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trivialovehandles · 5 months ago

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i haven't even finished the 21 days fics but i keep thinking about a future scenario of the minimoni one where jimin DOES find his limit like he mentions near the end (maybe he's getting winded too easily or he's tired of buying new clothes all the time or he's just really into his current size) and starts maintaining rather than actively gaining. and now that he's not so focused on the feeding aspect all the time, he gets to focus more on what it's really like to live in this new, fat body.

he goes to the gym and instead of taking it easy on a too-full stomach, he remembers the musclepig videos he used to watch and admires how now his own bulging stomach squashes against his thick thighs on the leg press.

he goes out dancing with his friends and rather than making sure he keeps himself supplied with the most caloric drinks all night, he takes to the dance floor almost immediately to bounce and shake and feel his ass jiggle to the beat, along with his belly that's hanging perfectly out of his crop top (because why should he have to change how he dresses for the club just because he's fat now? he likes crop tops, he's gonna wear a crop top!).

he shops for new outfits in specialty stores more often than not, because standard sizes in korea only size up to slightly chubby at best. most of the time, he has to buy clothes online, and when they arrive in the mail, he strips down right in the living room to give namjoon a fashion show. if the clothes fit, then great! if they don't, then it's still exciting to marvel at the way jimin's fatter body bulges out of places it never used to: sleeves that are too tight and squeeze the little wings of flab on his biceps, inner thigh seams that stretch and crackle when he tries to pull them up. that old, overgrown company t-shirt is practically a crop top by now, difficult to pull down to cover his pudgy overhang even with the cotton stretched to its limits.

at work, there are people now who never knew him skinny. to them, he's always been pear-shaped, chubby jimin. new hires and transfers are always surprised when they see the wedding photo washi-taped to the cabinet above his desk, taken just a few years ago, rail-thin jimin absolutely tiny in comparison to namjoon, who he's outweighed for a while now. they don't say anything, but he notices how their gazes fall to his thighs that take up the entirety of his desk chair and his belly that bulges over his waistbands to rest on top of them.

namjoon is just as affectionate as ever. jimin hadn't been sure how to approach him with the initial decision to start to maintain rather than continue to gain, but it was met with immediate enthusiasm and love. their nights are still spent cooking together, but jimin doesn't end the day out of breath from stuffing. in bed, he takes time to notice and admire how far namjoon's arms reach out now to pull him closer, and that when he lays on his side, his belly lays on the stretch of sheets in front of him.

jimin just takes up so much more space now than he used to, and it's exciting. the tight fit in his desk chair at work. the wide fit pants he has to special order because he's still short but he's got fat hips and a round ass. the way that he doesn't quite take up two seats on the bus but definitely can't fit anyone next to him (and okay, he feels a little bad for that one sometimes; he'll offer up his seat to expectant parents or elders or kids and stand instead if he has to). the fact that he and namjoon haven't been able lay side-by-side on the couch for a while and if they want to cuddle on it, one has to be on top of the other (and how that's usually namjoon anymore unless he particularly feels like being crushed because jimin has 80 pounds on him now).

jimin looks back at the version of himself who had just realized he'd accidentally put on weight, who thought he'd have to lose it to feel good until he realized he didn't have to lose it, and then he looks at himself now, the happiest he's been and also the fattest he's been. when he'd first talked about hitting limits, he thought that day would be met with dread and discomfort, but he likes this limit. his body feels good like this, thick and heavy and fat and his.

#bts feederism #chubby bts #fat bts #chubby bt5 #fat bt5 #chubby jimin #i was just gonna make this a short post but it turned into a whole mini au lol

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trivialovehandles · 5 months ago

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Yoongi just wanted to bring his new boyfriend to Chuseok without either of them being teased for being the thin ones in the family. A season later, Seollal brings Yoongi back home with 30 new kilograms around his boyfriend’s waist.

part 6 of 21 days of chubby bts, taegi featuring holiday food, covert stuffing, and the satisfaction of outsiders seeing just how fat you've made yourself

#bts feederism #chubby bts #fat bts #chubby bt5 #fat bt5 #chubby taehyung #has it really been 5 years since i started writing these and i'm only on number 6...

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trivialovehandles · 6 months ago

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could you write a fic with any of the members, with some soft feedism please? Like a member who accidentally puts on a few pounds and realises they like it, and then gain purposefully. With the help of another member they put on around 50-100 pounds or something? Bursting out of clothes and have a much larger appetite?

(ao3 link) also answers this prompt because it ended up being hopekook too!

After nearly a decade of running without stopping, free time is a stranger to Jungkook.

At first, he feels like he has to do something; that’s why when he got the alert to his business email asking about Left & Right, he’d jumped on it without hesitation. Why he hits the gym hard once they accept the Busan Expo performance to be their final group outing for two years. Why he practices his English day in and day out so he can look back at his World Cup performance with pride.

But after that, there’s nothing on his schedule. He’s the last album to come out, and he’s never been interested in the variety shows that Jimin and Yoongi are already getting love calls from, despite their albums being months away. He still shows up to vocal lessons, until PDogg laughs and nudges him out of the booth and says, “Jungkook-ah, let yourself rest.”

Rest is as foreign a word as it is a concept to him, but he thinks on it as he sits in the back seat of the company car that’s driving him back to his apartment, with a stop at his brother’s to pick up Bam because if he truly has no schedules, then he might as well spend time with his giant baby.

Wandering his apartment, Jungkook looks at the game consoles that have collected dust during promo periods, and his pantry that is mostly snack foods because of so many nights spent working late at the company building that he just ordered takeout to the practice room every night. It’s a decision easily made as he sits down to his neglected Animal Crossing island and orders a grocery delivery that’s so extensive, he tips the driver just as much as the bill had cost. In between pause screens, he cooks himself a meal worthy of a Parasite scene, doctored up Chapaguri and a thick piece of steak seared to a perfect medium rare, and he savors each bite, knowing he’s not going to have to tut at his swollen sodium face in the morning, because he has no real plans in the morning.

The free time begins to get fun after that. Jungkook has owned this apartment for the better part of four years, lived in it sporadically for two, and full-time since they moved the last of their stuff out of the group dorm over the summer, and he’s still barely ventured out, so he dons bucket hats and dark masks and shops around, takes Bam on walks in the evening, and sniffs out which restaurants smell the best.

Eventually, he’s gone out enough for SBS to post a funny little article about his apparent “barbecue tour.” A collage of his signature on the walls of various restaurants, surrounded sporadically by those from Mingyu and Eunwoo and Jaehyun and Chan, because Gangnam is not lacking for barbecue restaurants and the rest of the group chat is still promoting too actively to be out every other night ticking them off of a list and ranking them against each other.

The end of the year comes with less fanfare than usual, though Jungkook does plant himself in front of the TV to watch his beloved Hobi-hyung absolutely devour the rest of the industry with his year-end performances. All suave and cool, and Jungkook makes sure to message him as much, complete with hearts and fireworks and starry-eyed emojis.

Hoseok, because he always replies punctually and enthusiastically, messages him what must be the second he gets into the car to come home: Jungkookieeeeeee! Hyung misses you! Are you busyyyyy I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages??? 🥺💜😘, so Jungkook invites him right over.

It’s the middle of the night, and he’s still in sweats and an oversized t-shirt and a beanie to tame his ever-growing wild mane, but Jungkook is unbothered when Hoseok appears at the door, still in his neat stage makeup and the cozy but fashionable outfit he’d changed into backstage after the show.

“My Jungkookie!” Hoseok calls without any hesitation, practically tackling Jungkook back into the couch cushions the second he toes his Balenciagas off. “You have no idea how much I missed having all of you at the show with me!”

Jungkook melts into the embrace and doesn’t even care if Hoseok smudges lip tint and concealer on his couch, because lord knows how much ramyeon broth and spicy mayo he’s splattered on it in his months of downtime. “You were so cool though, hyung, no one’s even gonna miss us.”

“Oh please. I’m not no one, and I miss you on my TV,” Hoseok laughs into his neck, digging his fingers around to tickle Jungkook’s sides until he stops abruptly at his bared hip. “Oh? What’s this? My Jungkookie’s eating well, hm?”

Questioningly, tilting his head all the while, Jungkook eases himself out from under Hoseok to examine what had made his hyung stop, and oh. Jungkook hadn’t even noticed that he’s begun to get a little soft around the middle until Hoseok’s fingers had reached for his side and sunk in, but… oh well! If he’s using his down time to try things he’s never been able to in Idol Mode all the time, here’s another thing to add to the list.

Jungkook looks at Hoseok, whose face is caught somewhere between pleased and concerned, like he thinks Jungkook’s reaction to his teasing could go either way, and he grins wide so Hoseok knows that nothing’s wrong. Not at all, actually.

“You didn’t hear about my famous barbecue tour?” he teases, batting his eyes while cuddling back up to his hyung’s side. “I’m apparently a legend in the Gangnam restaurant scene now, according to SBS and TikTok.”

With the unspoken go-ahead, Hoseok’s perfectly manicured hand slips back beneath Jungkook’s t-shirt, not tickling this time but simply feeling, neutral fingertips smoothing along softened skin that’s covered up Jungkook’s famous six-pack. Jungkook wonders if it’s still there when he flexes and makes a mental note to try it out in the bathroom mirror when he strips down for his shower tonight.

“Oh, this cutie,” Hoseok coos into the side of his head, pressing a kiss to the curls peaking below the brim of his beanie. “I’m glad you’re relaxing. Let yourself rest before you have to do album stuff, mhm? It’s a lot of work and you need your energy.”

Hoseok leaves after a movie and a meal in a flurry of cheek kisses and a promise to see each other a lot before he has to leave for his enlistment in a couple of months. Jungkook laps up the praise, the affectionate pinch to his hip and pat of his little paunch as Hoseok says goodbye and takes the elevator down to his waiting cab, and when he’s made sure his hyung is safely on his way back to his own apartment, Jungkook skids to the bathroom on socked feet with curiosity practically vibrating through his bones.

10 kilograms. From the end of October to now, the beginning of January, he’s gained 10 kilograms without even realizing it. Jungkook strips down to just his sweatpants and looks in the mirror, holding his stomach now that there’s something to hold onto. He laughs to himself—there’s the stereotype of the sheltered kid going wild once they get freedom, and here he is, the idol with the strict body image who got a couple months unbidden and accidentally got a little chubby.

It’s not enough to be obvious, not really. His boxing trainer has never said anything, after all, but maybe that’s just him being polite. He never really sees him shirtless, anyway, not with the way Jungkook lives in baggy clothes all the time, though he did marvel at the size of his arms last week.

Jungkook, curiosity tickling the back of his brain, flexes his abs in the mirror. They appear, but only slightly, and when he relaxes again, the new pudge actually jiggles a little bit. It’s weirdly exciting. For some reason, he wants to tell Hoseok about it, but he refrains and leaves the bathroom, but keeps his shirt off.

Hoseok keeps his promise of visiting more often, usually showing up with a meal or something to cook a meal with. Food has always been a love language within the group, and he’s just continuing a tradition; of course, if it’s more food than two people might normally eat, then that’s just because Hoseok has always been a generous hyung.

Now that Hoseok both knows and doesn’t mind he’s put on weight, Jungkook doesn’t feel self-conscious about testing his limits in front of him. He’ll put away two servings of noodles with extra meat, side dishes, and a big slice of whichever cake Hoseok picks up from the bakery down the corner, and then when they’re close on the couch afterwards, he’ll say he’s feeling like a snack and eat chips, or buttered popcorn, or a whole pack of whatever candy he’s been craving.

And his waistline expands, because of course it does with that much food tucked into it each day. By the time Hoseok comes back from a trip to New York to pre-film his pre-enlistment music video and his dance docuseries, Jungkook’s added an additional 7 kilograms to the 10 since his last pre-hiatus weigh-in. He’s starting to be able to feel it now: the additional stretch to his waistbands, the gentle push of his stomach onto his thighs when he sits a certain way, or how it presses against the counter when he’s cooking or brushing his teeth. In his bored, hours-long Weverse lives, he pretends not to notice the comments that coo about how soft oppa’s cheeks look now, lest he alert someone at the company to their suddenly pudgy maknae and have them encourage him to slim back down. Eventually, he’ll have to, but not now. He’s having fun with it, and so is Hoseok, evidently, when he enters Jungkook’s door code and immediately sprawls on the couch next to him, burying his sleepy face directly into Jungkook’s belly.

“So soft,” Hoseok murmurs, punctuated with a kiss to the indent of Jungkook’s belly button. He still wears his baggy clothes, but at home with the shades drawn, he’s taken to going shirtless, really taking in his slightly sagging stomach and thickened arms and the weight that’s gone to his chest and covered his pec muscles with pudgy little tits. “I watched your last live in my hotel room, and oh god, did I just want to kiss these cheeks.”

And so he does, peppering Jungkook’s softer cheeks with at least half a dozen kisses each, and then the side of his neck, the dip between his pecs, and the tightness of his rounding underbelly that he’s had to keep under strict moisturization routine, lest the company catch stretchmarks from growing too fast once he has to slim back down for his own solo era.

He knows Hoseok has to leave in just under two months and it looms heavy in his chest just like it did with Seokjin, but at least they can have this secret thing between them until then.

They pick back up on dinners, and Hoseok’s quiet appreciation turns to open praise and kisses against each newly expanding part of Jungkook. When he has to buy a size up in his underwear and the loose waistbands of his sweats start to hug his fattened hips, when his big t-shirts fall over the jut of his belly, when he wants to do a WeLive so bad but it’s broad daylight so he does the whole thing under a blanket because explaining away his pudgy face is one thing, but his pudgy body is another story.

When the dreaded date of Hoseok’s enlistment comes in April, Jungkook’s glad it’s still cold enough to layer up with hoodies and jackets so the Bangtan Bomb cameras don’t pick up on his new physique, even if Jimin gives him a hug and laughs, quiet enough that the audio won’t pick it up, “Nice to see you, tubby.”

Hoseok says goodbye to him last, pecking all over his face as they’ve become accustomed to, hugging him close and squeezing a love handle subtly enough that nobody picks up on it. He tips his lips to Jungkook’s ear and reminds him that after basic training, he’ll be able to have his phone in the evening. That he wants to hear from him, obviously, but you can send me pictures, too, Jungkookie.

They both know at this point that he’s got a planned summer single coming out in July, so Jungkook’s chubby days are numbered, but he doesn’t have to get all the way back down until the allegedly sexy, sultry number the company is planning for his official album single in the fourth quarter. Seven’s music video still sees him in loose hoodies, layered jackets, and baggy jeans. He doesn’t have to lose it all at once, and he doesn’t have to lose his hyung’s love.

After a big blowout dinner on the night he’s designated as his last before hitting the gym in seriousness, and coincidentally the very same day Hoseok gets his phone back after basic training, Jungkook steps on the scale 28 kilos heavier than his waifish pre-hiatus self. The tiny waist that the fans fawned over has ballooned into a blessedly stretchmark-free gut that hangs over the waistband of his shorts when he bends down to prop his phone up on the bathroom counter, so the video he shoots gets a full view of his body. He flexes in the lens, but his abs are nowhere to be found beneath the slope of his stomach jutting out beneath his fattened chest. He’s kept up with boxing, swearing his coach to secrecy the one day he’d lifted his shirt without thinking to mop up his sweat and accidentally revealed his plump belly, so the muscles in his biceps aren’t covered but instead joined by the new meatiness of his arms, and he flexes those proudly before turning around. Sure, skinny Jungkook’s ass wasn’t tiny to begin with, but now he can shake it and it actually moves, and when he does a tiny mockup of the Run BTS choreography with his back turned to the camera, he watches the footage back with a secretly pleased smirk at the undulation of it, shaking right along with his love handles and the fat of his thighs.

Signing off the video with a kiss blown to the lens, Jungkook sends it to Hoseok, unsure of when exactly his phone hours start, but he knows right when they do: at least ten texts, all in quick succession, all full of keysmashes and every positive, adoring emoji that Hoseok could find.

A few minutes later, Jungkook gets a Facetime request and doesn’t bother putting on a shirt or longer pants because Hoseok’s the only one who gets to see him like this.

“You look so pretty,” coos Hoseok’s handsome face that Jungkook’s missed so much. Just to make him smile, he sits his phone on the couch’s side table, giving him a full view of Jungkook’s gut sitting proudly in his widened lap. His hands traipse along the skin as they talk, mapping bulges and rolls that hadn’t been there before and won’t be there for too much long, but he’ll savor them while he can.

“I’ll send you pictures,” Jungkook assures him, holding his gut in both hands and dropping it to its resting spot, where it covers a good amount of his shorts. Luckily, Hoseok’s alone, wherever he is. “Sure, I have to lose weight now, but it’s not immediate, right? Hyung might like videos of me jiggling all of this in the gym.”

“Hyung would love videos of you jiggling all of that in the gym,” Hoseok immediately corrects. His eyes are all soft and affectionate, and god, Jungkook misses him already. “When I get some time off, I’ll visit you. All of the members, but especially you, my Jungkookie.”

Jungkook grins. He can feel the beginnings of a double chin forming when he smiles especially big now; he’s had to cut back on the livestreams because of it and he feels a little bad for that, even if he thinks it makes his smile look nicer. One day, when they’re past this youthful, biggest-idols-in-the-world, pride-of-Korea phase of their careers and the members are allowed to take it easier with their images, maybe he’ll ease back into this. Taehyung’s always joked that once they’re allowed to, he’s pigging out—little does he know that Jungkook’s already done it, and Hoseok’s helped him do it.

But for now, he waves a see you later to Hoseok, ends the call, and appreciates how he looks like this.

#bts feederism #chubby bts #chubby bt5 #fat bt5 #chubby jungkook #fat bts #if this sounds deranged just know i wrote it in 2 sittings only broken up by a meal and a shower

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trivialovehandles · 8 months ago

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I know you listed hybrids as a maybe but I was thinking of lazy cat hybrid Yoongi, and his active dog hybrid boyfriend Namjoon. Yoongi feels like Namjoon could be using the time he exercises to cuddle with him. So Yoongi makes plans to fatten him up, starts making more food he likes, and offering to drive him to work so that way he doesn’t have to ride his bike. Namjoon’s happy because as part of this, Yoongi makes more steak dinners and gives him more belly rubs

(ao3 link) had to re-send this anon's ask to myself because tumblr ate the draft of this post, so anon, i hope you see this anyway (i know you literally requested this over a year ago lmfao)

The alarm goes off when it’s still dark, which is too-fucking-early o’clock in Yoongi’s mind. He tries to roll over, to curl up and go back to sleep, but the lingering heat on the now-empty side of the bed is now leaching all the leftover warmth, and his ears keep twitching at every muffled noise from the other side of the wall.

When the noise stops, Yoongi feels a kiss pressed to the center of his forehead. He glares through half-closed eyelids.

“Sorry, hyung. Gotta get to work,” Namjoon apologizes quietly, even though Yoongi’s already been so rudely awakened. He doesn’t even have to be at work for an hour, but Kim Namjoon is Kim Namjoon, and Kim Namjoon bikes to work and leaves at too-fucking-early o’clock. “See you tonight. Love you.”

Kim Namjoon is Kim Namjoon, and Yoongi loves Kim Namjoon, so he catches him by the grown-out scruff of hair at the back of his head and tells him as much, kissing him on the lips before he has to go.

And then he falls back asleep for another hour, two hours.

The perks of working from home are less perky when Namjoon works not from home. Yoongi spends the parts of his day that he’s not actively dialed into his work pacing the house, tidying up, cooking. By the time Namjoon gets home in the evening, they basically only have time to eat dinner, watch a show or two, and go to bed. Even sex gets penciled in for the weekends.

So sometimes Yoongi just wants to take Namjoon’s stupid bike and throw it off of their balcony. Serves it right for taking husband time away from him.

(He doesn’t, because despite everything, he’d like to believe he’s good husband material, but when Namjoon wakes up early and gets home late because of that thing, sue Yoongi for resenting it a little.)

The time apart means Yoongi picks up new hobbies. He was a basic cook when they first moved in together, but with all the practice, he can throw down in the kitchen, which is now filled with odd gadgets, different pans for different meals, and no less than four types of flour in the cupboard (because they always need all-purpose, but then there’s glutinous rice flour for tteok, cake flour for birthdays, bread flour because you need the right amount of gluten development for brioche, and shit, they could probably use some almond flour, too).

Yoongi’s in the middle of a soul-suckingly boring meeting with his webcam turned off when he remembers the package he’d brought in that morning, still sitting on the kitchen counter. He drags his laptop out with him as he slices the box open, grinning to himself at the sight.

Namjoon loves bungeoppang; now they are the proud owners of a brand new bungeoppang pan.

By the time evening settles and Namjoon comes home, sweaty from his bike ride, Yoongi’s filled the counter with an array of food. Galbi fresh out of the pressure cooker, melting off the bone, sticky glazed sweet potatoes, kimchi jeon still crackling in the pan. He hasn’t cooked the bungeoppang yet, but the batter and filling are mixed in separate bowls, ready to be made fresh once they finish dinner.

“Wow,” Namjoon says, racking his bike up on its place on the wall of the entryway (another demerit for the bike: they live in a tiny fourth-story apartment and to avoid it taking up precious floor space, it now takes up precious wall space). “Special occasion?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Meeting that could have been an email. I had to entertain myself somehow.”

“I’m not offended by this kind of entertainment.” Namjoon swoops into the kitchen area to give Yoongi a soft, lingering kiss. “Do you think I have time to shower?”

Yoongi pinches the front of his sweaty t-shirt. “If you make it quick.”

“So quick,” Namjoon promises. “I’m starving and that smells amazing.”

(Bike demerit number 3001: Namjoon always comes home needing a shower, meaning more time away when Yoongi just wants to sit him down and feed him dinner and kiss him senseless.)

By the time Namjoon comes back out, Yoongi’s spread everything across the counter, their empty plates and full bowls of rice placed next to each other so they can sit elbow-to-elbow at the island like they always do for dinner.

Yoongi likes to savor these moments. It’s the shortest portion of their day, but his favorite: side-by-side with Namjoon, talking, eating, recharging after time spent without each other. He can always tell when Namjoon’s settled down comfortably by the slow swish of his tail versus the fervent wag of it when he first gets home, too keyed up to focus. Now he savors each bite of his food, delicately laying a piece of galbi on top of his rice, layering it with a pinch of pa kimchi, and humming low in his chest when he scoops it into his mouth, like he’s picked up on Yoongi’s purring after so many years together.

“Good?” Yoongi asks as Namjoon chews. There’s sauce on Namjoon’s cheek, and Yoongi wipes it up with the edge of his thumb, not even flinching when Namjoon licks it off again, the oversized puppy he is.

“So good,” Namjoon says, reaching for more food before he’s even finished chewing his bite.

“Pace yourself, Joon-ah,” Yoongi reminds him with a soft laugh, “we still have dessert.”

Namjoon does not pace himself. He keeps on eating, starry-eyed. “I can’t believe you bought a bungeoppang pan.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Boredom and disposable income cause me to do a lot of things.”

It would explain the waffle maker, the immersion circulator, the pasta roller, and the little gut that’s just started poking at the front of Namjoon’s shirt.

It’s not totally Yoongi’s fault. Namjoon hasn’t really been rail-thin since they were still university students living on a ramyeon budget and denying their feelings for each other. He has a big appetite, as evidenced by the quick work he’s making of his next portion of meat, already almost finished with his rice. He’s probably three times as physical as Yoongi with the whole bike thing, and Yoongi’s always been slim but soft. So technically the pudge that sits over the waist of Namjoon’s pants isn’t on Yoongi, even if Yoongi likes to take advantage of it.

(But even then, is it really taking advantage when Namjoon, the dog boy of all dog boys, loves getting his belly rubbed as much as Yoongi, loathe as he is to accept the cat making biscuits stereotype, loves to rub it?)

Namjoon eats all of his dinner, and when Yoongi realizes he made too much batter for two servings of bungeoppang, happily eats the extras too. And when he’s done eating and has moved onto cleaning the dishes because Yoongi did the cooking, Yoongi can’t help but plaster himself to his husband’s back, face buried in the scruff of his neck and hands crossed over his bloated stomach where it’s pressed against the rim of the sink.

“Affectionate tonight,” Namjoon chuckles, leaning his head to softly touch against the side of Yoongi’s. The pan he’s cleaning has been fully rinsed for a while, but both of them are too distracted to notice or care.

“Sue me,” Yoongi murmurs into the shoulder of Namjoon’s t-shirt. “You leave early and come home at night and I only have, like, four hours to spend with you every day.”

“It’s a good four hours, though.”

“Out of twenty-four,” Yoongi grumbles. When it startles a small, hiccupping laugh out of Namjoon, his little gut jumps and shakes a bit between Yoongi’s hands. “I fantasize about throwing your bike off of the fire escape sometimes.”

Namjoon covers Yoongi’s hands with his own, and the only thing keeping Yoongi from bristling at the wet touch is the sight of both of their hands placed over the swell of Namjoon’s stomach. He looks good, fuller like this. It suits him.

“You wouldn’t,” Namjoon says, stomach stretching out in a breath.

“I wouldn’t,” Yoongi confirms. “Only because I don’t want manslaughter charges for crushing a pedestrian with a bike.”

“Valid,” Namjoon laughs. His stomach shakes again, but this time, they both feel it. “I can bike less, take the bus so I can sleep in more with you. It’s starting to be too cold in the mornings anyway.”

Yoongi just half-purrs, kneading the softness between his hands. Namjoon’s moved his to turn the sink off, but he doesn’t stop Yoongi’s ministrations; in fact, he leans more into him, back arched, giving some more access to the lower half of his stomach that had been squashed against the sink. The bit of skin that’s stretching the waistband of his flannel PJ pants more than when he bought them.

“I’ll just have to figure out a way to exercise at home,” Namjoon’s saying when Yoongi can feel his ears flatten at the back of his head in displeasure.

“Why? Who are you trying to impress, hm?” he gripes, purring effectively stopped. One of his fingers has found its way to circle Namjoon’s belly button; deeper now, more flesh around it, his long finger sinks in halfway up to the second joint.

Namjoon laughs. His dimples are much more prominent now in cheeks that are also more prominent. The softening of his face has been so gradual that Yoongi only really notices now, with his head perched right beneath it, that Namjoon’s jawline is more obscured than the razor curve of their youth, and that he doesn’t have a double chin, not yet, but there’s definitely a little pocket of skin that’s just barely swelling up beneath the point of it.

His face has taken well to the weight. All at once, Namjoon looks both like the college kid Yoongi first fell for and the grown man he sees himself growing old with—and growing soft with, maybe, in Namjoon’s case.

“Guess the only person I’d want to impress is already impressed,” Namjoon says, lifting one hand from their shared spot on his stomach to gesture where Yoongi’s got his shirt rucked up, finger teasing at his belly button.

Yoongi lifts that same hand, instead taking a handful of bared, supple underbelly and giving it a teasing grab, just to watch the way the whole thing’s starting to develop a jiggle to it. Without two combined hours of biking every weekday, surely it’ll develop faster.

Not that Yoongi minds. In fact, whatever the opposite of minding is, that’s how he feels, tucking his hand back beneath the lowest curve of his husband’s paunch just to feel it quiver with Namjoon’s contented laugh.

#bts feederism #chubby bts #fat bts #chubby bt5 #fat bt5 #chubby namjoon #i reappear once a year to chuck a chubfic into the void #i genuinely do have 4+ wips i just cannot finish them to save my life

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trivialovehandles · 1 year ago

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they can't give me this image as official content and expect me to be normal about it

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trivialovehandles · 2 years ago

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Omg Pls can you do an either taekook/ jikook squashing

Where Jungkook is gaining weight fast after eating something and suddenly he’s squashing his bf

ngl squashing is a lower-tier kink for me so this is maybe more focused on the rapid wg aspect but? so fun to write (ao3 link! i will be putting all request fics here as well)

Jimin’s learned throughout the years that Jungkook coming home looking sheepish and excited is either a very good thing (see: the day he came home with a puppy who is now no longer a puppy and is currently napping next to the refrigerator) or a very bad thing (see: the day he came home with a bunch of stuff to do stick-and-poke tattoos and now they each have the Hangul for each other’s names on their left ass cheeks forever).

When he breezes through their apartment door today, he’s clearly trying to hide it, but Jimin’s known him long enough to see the telltale signs: his teeth clamped on his lower lip, the excited way he covers his ears with his hands, and the way he keeps spacing out, like he’s thinking of something else.

Jimin doesn’t push for now, too busy finishing their dinner, but he’s sure by the time they’re done eating that Jungkook won’t be able to keep holding it back anyway. Instead, he accepts the kiss Jungkook gives him on his way to change out of his work clothes and pinches his hip affectionately as he leaves.

And he’s right: Jungkook’s only halfway through his first serving of bibimbap when he can’t take it anymore.

“So I found something today,” he says with a mouthful of meat and rice, like the thought couldn’t wait until he swallowed.

Jimin places his chopsticks gently back down so he can give his clearly excited boyfriend his undivided attention. “Oh?”

Jungkook doesn’t stop eating as he talks. “At the pharmacy, when I was getting those blister pads for you—”

Not a very appetizing moment to be reminded of the blisters from his new pointe shoes, but Jimin nods anyway.

“I saw”—Jungkook starts to dig through the oversized pockets of his cargo pants, rattling beneath the table—“these supplements.”

What he pulls out is a small bottle that can’t be holding more than four or five pills. The label has bold writing, terrible graphic design honestly, but Jimin squints across the table and sees GAIN WEIGHT FASTER written beneath the brand name and raises a curious brow.

For the couple of months they’ve been experimenting with Jungkook’s burgeoning weight gain kink and Jimin’s growing love for seeing, well… his love growing, progress has been slow-going. Jungkook laments his current skinny-fat phase near-daily; he wants to be big already, not having to settle for taking it one measly kilo at a time, and there’s only so much Jimin can do to help his boyfriend get extra calories, short of inedibly drowning their food in oil.

Truthfully, Jimin thinks Jungkook looks cute at his current weight, soft and pudgy and barely erring on the side of plump, just bigger enough for it to be a bit noticeable when he’s fully clothed, but he’s also a firm supporter of his boyfriend’s happiness and would never begrudge having more Jungkook, so he plays along. He’s heard of these dubiously legal supplements that claim to make your appetite grow, your metabolism slow down, and the resulting weight flow to more desirable places. He’s fallen down that particular Instagram rabbit hole before—he doesn’t blame Jungkook for wanting to give it a try at least. And hey, good on him for grabbing what seems to be a trial size first. Sound financial decisions look good on a boyfriend.

Jimin leans back in his seat, picking up his chopsticks again. “So it’s like an appetite stimulant? A ‘take it and hope it makes you hungrier and fatter’ kind of thing?”

Jungkook twists the bottle between his fingers, squinting at the small label. “Not exactly. I grabbed it because… well, it made the results seem kind of… instant? Quicker, at the very least?”

He slides the bottle across the table so Jimin can read the label in full. No real drug facts, no specified ingredients, just the promise of quick weight gain, some brief directions, and a generic warning about abusing medication. Rattling in his hands, there really are only a handful of pills inside the glass, which is more like the size of a bottle of facial serum than any supplement Jimin’s ever seen before.

Jungkook fidgets in his seat, radiating nervous excitement. “They only sold them in these tiny bottles, and… I don’t know, I probably just got scammed, but that made it seem more legitimate to me, you know? Like I wouldn’t need to keep taking them all the time?”

Sliding the bottle back, Jimin asks, “Did you ask the pharmacist about them?”

Jungkook shakes his head with a laugh. “I did self-checkout. I wasn’t about to ask someone with a PhD if a sketchy pill was gonna make me fat.”

Jimin can’t help the small snort he lets out as he finishes the end of his dinner. That’s just like Jungkook: impulsive, determined, almost single-minded in his dedication to gain.

After dinner finds them in a familiar position: Jimin comfortable on the couch, Jungkook planted over his lap, the two of them kissing feverishly. Jungkook’s foregone his flannel shirt, shrugging it off before he sat down and now in just his cargos and the t-shirt he’d had beneath that’s well on its way to too small. Meaning that it is too small, but Jungkook insists it still works as an undershirt. Where the t-shirt had been form-fitting before, it now clings to the round distension that is Jungkook’s stomach, sliding up to offer glimpses of his pudgier hips and belly whenever he so much as slightly lifts his arms. He’s not as small as he complains he is, but Jimin’s not about to stop him from letting himself get bigger.

Which must be on Jungkook’s mind too, because as he pulls back from a kiss, the bottle he’d put back into one of his pants’ many, many pockets rattles. He grabs it with one hand, the other keeping Jimin’s in place beneath the stretched hem of his t-shirt, fingers dug into pudge.

“Do you think I should?” Jungkook asks, eyes wide. “It says to take one tablet within an hour of a meal. It’s been… what, 45 minutes?”

Jimin tilts his head, mostly listening while also appreciating the spillage of flesh between his fingers when he squeezes Jungkook’s hips in reply. “Wouldn’t hurt,” he says, pauses, and amends, “Well, might hurt, but we’ll see.”

Jungkook uncaps the bottle, and nothing happens: no hiss of smoke, no immediate waft of poison. He upends a single pill into his hand and looks long and hard at it. It’s just a plain white tablet, indistinguishable from the various painkillers and supplements in their medicine cabinet. He stares at it for a long moment, shrugs, and pops it into his mouth, washing it down with the last sips of his can of Coke from dinner.

And nothing happens. Jimin would know if it did, hands planted firmly on the belly that would be stretching further outward if these pills worked as instantly as Jungkook had hoped, but there’s no budge except for the contraction of muscles when Jungkook swallows his soda. He stares downward, poking himself in the stomach so his fingertip sinks into soft fat, and his shoulders slump.

“I don’t know why I thought it would be instant,” Jungkook grumbles.

Jimin shrugs, moving one hand from his boyfriend’s still-just-pudgy body to card through his curls. “It’s the ‘go big or go home’ in you,” he says, letting his fingers cup a chubby cheek, guiding their faces back together. “Come on, relax. We’ll wait it out, see if anything happens.”

They kiss again, slower. Jimin lets his fingertips keep mapping out the cushioned planes of Jungkook’s body, slipping under his t-shirt and lightly beneath his snug waistband. Jungkook’s skin feels warm to the touch, more than usual, and he keeps squirming, differently to the way he usually does when he’s getting worked up.

“You okay, Jungkookie?” Jimin asks against his heated cheek.

“M’just—ngh—really warm,” Jungkook grumbles, stretching his back this way and that so his belly bucks Jimin’s chest. “Feel kinda bloated.”

Jimin doesn’t notice at first that when Jungkook tugs his t-shirt back down, it doesn’t quite go all the way—he just slides his perpetually cold hands up the back of it, letting them chill the overwarm skin across Jungkook’s spine, pulling him in closer and closer. He doesn’t really notice, either, that the pressure on his thighs is growing stronger, just blindly assuming that Jungkook’s finally relaxed so more of his weight rests on Jimin than on his own legs.

Jimin doesn’t notice anything until Jungkook makes a small grunt above him at the same time his hands start struggling to meet around his middle.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, awed, a little pained. “Hyung, I think it’s—”

He doesn’t finish his thought, interrupted by a low whine that escapes his lips seemingly of its own volition. His belly juts forward, crowding his lap, pushing into Jimin’s torso, thick and heavy and so warm, so unnaturally warm that this can’t be anything but—

“It’s working,” Jimin finishes for him. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit is right,” Jungkook gasps as his already too-small shirt continues to slide up his expanding gut, seams straining as his body starts spilling—really spilling, his once-perkily taut stomach now beginning to sag onto his thighs with doughy fat—out of it. He squirms as if pinned down by the constant motion of his body growing outward, trying to scoot his hips backward but instead accidentally grinding down where Jimin’s dick is taking clear interest. “Hyung, hyung, help me get off you, you’re gonna get crushed.”

Jimin does no such thing. He stays put, hands on Jungkook’s ballooning waistline now that it’s all he can really reach without his arms being forced apart by the growth, and moves his hands in slow, deep ministrations. It seems to make Jungkook relax, panic easing as it really hits him what’s happening.

“Hyung, I’m… I’m getting so fucking fat. Look how I keep growing, keep swelling, keep getting fatter. Am I heavy? I bet I’m so fucking heavy on you.”

It’s punctuated with a low creak, the elastic waist of Jungkook’s cargo pants stretched to its limits until finally, the plastic button just barely holding them shut breaks free, careening across the room to clatter against the wood floor somewhere between the living area and the kitchen. Unbidden, the mass of his gut flows through the open V left in the button’s wake, no longer held back by rigid fabric, free to rest on his legs that have blown up to the point of his pants—baggy before—fitting like sausage casings.

And he is heavy—is, quote, so fucking heavy. By the time the stretch and swell of him slows to a halt, Jungkook has to be twice the size he was when he sat down. His shirt that hugged his chubby stomach now barely passes beneath his chest, filled out like a crop top, the seams at the sleeves strained and splitting from Jungkook’s arms that had previously still held some tone and definition now gone flabby. Between his thick arms and his chest grown into plump, protruding tits, his arms don’t lower the way they used to—not like it matters with how Jungkook’s hands map his own body, picking up the upper roll his now double belly and sliding his fat, dimpled hands into the crevice it makes between itself and his lower belly. A lower belly that hangs so far out of his pants that it’s flowing between stocky thighs and pinning Jimin right to the back of the couch.

Not that Jimin’s complaining. He was the one who didn’t budge when Jungkook tried to climb off of him a couple of minutes probably 45 kilograms ago. The weight of him is heavy and grounding and, shit, arousing. He’s been mostly into Jungkook’s weight gain kink in that he probably has a Jungkook kink, attracted to him at all times and all sizes, but a double-sized Jungkook pinning him to the couch… it’s doing a lot for him. He wonders if Jungkook can even feel how Jimin’s rock-hard against his blubbery overhang or if there’s just too much padding in the way.

“Jungkook-ah.” Jimin tugs at one of the many rolls of Jungkook’s stomach—because there are rolls big enough to tug with his whole hand now, to pull him closer. “Baby, lean forward.”

Jungkook, hazy-eyed, seemingly entranced into a fog by his body grown so fat so quickly, blinks heavily a few times. “What do you mean?”

“Lean forward,” Jimin repeats, pulling him in closer. The heavy thighs caging him in and the massive gut pinning his lower half to the back of the couch don’t feel like enough. He needs Jungkook all over him.

Jungkook gets it this time. Hesitantly, checking Jimin’s face beforehand and going gloriously red when Jimin nods and keeps guiding him forward, he leans his upper half against Jimin’s, holding him down further into the couch cushions. In his lap like this, Jimin’s face-height with Jungkook’s chest, his rucked-up t-shirt that pushes up even further with his movements, revealing his chest, fat tits that Jimin buries his face between, biting at the skin, swirling his tongue around a hardened nipple just to hear Jungkook groan in that pained ecstasy that means he’s really into it.

It’s not the easiest to breathe with what’s probably nearly three times his own weight pushing his body down, but it’s easy enough for Jimin to still get worked up, grinding up as much as he can despite the pressure, despite the mass that is now Jungkook jiggling and quivering on top of him. He didn’t start putting in more weightlifting and core-building time when Jungkook decided to get fat for nothing.

By the time Jimin’s seeing white, Jungkook’s emerging from his horny haze too, eyes clearer and more mischievous as he leans back, letting Jimin breathe again. Very deliberately, he’s lifting his gut, dropping it back down—massaging his chest—grabbing the hem of his t-shirt so that it rips straight down the middle with how strained the cotton has become.

Quickly, they catch each other in another kiss. It’s like before, but it’s not—still Jimin and Jungkook, still hot and heavy, but Jungkook keeps having to take breathers, unused to the new weight on his body, and so does Jimin, unused to the new weight on top of his body.

Pulling away, puffing and panting, Jungkook laughs, low and rumbling in a way that makes his whole belly undulate. “Do you think this effect is permanent?” he asks, curious, maybe a little hopeful.

“I don’t know,” Jimin gasps in reply, heart thrumming. “If it’s not, you have a few more pills left.”

A nod. “And if it is?”

Jimin blinks at him through heavy eyes. “Then you still have a few more pills left.”

#bts feederism #chubby bts #fat bts #chubby jungkook #fat bt5 #chubby bt5 #requests #i said i was going to write short request fics and then wrote over 2k... but hey it's still shorter than the 21 days fics

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