#Jake gyllenhaal x chubby male reader

[sluttyhusband]

How do you think Jake Gyllenhaal would react to walking into his trailer and finding a fan smelling his laundry? If you're not comfortable w/ it being a fan, what if it were his boyfriend?

If Jake found you, his bf, sniffing his laundry, he’d throw the shirt he’s wearing over to you and tell you to keep it so you don’t get lonely when he’s gone

Now if it happens a certain under garment… he’s leaving the trailer like nothing while you’re there finding the strength to walk

[petersboyfriendsonofthor]

Body Positivity

Here’s a blurb-turned-fic for @keepingupwiththeparkers sleepover! I think I missed it, but here it is anyway. Hope you like it!

Tom Holland x Male Reader; Chubby!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: angst, moderate self-hate, language, slight smut at the end

Shape of You

You and Tom were on your way to a restaurant to meet up with the main cast of Far From Home to celebrate wrapping on location. Traffic was getting pretty heavy, and the Uber driver swore under his breath. Tom turned to you and pulled out his phone.

“I’ll call Zendaya and tell her we’re running late,” he said.

“See if she’ll order for us,” you said. “I don’t wanna make them wait on their lunch. We’ll probably get there by the time it’s ready anyway.”

Tom nodded and relayed the information when Zendaya picked up. He turned the receiver away from his mouth and looked over to you.

“What would you like?”

You thought a moment before saying: “a bacon cheeseburger with fries. I’m starving!”

Tom smiled and told Z what you wanted. He was not too hungry and ordered a salad for himself. You had been eating healthy and hitting the gym for a few months with Tom, and were proud of the progress you made. You were nowhere near his fitness level just yet, but you were far from where you came. Tom was proudest of all, constantly telling you that he loves your body just how it is but that he also supported your weight loss. Not that you needed it, but you wanted it. He had originally questioned your motive when you told him you were going to exercise with him.

“Babe you look amazing just the way you are,” he had told you, rubbing your arm.

“I know,” you had said, “but I’m doing this for me. I want to lose some weight and look better for me. Well, and for you, but mostly for me.”

He had leaned in to kiss you. “And I’ll support you all the way.”

You were snapped back to the present when Tom nudged your shoulder. “We’re here, finally.”

You both exited the car, thanked the driver, and walked into the restaurant, hand in hand. You were greeted with smiles all around from your friends. You gave Tom a quick kiss before sitting down next to him at the long table. After a heated conversation about which one of you would win in a battle royale/Hunger Games scenario, the food arrived. When the greasy bacon burger and plate of fries was placed in front of you, you became acutely aware of the fact that everyone else had ordered a salad.

You became incredibly self-conscious in a matter of seconds. The feeling lasted throughout lunch. You wiped the salt off your fingers as Harrison stabbed at a crouton. Zendaya dabbed juice from a cherry tomato off of her lips as you dabbed at the burger grease on yours. Anytime one of the others eyed your plate, you avoided their eyes. You receded further and further from the conversation until Tom placed his hand on your thigh.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, his voice low. “You’ve been acting...distant all afternoon.”

“Nothing,” you sighed. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve barely touched your fries.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You said you were starving in the car…”

“Well,” you said, hoping to end the conversation here, “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Tom opened his mouth to say something when he finally put the pieces together. Wordlessly, he dragged your plate of fries closer to his salad and started eating from it. He picked one up and waved it in the air, making jet engine noises.

“Here comes the airplane! Nyooooooom!” He pushed the french fry past your lips and you couldn’t help but smile as you bit it in half. Tom took the other half for himself and licked his fingers. You rested your head on his shoulder, still chewing, and wordlessly thanked him for helping you feel better. Once your burger was finished, you felt a bit of reflux and swallowed a burp. You felt some hiccups coming on, meaning that you ate too fast. Naturally, you were the only one with a hiccup, which brought back the self-consciousness. Tom paid the bill for the both of you. His salad was seven dollars, and your burger with fries was eleven. More guilt. That is chump change to most people, but today, to you, it made a huge difference.

You threw on a fake smile and said your goodbyes, making your way to the Uber Tom had called. The ride home was silent, and your reflux gave way to a stomach ache.

Penance for eating that slop, you thought. Sure it was tasty and exactly what you wanted, and sure it was the only burger you’ve had in the last six weeks, but everyone else ate salad. Why couldn’t your fat ass have ordered salad too? You never really liked it, but that’s what healthy people ate. That’s what Zendaya ate, and Tony, and Tom, and Jacob, and Haz, and Jake Gyllenhaal.

God! This was only your third time meeting Jake, and your first time eating food in front of him. Now he’s gonna think you eat like that all the time, as exemplified by your small double chin and a belly that sticks out.

Well, your belly didn’t really stick out that much…

But it’s still there.

Tom says--

Who cares what Tom says? Tom’s Tom. He’s your boyfriend. He has to say that. What about everyone else at that table? What about the people online that constantly shame you? What are they going to say about this?

What if some fan took a picture of you all at the table and posted it? Now they see you’re the only fatass with a burger while everyone else ate a salad. God. Why are you like this? Why are you so FUCKING fat?!

“Y/N,” Tom said, his hand on your shoulder.

You looked up at him, quickly wiping away your furrowed brow and scowl. “Hmm?”

“We’re home.”

Once inside, you headed straight for the bathroom. You locked the door, turned on the exhaust fan and faucet to drown out any potential crying, and faced yourself in the mirror. You sighed and slowly removed your shirt.

Your eyes drifted to the bits of acne that dotted your shoulders and upper chest. There was a large pimple between your pecs. From there, your eyes found the isolated strands of hair around your nipples. God did that look stupid. Tom probably hates that. He’s probably embarrassed to be seen around you when your shirt is off. Lord knows you would be. You made a mental note to shave that off immediately.

You then looked to the trail of hair that spilled out of your belly button and traversed the hill that was your lower abdomen and disappeared down your jeans. You angrily grabbed at the fat on your belly, which just peeked over the edge of your jeans, enough for you to label yourself a muffin top. You jiggled the fat, disappointed and ashamed.

Why would Tom subject himself to seeing this every night? Why would he suck your dick if his head has to feel the squish of your belly every time he goes down? Why would he like the feeling of his fingers sinking into your sides when he held your hips? Why would he want to see the rolls that form from sitting as you ride him? Why would he want to feel your belly on his back when you were the big spoon? Why would he want to look at your droopy ass when he takes you from behind? Why would he want to even be seen with you in public? Why would he want your body? Why would he want you?

You hardly noticed the tears rolling down your cheeks. They soon turned to quiet sobs. You sat on the edge of the tub in defeat, staring at the blurred image of your distended stomach through welled up tears. There was a knock at the door.

“Y/N, open up, love,” Tom called, softly. “I know what you’re doing in there.”

Why would he care? You don’t need his pity. His lies.

Tom tried the door only to find it locked. “Darling, please open up.” He waited for a few beats before trying again.

“Baby, please, you’re starting to scare me a little,” his voice sounded concerned enough. He jiggled the knob harder. “C’mon love.”

You begrudgingly rose from your seat and unlocked the door. Immediately it was opened to show a concerned Tom biting his lip. When he saw you his heart sank. He was right about what you had been doing. There were still marks on your belly from where you grabbed it with force. You sniffled as he took you into his arms.

He squeezed you tight, and you were well aware of the fact that his fingers sunk into the flesh of your bare back ever so slightly, while your fingers were met with muscle. He kissed your neck before pulling back to kiss away your tears. He cradled your face in his hands and ran his thumb across your lips. He gently pulled on your bottom lip, revealing the small bits of skin that were missing from how hard you bite it when you’re stressed. He held you for a few minutes, letting you release your pent up emotion. Once you had pulled yourself together, he gently turned you around to face yourself in the mirror.

Your face was red and wet from crying, cheeks and eyes puffy. Tom pressed himself behind you and brought his hands all over your body. He took your hands in his so that you would feel what he was feeling. He passed over the marks you left in your belly fat. He passed the love handles you hated under your obliques. He passed your pecs, with their hairy nipples and layer of fat on the end. He passed your shoulders, over the acne but skipping the pimple. He knew the ones on your chest hurt when touched. He got them too. He pressed a firm and loving kiss to your shoulder, in a spot that happened to have acne scarring. He moved his kisses to your neck and you sighed.

“Baby,” you croaked. “Be honest, do you love my body?”

Tom locked eyes with you in the mirror and rubbed your stomach softly.

“Yes, love,” he said, pressing a kiss to your earlobe. “I love your body.”

“Why?”

It was a simple question but it broke his heart. There was nothing he hated worse than when you felt down about your body, especially when you started hating yourself for it.

“Because it’s you. I love you, Y/N.”

You couldn’t control the outpour of emotion as your boyfriend placed tender kisses to your neck and cheek.

“I love you for the real you, baby,” he continued. “I love you for what’s inside. I love you for what’s in here-” he touched his finger to your forehead “-and in here.” He placed his hand over your heart. You couldn’t stop crying over everything that was happening. You hated that you hated your body. You usually weren’t like this. You felt guilty that you made him worry. You also felt so much love from and for Tom that you couldn’t quite process everything else that was going on.

You spun around and captured his lips in a desperate kiss. “I’m sorry,” you whispered over and over onto his lips, and all he whispered back was “I love you.”

Tom broke the kiss to work his lips down your body, kissing over the marks you made on your belly. You rolled your head back and sighed. He stood back up and led you to the bedroom. You both shed your clothes and he took a step back to admire you in your nakedness. He bit his lip and eyed your body hungrily.

“All for me…” he muttered to himself before taking your hand and leading you to the bed. He grabbed a condom, rolled it on, and lubed up. He had you straddle him and you sank down on him slowly. You rode him, his moans inspiring confidence, and his wandering hands instilled more pride in your body.

Who cares what other people think about you? You have nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to hate. You loved yourself, deep down. On days like this, sometimes all it takes is a little encouragement from Tom.

Tom couldn’t keep his legs still as you rode him to his high, looking him in the eyes as you did. He took you in his hand and worked you over to yours. It didn’t take long, as his dick hit your prostate on almost every bounce. You came on his abs and collapsed onto him. Panting, you both gazed lovingly in each other's eyes. He pulled you in for a hot, messy kiss. He sat up quickly, taking you with him. You giggled as he scooped you up and took you back to the bathroom to run a shower. You spent the rest of the evening in his arms, naked to the waist. He rested his head on your chest and traced circles onto your belly, whispering words of love and encouragement for you and your beautiful body.