers.

Dream wants to believe him, that he can bend his body to his will, wants to let him have this when it clearly means a great deal to him. But he can feel how Hob is stretched dangerously around him, one sharp move away from tearing, can scent the anxiety of pain mounting underneath whatever pleasure Hob may still be feeling.

"Hob. Stop."

Hob's fingers clench in Dreams feathers, bracelets clinking as he forces a little more of Dream's length inside him, long hair swinging to obscure his face. Dream's talons clench in turn, grazing hard over Hob's trembling thighs, drawing tiny rivulets of blood.

"I said stop!" He is alarmed, at this point, worried for Hob's safety and aggravated by his stubbornness. Hob lifts his gaze to Dream's, face flushed and damp, teeth gritted and eyes feverish with lust and determination, and rocks another increment back on and down.

"Hob!" Panic seizes Dream. "Oh, for the love of—" He shifts beneath Hob, changing his own form, shrinking into his human skin to match his stubborn mate. "Just so you know," he gasps, talons that are not quite human hands sliding around Hob's hips, "I am very angry that you made me do this!" And as his transformation halts, leaving him mostly human yet unmistakably still Dragon, the reduced length and girth of his cock allow it to slide fully and swiftly into Hob's opened body with a jolt.

Hob throws his head back at the sudden shock of falling onto it, of having Dream abruptly buried to the hilt within him; he's frozen in place, trembling, eyes wide and mouth open, a thin sound warbling out of his throat. Fluid dribbles from his rigid prick to pool on Dream's belly and his scent flares with pleasure, sharp and immediate.

Dream snarls, his own lust flaring in response, and rolls them over in a flurry of displaced feathers. His clawed fingers grip Hob's buttocks tightly, keeping them pressed flush together as he comes up on top and surges over Hob. The ruby hung around his neck drags through Hob's chest hair, makes tinkling little noises against the gold and silver draped about Hob as Dream plants his semi-shifted talons into the furs on either side of Hob and thrusts.

Hob cries out, scrabbling for a grip on Dream's biceps, legs tangling behind him as Dream thrusts hard again and again, setting into a brutal rhythm. The rings on Hob's fingers are digging into his newly-human skin and Hob's voice is sweet in his ears, singing his pleasure in a desperate cadence. Hob's scent wafts about him, less potent to his human nose but still fragrant with arousal, with lust and needs-met and building anticipation; Hob is beautiful underneath him, the mahogany of his hair splayed over the dark furs that Dream keeps for his comfort, glinting auburn and gold as he tosses his head, treasures from Dream's hoard glittering at his ears and neck and limbs.

Dream loses himself for a moment, fucking wildly into Hob as his emotions churn from aggravation at Hob's stubbornness to relief that he hasn't harmed himself and then subsume into the inferno of his own desire, the joy and the pleasure of having Hob as his even if they're both in human form, even if Hob is infuriatingly reckless and stubborn. He slows as his ardor settles and his temper cools, lengthening his strokes, shifting to curl Hob's legs more closely about himself, leaning down to nuzzle his soft naked cheek against Hob's beard while he rocks into him. His human body cannot purr the same way his true form does, but there is a rumbling growl of contentment rising in his chest all the same.

Hob's sounds of pleasure soften and his scent blooms with adoration as Dream noses against his throat, nibbles gently, his teeth dragon-sharp in his human mouth. He glides up to Hob's ear, tugs lightly on the earring there and shifts his weight. He is deep within Hob and holds his movements slow and steady, lifts his head and brings a clawed hand to comb through Hob's hair while he gazes down into his face.

"Why are you so intent on taking my true size in your human shape?" He has calmed, yes, but he does not understand, and so he asks.

Hob slides both hands up into Dream's hair and combs through it in turn, the same as Dream has done to him, an intimate gesture of grooming that never fails to make Dream's insides melt, just a little.

"Well, part of it's just that…I like the stretch? Something big can feel nice, and I like to see how far I can go sometimes."

Dream suppresses a snort of irritation, does not roll his eyes; Hob is entitled to whatever kinks he likes without being judged for them, regardless of Dream's personal opinion of the wisdom involved. "So it is the challenge that appeals."

"Yes and no? Sometimes the challenge is fun, but really I just like—" He breaks off as Dream rolls softly into him again, takes a deep breath. "I like how it feels to be so filled up, but it's best when—I want to be all filled up, by you. As much as possible. I want to feel every bit of you, stretching tight inside me, to feel small and helpless and safe because you're so much bigger. I-I know you'll take care of me, that kind of thing?" He pauses, bites his lip, adorably flushed and endearingly earnest as he speaks his mind. "I want you to mount me in dragon form while I'm still in human shape," he finally blurts, the color on his face deepening, but now that it's said he pushes on. "I want to feel all of you, everywhere around me and in me, I want your touch and your smell all over me inside and out, I want to be so thoroughly claimed that no one can ever doubt that I belong to you—" He breaks off, and his beautiful amber eyes lower, cast to the side, away from Dream. "I want the human me to be as much yours as the dragon me. And I know it's kind of physically impossible, but that doesn't stop me wanting it. Sorry if that's too much."

Hob is not articulating it as such, but Dream thinks he is beginning to understand what is at the heart of this desire. Hob had been small and helpless and in need of protection, the very first time their paths crossed, and Dream had offered neither shelter nor succour; instead, out of his head in his own grief, he had chased the desperate fledgling back into the night to fend for himself. It was hundreds of years in the past but had torn a rift between them when it came to light in their current relationship; the rift has since been mended, certainly, and Hob has selflessly forgiven him, but it is not unthinkable that Hob still carries insecurities about it buried deep in his psyche. To be taken and mated, then, accepted, claimed in his smallest weakest form, by Dream at his mightiest—it stands to reason that old wounds might thus be soothed.

And Dream wishes, above all else, to bring happiness to his mate.

He growls softly and dips to kiss Hob, that very human gesture of passion and affection that he knows Hob so favors, and rolls them back over so that Hob is on top. "No desire of yours will ever be too much," he vows, reaching up and stroking through Hob's hair again, drawing gentle clawed fingers through his beard. "You need only ask." Carefully, slowly, he breathes deep and focuses, enacting a partial transformation centered on his sex.

Hob's eyes widen as he feels Dream swelling slightly within him and he clutches at Dream's shoulders, gazing down into his face, body trembling. "Dream—!"

Dream combs through his hair again, tender and gentle. "You must tell me if it becomes too much," he murmurs, and lets himself swell a little larger.

Hob's mouth falls open and a high, wanton sound comes out, his eyes rolling as Dream flexes up into him. He gasps, blunt human nails digging into Dream's shoulders, short sharp little moans spilling out of his throat as Dream continues. He is careful, tightly controlled, letting his body shift in other small ways—scattered lines of short feathers along his limbs, clawed toenails, color darkening his talons—while he focuses on maintaining a stable consistent size inside of Hob, letting it grow larger in only the smallest of increments, the slowest of intervals. He moves his hands from Hob's hair to his hips, holding him steady, and Hob drops against him, buries his face in Dream's throat, breath panting hot and damp against Dream's collarbone. Dream's ruby and the looping chains of jewels adorning Hob's chest are body-warm between them and Hob's beard is a soft bristle against Dream's breastbone, sensations that he only gets to experience when both of them are in human form like this. It is pleasant, and when Hob lifts his head and shifts to put their mouths together again, licks into him, caresses Dream's short blunt human tongue with his own, this is also undeniably pleasant.

Perhaps he could be more enthusiastic about sex in human form, with Hob, who has shown him it is not so unpalatable, who makes it feel like something important.

That is a thought for the future, however, for tonight Hob has expressed a very specific want, and Dream intends to fulfill it.

When Hob lifts away from kissing him, Dream strokes his taloned hands lightly up his mate's back, settles them there in a gentle grip. "Be still, Hob," he murmurs, holding that beautiful amber gaze with his own, and shifts back into his dragon form, keeping his sex at its tempered human-safe size and keeping it sheathed within Hob.

Hob's eyes widen and his hands clench in Dream's feathers; his body trembles, and his scent is strong again with excitement, with eager arousal as he squeezes tight around Dream.

"Really?" he gasps, shifting up marginally and sliding back down on Dream while still trembling with the attempt to hold still, and the bare movement has Dream purring, spreading his wings languidly across the floor beneath them.

"It is my wish to give you anything you desire," he rumbles, flexing softly within his mate, and the emotion brightening Hob's eyes has him curving his head in close, nuzzling his snout along Hob's cheek. "Take your pleasure, little amber," he breathes, lifting away again, letting his talons rest alongside Hob's pleasingly-furred thighs. "I exist for no other purpose tonight."

Hob whines, squirming on his length, breathless as he arranges himself for proper leverage; he raises up on his knees, sinks back down, and the sound that comes out of his throat is pure satisfaction. He leans forward, rocks his hips down and writhes, so clearly reveling in the feel of Dream within him; he draws up and sinks down again, and again, and again and again, setting into a steady rhythm. The chains and pendants draping his chest jingle merrily and his hair swings gently about his jaw with his bouncing movement; he is making the sweetest little noises, ah and hah and oh, and his scent is ripe with pleasure and arousal. The way his fingers twitch and clench in the downy feathers of Dream's belly have him purring, and his own arousal runs hot in his loins, no effort at all to stay hard for his mate despite the focus it takes to keep his cock small enough.

It is hours of this bliss, or perhaps mere minutes that pass before Hob straightens up and then leans back, arms bracing behind him; he grasps careful handfuls of soft feathers in the creases of Dream's hindlegs, arching his spine and undulating restlessly, his own cock jutting on display at this angle. Dream strokes the side of one claw smoothly down its length; it jumps to his touch and the sound that Hob makes in response has a warm growl rising in Dream's throat, pleased. He touches again and Hob moans outright, grinds down on him harder; Dream arcs his neck and swings his head low with a rumble, dips in close to flick his tongue along the length of Hob's sex.

"Ah—" Hob gasps, faltering in his rhythm, "ah, Dream—" He shudders as Dream licks him slowly again and sinks all the way down onto Dream, shifts his hips forward, offering himself eagerly to Dream's attentions.

Dream carefully hooks a claw about Hob's shaft to hold it steady and winds his tongue around the tip, then flexes inside Hob, drawing another little moan from his throat; Hob pushes up from his backwards lean, thighs spreading wide for Dream's tongue. He reaches for Dream's face, strokes the short feathers above his eyes, combs lightly through the longer plumage of his cheek; Dream welcomes the touches, butts gently against Hob's beautifully-furred chest strung with his treasures and licks tenderly up and down the length of him in a steady rhythm. There is fluid welling from Hob at the tip and Dream laps it up like the precious nectar it is, delves into the pushed-back crown of his foreskin to claim the excess gathered there, chases it back to the source. Hob's slit is wet and welcoming as the narrow forks of his tongue slide carefully into it, first one and then the other, tasting down the inside of the shaft while his claw holds it steady.

Hob's breath hitches and his voice is full of wonder, body tensing delightedly at this new sensation. "What—ahh—" He shivers, fingers stroking through the feathers along Dream's jaw now, trembling as Dream's tongue squirms delicately within the channel of his prick. "What—nnnhh—whatever you're doing just—oh pleasedon'tstop—"

Hob approves, clearly, and so Dream continues, lamenting briefly that the forks of his tongue are not longer; he glides his free talon up Hob's thigh and around his back, steadying him, keeping him close. Hob curls both hands around Dream's horns and rubs gently, low down at the base where they're sensitive; presses his lips to the white feathers of the star between Dream's eyes in soft fervent kisses and exhales his devotion there, voice barely a murmur. "My Dream, my love, my mate—ahh—please, please take what's yours—"

Carefully, Dream rocks up into him and is rewarded by the way Hob tenses and then melts against him, the hitch in Hob's voice as he sighs yes, yes yes, the sweet rise of Hob's pre-spend to his questing tongue. Dream rocks gently upward again, setting a languid rolling rhythm complemented by his attentions to Hob's cock and Hob shudders, rocks back in tandem, clinging to Dream's horns and panting his little moans into Dream's forehead.

It is not long before Hob is moving harder, arousal rising high again in his scent and Dream leaves off from his cock, draws his head up and back, horns slipping from Hob's grasp. Hob takes hold of Dream's snout as he goes, cradling it between both hands and planting a warm kiss to the end of it before letting go. He drops forward again with a whine, buries his bejeweled fingers in Dream's downy feathers and works his hips feverishly while Dream combs gentle talons through the sweat-damp fall of his hair.

"Do you wish me larger inside you?" he asks after a moment, watching raptly the way that Hob rises and falls on his sex, the beautiful open shape of his soft human mouth around his pleasured sounds. His own pleasure is warm in his belly, heated and insistent but not yet so urgent as to demand he give it heed.

Hob pauses, seated fully down on Dream's cock. "Can you?" His voice is a bit breathless, amber eyes gleaming under drooping lids, excitement flickering in his scent—it is answer enough but Dream will still have a proper reply.

"I can," he purrs, flexing his cock purely for the satisfaction of the shiver that runs through Hob in response, the gooseflesh that pimples his delicate vulnerable skin beneath the adorning bracelets, the way his nipples tighten and peak in the glorious sea of his chest hair. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes—Dream, please, yes—"

Dream focuses again on where he's holding his sex in a partial transformation and slowly, slowly, allows it to transform further, until it is fully halfway between its human- and dragon-form sizes. Hob moans as it gently swells within him, lifting him higher on his knees. His body accepts Dream's girth so easily now that he is already inside, now that care has been taken to open Hob slowly—but the length of him has increased such that Hob cannot sit all the way down on it anymore and Hob whines, jewel-clad fingers clenching and unclenching in Dream's feathers as he tries all the same.

"I can't—ahh—ohhh, you're so big—" It is definitely praise, spoken with breathless eager reverence, but Dream can see that a limit has been reached. Hob is squirming, careful, trying in vain to reestablish his riding rhythm, physically unable to lift himself high enough; his thighs are trembling with the effort of keeping himself aloft and Dream is snugly nestled all the way inside him. He's beautifully stretched but there is little to be done about the length, and frustration is seeping into Hob's scent.

Dream purrs, soothing; he will not have his mate's desires thwarted so easily. Carefully, he slides a claw beneath Hob's bearded chin to tip it up. Hob's face is flushed, his eyes bright and wet at the corners when they meet Dream's, mouth parted on his panting breaths, and Dream's heart stutters in his chest that this beautiful creature has consented to be his. "Will you trust me?" he asks, bringing his other talon to carefully draw through Hob's hair.

Hob's eyelids droop at the grooming and he lets out a soft breath. "Of course. Yes."

"Then. Allow me, to—" He does not articulate the rest; it is easier to simply do, and trust that Hob will let him.

He moves both talons until he is carefully gripping Hob's body, claws hooked beneath his thighs and around his buttocks, his back, his waist. Hob grabs Dream's thumbs where they cross over his stomach, clinging as Dream carefully draws him up, up, not quite all the way off his cock, just the tip still tucked inside him. Hob's mouth drops open and his eyes roll back in his head, a low moan of pleasure rising in his throat at the long slide. And then Dream brings him back down, just as slowly, and Hob's head falls back, his moan rising into a sharp cry as he is filled again. Dream can feel how very tight Hob is around him, how fully and completely he has stretched his mate open, and it sends heat singing through his blood.

"Good?" he growls, unwilling to continue without confirming, and Hob shivers in his grasp.

"Good," he moans, chest heaving, "so good, Dream—" His hands scrabble briefly at Dream's talons around him, seeking a firmer grip, his rings making tiny little clicking sounds against the gleaming curve of Dream's claws. "Again. Please—"

And so Dream lifts him again, and draws him down again, and Hob tosses his head on a breathless whine. "Again!"

"As you wish," Dream rumbles, and sets into a smooth steady rhythm, sliding Hob up and down on his slick length, which only grows slicker with each pass. It feels exquisite, the stretched-tight glide of Hob's body upon him, and pleasure heats in Dream's belly, urging him faster-deeper-harder; he pushes it aside. Time enough for that in a moment; now, he wishes to revel in the sight and the sound and the smell of Hob curling into his grasp, hands braced on Dream's forelimbs, head tipped forward and mouth hanging open, saliva drooling from his slack lips. His eyes are glassy and his face aglow when he lifts it to meet Dream's gaze, and his scent is ripe with both lust and joy; he is completely lost in the pleasure of Dream's attentions and Dream purrs, swings his head in to flicker his tongue across the damp of Hob's flushed cheek. Hob is making those musical sounds again, longer and drawn out with each slide down and back up; Dream keeps his grip careful, moves Hob more quickly upon his own length, riveted by the way Hob's eyes roll back in his head and the sharpening pitch of his singing moans.

He continues on and on until Hob has gone boneless and insensate in his grasp, until his voice is one continuous note of pleasure sung in waves every time he is moved down on Dream's cock and back up, until Dream's own pleasure is no longer simmering in his loins but blazing; then, at last, he lifts Hob completely off and free, shifts his talons to carefully cradle Hob to his chest, hushing his whine of loss. With a grunt, he rolls onto his belly and places Hob on the furs before him, positioning his mate on all fours and facing away.

Hob's arms collapse and he drops his chest to the ground, presenting his backside in the most appealing manner. He is gaping open beautifully, slick and puffy-pink around the rim, copious amounts of Dream's natural lubricant visible within him and dribbling in shiny little rivulets down into the hair on his testicles and the insides of his thighs. Dream purrs, terribly pleased with the sight and the smell of his mate thus arrayed; he dips his head in close, nuzzling into the cleft of Hob's body and eliciting a needy whimper from Hob. He takes in the scent of his own fluids and Hob's untempered arousal, savoring the heady blend, rubbing it into the short feathers of his snout. His tongue snakes out and into Hob, the way wide and welcoming, almost cavernous around him; he delves deep, seeking out the wondrous spot inside Hob that brings him such pleasure and flicking his forked tip against it.

Hob makes a loud, delirious sound of encouragement and his knees splay a little further; Dream moves with him, lingers a long moment licking deep inside until Hob is squirming on his tongue, breathless and wrung out and pleading for more. His pre-spend is leaking from him in steady drips, fragrant and arousing, and Dream feels his own need raging behind his restraint as Hob begs.

"Dream—please, please Dream—I need it, I need you—take me, fill me up, mount me, make me yours—"

Hob is already his. They have both performed courting and mating rituals to express and accept intent; they have shared their lairs and hoards, they have coupled many times, they have flown together and spiraled down out of the sky in the age-old dance of dragon pairs since time immemorial, they have made love while both in human form more than once but Dream understands—this is something very specific, very meaningful to Hob, and it feels. Momentous.

He withdraws his tongue, pulls back to watch as Hob wriggles, gets his knees further under him to lift his rear higher; Hob's hole remains open and messy, more than ready to receive him, and Dream will have him, now.

With a rumbling growl, he rises up and flows forward to crouch over Hob, wings arcing to spread on either side. His sex is still held halfway between his human and dragon sizes, smaller than he is used to in this form but yet more than enough to harm Hob if he is not careful. He leans forward, braces himself on one fore-talon, splays the other heavily across Hob's shoulders to pin him down; he flexes his cock to line himself up, and then—slowly, carefully, inexorably—he pushes himself in.

Hob is slurring out a litany of 'please please please', face pressed into the furs, voice rising higher as Dream mounts him until he is as deep as he can go, two thirds or so of his length taken in. Hob groans loudly as the motion of entry ceases and Dream can feel the way Hob tries to squeeze around him, stretched too wide for it to have any sort of force at all. Dream rumbles his pleasure, draws out and pushes back in carefully, then again, and again, Hob's voice rising in approval with every slow thrust.

"Yes—aah—more—Dream—" Hob shudders as Dream sinks into him again. "Harder, please—harder—!"

Dream growls, wings rustling, tail switching; his body says 'take', his instincts say 'claim', his mate says 'more' and he cannot help but hear them clearly. He heeds all three, heeds the harmony they play within him; he braces himself and thrusts hard, heat and satisfaction flaring through him as Hob takes a sharp breath, and so he does it again.

The sound Hob makes then is gasping and wet and beautifully strained; his scent is ripe with arousal, does not stink of pain or distress and Dream is confident that this is precisely what Hob wants as he thrusts hard again and Hob cries out in delight. His own body clamors for satiation, for the thrill and the relief of rutting full bore into his willing mate but Dream still has presence of mind enough to realize he will never forgive himself if he fails to confirm and Hob winds up hurt.

He holds himself still, eases his weight from the talon pressing Hob down. "Hob. Are you—"

"Please," Hob interrupts, voice wet, raw desperation in his tone as he writhes, "please don't stop, Dream, I need I want—I can't—please!"

Dream snarls, permission given, and bears back down on his restraining talon, rolls his hips with force, shoving into Hob again and again and Hob wails his pleasure, tiny human hands scrabbling at the furs beneath him, whatever noise his bracelets make lost under the sound of his voice. Dream has positioned them so that his thrusts will not reach further than Hob's body can accommodate, but still he is hitting hard and deep and Hob is jolting, slipping from the force despite Dream pinning him down.

Dream's tail lashes, a few feathers fluttering loose, and he growls deep in his throat. Hob whimpers and then, impossibly, he is pushing back, seeking more, and Dream cannot allow any damage to come to his reckless mate in this frenzied ardor between them. He lifts his talon from Hob's shoulders and wraps it beneath his ribs and his abdomen instead, gripping gently but implacably and lifting him just enough to deprive him of any bracing leverage at the knees.

"Be still, little amber," he instructs, his voice a whip-taut growl, "and let me claim you—"

Hob makes a noise that can only be described as a sob of pleasure and goes lax in Dream's grip. Dream moves the talon nearest Hob's cock to hook beneath it, so that each thrust rocks Hob against it, ensuring another layer of stimulation, and then he is lost to the need to take, and take, and take.

Hob's voice lilts and falls and soars beautifully as Dream unleashes his want, clinging to just enough mindfulness of Hob's delicate size to keep his partial transformation unchanged. His own body sings with pleasure and need, heat coiling through him as he moves, lightning in his blood, building higher and higher in answer to Hob's cries.

He is seized, quite suddenly, with the urge to clamp his teeth in Hob's nape as he would with Hob's dragon form; the rational part of his brain thinks it terribly unwise but he is arching his neck and snaking his head down regardless, mouth open, stopping just short of his goal. He is clutching Hob close beneath his body, pounding into him relentlessly and his mind is alight with the litany of do-not-harm do-not-harm do-not-harm but instinct has his jaws yawning, aching to sink into the mating hold as he nears his finish.

"Oh fuck," Hob swears thickly, trembling and breathless as Dream looms close with such intent, "ohfuckyes Dream please yesyesyes—" His scent is ripe with desperate want; he rolls his head and tilts it down, forward, offering his neck and Dream. Cannot—

He snorts, need and frustration exhaling in a great blast of hot breath that hits Hob precisely where he wishes to set his teeth, blowing Hob's sweat-damp hair to either side, leaving the way dangerously clear. Dream's tongue slithers over the exposed vulnerability, tasting the salt of Hob's skin and the precious metal of his own treasures adorning it and a great voiceless growl shakes out of him; Hob whimpers sharply, a sweet rising note of abject need, his scent spiking with impending climax—and Dream falls upon him, helpless in the face of it.

His teeth close on the back of Hob's neck, a shallow grip intended only to hold and Hob cries out, goes rigid as he spends abruptly. It is a sudden wet warmth over Dream's talon; the smell of it blooms hot in the air around them and Dream snarls, his own peak near to cresting as Hob's body tries to bear down on the pistoning thickness of Dream within him, to little avail. He tries to gentle his teeth when he tastes blood, desperate to keep his mate from serious harm, but the tides of his own pleasure rush inexorably onward, carrying him up and up in a glorious crescendo, in harmony with the gasping notes of Hob's climax until he crashes over the edge himself, spilling into his mewling mate with a ferocious roar.

It is a great deal of fluid for a human-sized body to receive, and he means to pull back, to pull out, that Hob need not take it all. But instinct is stronger than intent, yet again, and he is only halfway withdrawn before the sheer pulsing pleasure of his release has him pushing back in. Hob moans as he is filled again, as Dream's spend is forced out of the stretched confines of his body, overflowing viscous and wet between them; Dream's body gives another miniscule thrust, just for the heady thrill of the sheer mess of it and the wet squelching sound that accompanies it.

Hob is still making little noises as Dream's climax subsides, and the sound of them is either waning pleasure or the rising of discomfort in its aftermath; his scent is free of distress, so more likely the former. Still, Dream is careful when he finally draws Hob off his length and sets him down, careful when he licks the trickling blood from the back of Hob's neck, gentle when he lays himself beside Hob, who has collapsed with a soft groan. Hob is sprawled on his belly in the furs, head turned toward Dream, eyes gleaming warmly beneath the fall of hair scattered over his face. He is disheveled and debauched and beautiful, and Dream loves him. Fiercely.

"I'm a mess, aren't I," Hob says presently, an endearing blend of exhausted, sated, and smugly pleased. The bracelets on his wrist jangle softly as he rakes a hand through his sweat-damp hair, smiles warmly up at Dream, not bothering to lift his head at all.

"Perhaps," Dream allows, idly licking Hob's spend from his talon, letting his body cool. He has released the partial transformation of his sex and allowed it to return to its full size; it is softening, drawing back within its hidden sheath, and he turns his attention fully to the state Hob is in. "Allow me to clean you up."

Hob makes a soft noise of assent and Dream rearranges himself, looming up and over, taking stock of his mate. The small wounds made by his teeth have already stopped bleeding; there are little pinpricks here and there on Hob's torso and thighs from the tips of his claws and Dream licks over each of them, making certain they're no more than superficial. Purring, he nudges his face between Hob's legs, pushing them gently further apart, applying his tongue to the spend that bedecks them. There is a great deal of it all over the backs and insides of Hob's thighs, sticky and clinging in the thick hair and Dream takes his time, thorough in his attentions. It is both grooming and aftercare, an intimately soothing ablution that Dream has always enjoyed and one he takes particular joy in sharing with Hob, wherever the mess, whatever their forms.

When he is satisfied with his work, he draws back, licks clean the disheveled short feathers of his snout, and turns his attention to Hob's arse. With careful claws he parts Hob's cheeks, gentle, delicate, and surveys the state of him.

Hob's hole is still quite open, swollen and red and laced with the remains of Dream's spend. He is not torn, is not bleeding, is gradually shrinking to close again as he should, but Dream's heart still sinks at the sight; when he gently tongues the angry flesh Hob hisses in pain, squirms a little.

"I have hurt you," Dream laments, drawing back, careful—so careful—as he lets go of Hob.

"I'll be a bit sore, I suppose," Hob says, as though it is no consequence. "Absolutely worth it, though."

"Still," Dream counters, unbalanced by Hob's nonchalance at the fact that Dream has hurt him. "I should have kept it smaller; I should have been gentler at the end. I am sor—"

"Don't you dare apologize," Hob warns, rolling over and sitting up abruptly, barely wincing, and his vehemence draws Dream up short. "I wanted it. You didn't do anything I hadn't asked for. Begged for. You gave me everything—" His voice hitches, trembling with emotion, and he swallows thickly. "Don't apologize, when it meant—it meant so much—"

Ah. Dream is focusing, he realizes, on the wrong details. Hob is near to tears, Dream can hear, and so he pulls him close, gently nestles Hob against his chest, purring. He wraps his head and tail in close, curling around Hob's small human shape protectively. "No apologies, then, my sweet amber," he assures, nuzzling at the crown of Hob's head, huffing warm breath into the still-damp mahogany of his hair. "It was. My pleasure, to give what you sought, to claim you so thoroughly."

Hob burrows into him, rubs his bearded face reverently against Dream's feathers. "Thank you," he says, soft and quiet, into the down of Dream's chest near the ruby. "I know you prefer it when we're both dragons—"

"I prefer to have my mate in whatever form he feels like sharing with me," Dream interrupts, and is mildly surprised to realise that it is true.

Hob makes an inarticulate little noise, burrowing closer. "Dream, my Dream," he murmurs, stroking his small human fingers through the soft feathers of Dream's belly, pressing his lips behind his words. "My mate, my everything. I love you."

"And I, you," Dream sighs, sated, content, sleepy. He stretches his hind legs out, switches his tail, settles comfortably and cradles Hob close to his heart with one careful talon, spreads his wing like a blanket over his mate. Hob makes a happy little noise and Dream can envision the soft smile on his face, the way his beard shapes around it and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes; he purrs, curves his head in nearer to Hob and lets his eyelids droop.

He is always pleased to sleep with Hob when Hob is in dragon form, Hob's radiant heat and golden glow cuddled up next to him, tucked against his side; likewise he is pleased, on the rare occasions it occurs, when he himself is in human form and kept warm and protected beneath the curve of Hob's wing. He is pleased enough to share Hob's bed when staying in Hob's lair, both of them in human form, comfortably cocooned in blankets and each other's arms. But ultimately, he thinks, there is something utterly irreplaceable about sleeping like this, with Hob tucked small and safe against him, held tenderly against the heart he has so thoroughly won.

=== Started: 8/9/23 Drafted: 9/3/23 Posted: 9/22/23

I very nearly titled this thing Chuck Tingle style, except 'Pounded in the Butt By My Dragon Boyfriend While I'm in Human Form (But I'm a Dragon Too)' just doesn't set the right tone, alas. Actual title I finally settled on is from Ever Dream by Nightwish.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I finished your chris evans reader insert on archive AGAIN 😳🥵 can has another? 🥺👉👈 im in dire need of it 🤲 something related to the sluttiness chris has been embodying recently? 😍

related to my Chris Evans × Reader (both fem and masc chapters available) on AO3 called: "You Heard The Rumors 'Bout These Legs, Well I'm The One Who Spread 'Em"

Also, aw, thank you sweetheart, it's always lovely to hear that people go back and re-read my fics! I have my own fics that I read again and again and again so it's fun to be that for someone else <3

And, while not an entire fic (mostly because I don't know how to write anything brief haha)... you can certainly have a drabble! Inspired by all the recent sluttiness as you wish 😘

Chris Evans × Gender Neutral Reader (with dirty talk, grinding/humping, outdoor hooking up, and hand jobs) under the cut

"How're you doing, big guy?" You purr, climbing into Chris' lap and settling yourself there, one hand on his shoulder and the other carding through his fluffy hair. There's no gel in it today - keeping it slick and in place - instead, some of it has fallen out of its usual style and onto his forehead. Partly the reason there's no product in his hair is because he's been in and out of the pool all day. Swimming, lying in the sun, and running Dodger around the yard, playing chase, in just his swim trunks, sunglasses, and his pendant necklace swinging or hitting his tattooed, untrimmed chest- glinting in the sun. You told him earlier, jokingly, that he's gonna have a tan line from it if he keeps it on, he still hasn't taken it off though. Not that you mind. You take your hand out of his hair for a moment, righting the pendent to sit in the middle of the chain.

"Mmm-?" he hums, sitting up more now, propped on his elbows. You hadn't realized he was napping, eyes shut under those dark shades.

You chuckle, "sleepy?" you ask while ruffling his hair. Amused and so, so entranced. He's so handsome.

"A little." He breathes in hugely, impressive chest rising and falling deeply. You can't help but place both hands on his bare chest. You feel the thump, thump, thump of his heart and the soft scratch of his chest hair under your spread fingers and palms.

"I always pegged you as more of a dog, but here you are, sitting in the sun and stealing cat naps so I'm not so sure anymore..." you say, smiling. And you don't say it but you do think it- that it's fair for him to be sleepy. He's been working hard. Acting as he normally does but also voice acting, working tirelessly on his website, plus doing press for the on-screen acting and voice acting. You know well that press takes the most out of him. He deserves a lazy day in the sun.

"Yeah. 'S better with you here now though," he charms, sleep still clinging to his voice. He's playing with the waist of your shorts as he slips his hands around you. Encircling.

You haven't been out with him the whole day, some of it, sure, whenever you needed a break from your work-from-home job, but not the whole time. So you aren't dressed for swimming or lounging in the sun as he is. Still, his hands find your naked skin as if you are dressed to lay out, caressing your sides and back. The breadth of his hands on you is familiar and comforting.

"Is it?" You breathe, not thinking about what you're saying, just trying to get more of that deep, rumbling timbre out of his mouth and in your ears. His morning (or generally post-sleep) voice is fantastic.

"Always is," he murmurs back, sliding his hands out from under your clothes and up your back, over your shirt. Once his hands get to your shoulders he takes ahold of them to bring you down against him. And he sighs, satisfied when you're laid flat against each other. Chest to chest.

Chris' beard is soft and vaguely scratchy just like his chest hair. It tickles your face as you lean in for a slow, sun-melted kiss. Chris tastes like himself and a little like chlorine plus the beer he's been drinking all afternoon. And, actually, he might just smell like chlorine from swimming so much- sweat and chlorine and just the barest hint of his cologne that hasn't been washed off yet.

He kisses you harder. More force and more lust behind his intent. Waking up. Yeah... waking up more for sure.

One of you parts your lips, then the other.

Then you're licking into each other's mouths. Kissing harder. Kissing sloppier. Chris' beard rasps against your face. His lips are soft and plush against yours. It's intoxicating. His teeth nip at you teasingly. Your lungs burn, needing oxygen bad but you're unwilling to give this up. Not yet. Not without a fight. You push just a little harder.

Then break away, panting. Just for long enough to get enough air into your system, then you dive right back in- desperate. Starved for it.

Your noses hit together a little too hard. It doesn't stop either of you. You have to keep going. Keep going.

Amidst the ramping up kisses, getting hotter and hotter between you both, his hands slide down to your ass. They feel massive on you. His heavy hands.

His hands grope you through your clothes until he becomes too impatient and slips his hands underneath your shorts and underwear.

You rip your mouths apart to gasp. His hands on your bare skin makes you gasp. He pinches you. Just changing things up. You gasp again, louder this time. And he laughs, low and shiver-indusing with the how dangerous and teasing it feels. "Chriss-"

Against your mouth he rumbles, kissing again, just a passionate and burning, "what?" Then, "you got more work to do or somethin'? Somewhere you gotta run off to, huh, baby?"

"N-no," you pant hard against his mouth, wishing he was kissing you instead of using that wonderful mouth to talk.

"Then what?" He challenges.

"Nothing," you puff, "I- I just like saying your name." You haven't been out in the sun long enough to get burned but you feel like you might've been. Your cheeks flushed.

Chris' lips curl into a cocky smirk, "yeah?" He grabs you harder, his fingers digging into your ass and his impressive erection digging into your front. "Say it again then. C'mon sweet thing," he coos, "say my name."

"Chris-" you obey with a shiver.

Chris groans for your trouble, nosing your jaw. Leaning closer. You drop your head to reach his lips better, aching to kiss him more.

You kiss him hard. Gasping at the electric heat zapping between you and now pooling low in your stomach.

His tongue slips between your lips, fucking into your mouth. Wet and hot and- your toes curl as his mouth and hands envelope you wholly.

You can't think about anything but this.

Just this.

"Chris-" you say it right into his mouth this time. Barely audible and chasing the obscene sound of his name coming out of your lips by biting his lower lip. He makes another hungry sound, tilting his face up more to get more of your mouth. Hotly needy. Loving it when you both cut loose and get little rough.

You bite him again. You chase the hurt away with a flick of your tongue. He groans so lowly, so roughly it comes out as a growl.

Fuck.

Chris is restless underneath you. He's just woken up and he's moving up into you in an uncoordinated fashion, like he really did just get bumped out of his dreams. Early morning... moving with what feels good. Aninal. Instinctive.

His hips are twitching up against you like he can't control them. His breaths are coming out unsteady and rough from that huge, gorgeous chest. His lips haven't closed yet from his last groan- his last growl.

Now, he makes another little sound though. High and desperate. His face, neck, and chest are a beautiful, flushed pink. You squirm intentionally on top of him, grinding a little, panting at how hot and heavy and thick he is under you. His swim trunks do nothing to conceal his cock. You love it.

You run your fingers through his hair and then push his sunglasses up into his hair so you can see his eyes...

They're dark and heavily lidded, almost shut as he stares hungrily at you. He doesn't speak. Just stares, lips gaped and breathing heavily with his fingertips digging into your sides.

"Feel good?" You whisper, moving a hand between your grinding bodies so you can cup his heavy, hard cock.

"Uh-huh," he puffs, nodding jaggedly. Moaning when you grab him more firmly. He throbs in your hand.

You squeeze him harder through his swim trunks. You stroke the impressive length of him. Hot. Heavy. He lets out another moan, throwing his head back on the deck chair he's reclined on. The motion makes his sunglasses hit back down over his nose. You'd laugh at it, especially at the shocked look he suddenly makes, not expecting the shades to be there, but you're too focused on making him feel good. Massaging him. Thick, hot, and heavy under your hand.

You lean down enough to bite his bearded jaw.

He makes a wordless sound that almost could be your name.

Encouraging it, this obscene show he's putting on by just being him and enjoying himself, you keep using your mouth. Biting his jaw. Kissing his neck. Nipping his collarbones. Taking that stupidly attractive little pendant on his necklace between your teeth. And working your way lower, lower, lower. All the while you have one hand on his cock. Stroking him gently but mostly focusing on squeezing and drawing your thumb across where you know the sensitive head of his cock lies. You love the way he twitches when you touch that part of him. All of those nerve endings. Right there. Sensitive and red-hot.

"God," he pants and his hips jerk up hard. Your gut swoops with arousal. Between sloppy kisses over his clenching abs, you bite your lip.

Fuck.

He's so hot.

"C'mon baby," you murmur, lips to his skin, tasting of sunscreen and sweat and chlorine, "tell me about how you feel."

"Feels good," he breathes as you get to the waistband of his swim trunks. Kissing. Licking. Pulling at the damp fabric with your teeth only to let it snap back against him. He hisses. He gasps. His hips jokt forward, wordlessly begging for it. It's heady, making him react like that.

"What else?" You demand.

"Feels... feels good," he puffs, having a hard time keeping it together with one of his hands now in your hair and the other at his side, balled into a fist. "Your hand, oh God, baby, it feels so good." You massage his cock with the heel of your palm just for that. Making it good for him. More good. "And- and your mouth. Your mouth is- mmm, it's so good. It feels so good. You're doing so good for me. Please don't stop. Don't stop. Ngh-!" He rambles.

His slurred words and cute, outrageously attractive pleads don't go unnoticed. You pull the band of his shorts down, exposing his cock to your eager eyes and the open air. You make a fist around him, kissing his hip, his v-line tattoos, and intent to put your mouth around the crown of his cock to work at swallowing him all down (you always have to be gentle and go slow because of the size of him) but-

"Oh, oh, God, baby-!" He whines as you stroke him, convulsing as he busts. His hot, wet release gets on your face and neck and over his lower stomach as he moans, pants, and swears through his orgasm. You don't mind. You don't mind the free show even as he breathlessly apologizes for it, saying he doesn't know what came over him, he just got caught up and- he should've warned you. He should've let you blow him like you were gonna but-

It doesn't matter. Squeezing his flagging erection now that he's cum, you watch, gleefully, the way he twitches once or twice, sensitive, before you crawl back up his body. "I don't care," you purr, watching his eyes catch the stain of his release over you, claiming you, "I just wanted to make you feel good, big guy, and it's good to know that I don't even have to try." You wink. He blushes. "I got you there so easy you couldn't even stop yourself..."

"Shit, baby," Chris growls, grabbing you with weak hands, pawing at you, sliding you in close, "you talk like that an' I'm not gonna stay soft for long," he threatens, then launches into that overwhelmingly attractive tone of voice that only seems to come out at particularly... intense... situations, "you want it? You want your turn? Whaddya want, honey, I'll give it to you. You want my mouth? You want my dick in you? My fingers? C'mon, whaddya think? Whadd're you craving, baby?"

[luthien-under-bough]

I'm a few days late on this, because it all went down as I was on my way to go to go camping for the weekend, but I wanted to make a comment regardless.

On Friday afternoon I was alerted to the fact that someone had plagiarised one of my fics - a two-shot I posted in September/October of last year. This person mixed it with the work of another author in the fandom, and presented it as their own story - in the same fandom and pairing.

At first, it seemed they had just copied the summary of my fic (which is an excerpt from the story itself, and honestly still not okay), but upon closer inspection, I realized this person copied, word for word, almost my entire fic , and pasted it into the second and third chapters of their "story." Essentially every line was copied, the same structure preserved, with minimal changes made.

The rest of their "story" was cobbled together from entire lines and paragraphs taken from another author's fic (an extremely popular one on in the fandom, at that - so I'm not sure how they expected this to go unnoticed or un-called out). So truly this was a straight up ripoff and remix of our two stories.

I think even now, my brain is still reeling from the fact that this person felt it was perfectly okay to directly copy my work (and the other author's), change a handful of words, and present it as their own. I can't pretend to understand what goes through someone's mind to decide to do something like this. I understand the desire to write, obviously, and the struggle that sometimes comes along with not being able to translate your desire to the page. I also understand the desire for engagement with your work, for praise and attention, because let's be real - as much as we may write for ourselves, it feels fucking great for other people to read your stuff and to like it. There's nothing better than gushing over your writing with other fans!

But none of that excuses stealing. And what this person did was theft, plain and simple. And it is completely unnacceptable. You don't get to reap the benefits of creating without putting in the effort. You don't get to take shortcuts. You don't get to LARP as a fic writer.

(This person also had the audacity to include in their author's notes commentary about how "difficult" it was to write certain chapters, or how they drew from their own trauma to do so. When from what I can tell, there was little to no original writing contained within this "story" whatsoever. I don't claim to know what is wrong with this person other than their blatant lack of respect for other writers, but if you have your own issues to work through, do it through your own original writing. Or, if my writing inspired you somehow, leave a comment - don't steal my work.)

The story has been taken down already - whether by the poster themself after a number of readers and fellow writers went to their comments to call out this bad behavior, or due to it being swiftly reported to ao3 as plagiarism - so I don't want to belabor the point. But needless to say, this left a bad taste in my mouth. I'm not going to private my fics, or even archive lock them at this point, but it has made me wary, and left me a little skittish that it could happen again.

I don't want to entirely dwell on the negative, though. The immediate and passionate response from other writers, and readers was so reassuring. It's heartwarming to know that there is a supportive community here that has each other's backs. At the end of the day, this fandom has brought me so much more good than bad, and I treasure the genuine friends and connections I have made.

And I think that might be what bothers me the most - the theft of my work upsets me, of course, but this kind of behavior is what drives people out of fandom, and destroys the communities that so many of us have built. And if you wanted attention and connection - you could have gotten it by writing your own story, and joining one of the many communities that exists in the fandom. I guess if you just want kudos, then the rest of it is meaningless. But if what you wanted out of this was genuine connection with other fans, readers, and writers - well, you did just about the worst thing you could possibly to to ensure you never gain access to that. So in a way, I pity this person.

But make no mistake - if I see this happen again, with this person or any other "author" - my empathy will evaporate entirely.

At the end of the day, this whole situation just made me even more grateful for the friends I've made, and reassured me that there are mostly good people in the fandom - and to not let these bad faith participants ruin it for everyone.

If you made it this far - thank you for enduring my rambling. I have zero expectations for this post other than to serve as the braindump I so desperately needed. Thanks for listening. 💜