Your stomach unhappily complained. You had fed it something that, based on your past experiences with monster food, absolutely should have not. You felt as if you had swallowed an anvil. Pinned to the couch and full to the brim, you lazed, your whole body taking a break until it had shorted this little problem out.
You moaned, and so did your paunch. In this nauseated, numb state, even keeping your sitting position felt like a huge effort, so you decided to rest on your back.
Suddenly, as if alerted by the creaking of your couch, Muffet’s face peeked through the door fringe. His five eyes frowned as he realized what you were up to. Using his three left arms as leverage, he pulled his athletic body through the doorframe and towards you. His camellia-patterned apron bobbed as he waved one of his many fingers disapprovingly, while he employed another ten mixing dough in a bowl.
“Honeybug! I told you to not lie down like that! That just mixes your tummy juices up and makes a bigger mess in there. Come, back on your butt, now” he sternly ordered.
You groaned, struggling to even dangle your feet off the couch. Feeling too weak and too miserable, you barely bothered.
He sighed, putting his bowl down. He grabbed your shoulders and arched your back properly, slightly pushing you against the couch’s cushioning. Pulling his fringes upwards, he revealed his forehead, then bumped it against yours. It felt fresh and smooth, like velvet. But also like velvet, it was pleasantly squishy, and warmed up to your touch. He opened a single eye and wobbled your head around with his.
Perhaps you didn’t feel that bad. Perhaps you simply wanted to let him pamper you.
“Honeybug, quit making a scene. It’s not fever. It has to be our meal… ahuhu~” he guiltily chuckled, retrieving his bowl. “… my bad…” he muttered.
You and your stomach groaned along, face contorted in a defeated grimace. You mumbled you had warned him about this.
He scratched his head, dismissively waving his hand.
“Come on, dearie, cut me some slack! You enjoyed it, did you not?” he said.
You timidly agreed, as much as your stomach shuddered at the thought.
He gave you a thumbs up and chortled: “Then as long as you don’t do it every day of the year, I’d say your tummy’s predicament has been worth the unusual experience, wouldn’t you say? Ahuhuhuhu~…” his giggling gradually died down as he realized how deadpan your expression was. He twiddled his thumbs. “Come on, honeybug, don’t be angry at me…”
You shook your head and told him you weren’t, you just felt atrocious.
He looked as if he was going to say something, but the teapot’s hiss directed his attention towards the kitchen. He snapped his fingers, fanning his apron.
“There it is, honeybug, your salvation! Ahuhu~! I will be right back.” He leaned onto you, and sultrily stretched your shirt, planting a kiss on your neck.
You flushed beet red as he dragged his fangs and tongue across your shoulders.
“Just don’t die while I’m gone. Hold on a little longer!” He giggled as he took off towards the kitchen.
You rubbed your fingers across your neck. All that stood between you and complete happiness was your pesky stomach. It growled in protest, making you miss him already. He was the only thing that could have made this whole disaster even remotely worth it…
What a day. He had insisted so much on having lunch on that monster diner, despite your warnings. “But this is a special occasion, honeybug!” he said, yet the most convincing excuse for it being so special he could come up with was the baking contest you won together a month ago. He kept going on about how you both “deserved a treat”. You ended up caving in, of course, your diets be damned.
The starter nachos you ordered were already an omen of terrible times for your stomach. But you couldn’t stop eating them. Something inside you had missed this.
And from the ecstatic grin on his face, he had too. That alone slightly alleviated your guilt… not to mention you couldn’t even come close to competing with the rate his six arms made the decadent first course vanish. You kept hoping the six-armed pig your boyfriend had become gorged it all before you could further pollute your stomach. Although on retrospect you were no slouch yourself…
But that burger had been something else. Its smell alone sent your taste buds frothing. Fashioned with human ingredients, but following a monster recipe, it was the sloppiest, most savory, most decadent dish you had ever tasted, period. While it lasted, you forgot it all. You were sharing what, despite the crass taste, must have felt like comfort food to Muffet, and it sure showed on his beaming face. The adorable way he tilted his head and cleaned the mess of sauces from his lips, his winks upon noticing your stares…
But not even an hour of painful digestion later, you regretted it all already. Your choice of meal, of diet and of boyfriend.
Well, maybe not that last one…
“Have no fear, your tea is here, Honeybug!” he chuckled from the hallway.
Barging in from the kitchen, his arms unflinchingly bore three trays, with a multitude of plates, mugs and other containers. The heat of the steaming kettle he dropped in front of your face made you raise an eyebrow. You wiped the sweat of your brow, wondering if hot tea was such a good idea on this heat.
He completed the quaint snack with some sort of crispy treats that had been neatly arranged on a small plate, and some tangerines on a basket. Humming a soothing tune, he bent over to pour some of the green-ish hot beverage on a pair of mugs. The steam wafted into your nostrils, making you look forward to its usual soothing sensation, if nothing else.
You bent towards the treat-filled tray, and procured one. You brought it closer and discreetly sniffed it. Not much to recognize from the smell, save for the absence of sugar and the distinct aroma of freshly baked whole flour. He loomed over you, expectantly holding one of the steel trays over his hips.
“Don’t be scared, honeybug, chomp down! It’s not like they could make you feel any worse! Ahuh~…. Sorry,” he yelped, not even waiting for your dismissive glare.
You complied, the delicate, puffy texture of the cookie-like crisps shattering before the might of your choppers. You thoroughly chew, familiarizing yourself with the taste. Whole rye. Thin and brittle, perfect for a light snack. Savory taste, but with something sweet in it... figs. These were the dried figs he had recently bought. The simple contrast was effective enough to make you crave more, even in the sorry state your stomach was in. You popped the rest of the cracker in your mouth and obliterated it, inquiring about them. He nodded.
“Those would be some whole fig crisps I whipped out in a jiffy for you, deary.” He scratched his temple. “You see, I was saving them for some fig and walnut bread, but… that would have taken too long for your stomach. So I made these!” He warmly waved his hands, untying his apron and flinging it towards the nearest coat rack.
You nodded, already on your third crisp. Very good. All digestive-friendly ingredients. You had taught him well.
“Well, those ought to keep you fed and soothe your tummy some but… wait till you take a sip of THIS!” he proudly waved one of the mugs in front of your face, the transparent, yellow liquid swirling vapor trails into the air. You got a whiff of it and…
….recoiled at the pungently bitter aroma. He noticed and chuckled, palms landing in your lap and bringing you closer.
“Uh-huh, don’t be a baby, Honeybug. Same rules for everyone. No honey on an upset tummy… just think of it as medicine! Ahuhuhu~!” he chortled. You rolled your eyes, arching over to the mug and clutching its handle.
With a single sip, your whole face crumpled. Bitter. So incredibly bitter. An onslaught of ginger with a hint of something else. That potent taste only raw that foul root was capable of.
You smirked, sarcastically asking him if he thought he had brewed enough ginger in. He covered his mouth, squinting. You countered his simper with an annoyed glare.
You sighed, resigned to your karma. After all the times you had made him eat or drink something he wasn’t so crazy about… this must have been his idea of revenge. You sighed, bravely downing hearty swigs. He arched towards you, trying to rub the generous helping of honey he was sweetening his mug with right in your face.
He boasted: “Ginger, fennel AND cinnamon! Find me a better intestine cleanser, Honeybug. I dare you!”
You shrugged, swigging the remaining tea away, then put it away with a snarl.
“Oooh, nice! You finished it all like a good little pet!” he mocked.
You drummed your fingers on the mug, remarking how much you wished he learned from your example.
He stuck his tongue out, his spoon making steam whirlwinds on his tea. Thinking him too busy to further mess with you, you reached for another crisp.
His stern grip stopped your wrist in place. You gawked. His index finger pried your mouth agape, caressing your gums with its tip. You trembled, feeling completely at his mercy. He shook his head, setting his tea aside.
“Tsk tsk, honeybug. What are you doing? You want your mouth to taste like ginger forever?” he remarked, sliding his digit off your maw and caressing your chin with it. He licked his finger and theatrically frowned. “Pah. So bitter. I’m not kissing something so pungent, deary… here…”
Making use of four of his arms, he yanked you away from your sitting position and deposited you in his lap. You felt weightless. Recognizing a hint of citrus smell, you realized he was peeling a tangerine. He dangled a wedge in front of your mouth.
“Sweeten up, sugar! This will make that bitter taste gone faster than a spider can wrap a fly! Ahuhuhu~…” he sultrily cooed, then began slowly feeding you the fruit.
Feeling your blush clouding your own vision, you chewed for your life.
Six arms. He has six arms. Sometimes you had a hard time even coming to grips with the fact your boyfriend always had plenty of clutch to handle you, and another three punt things like you, while he was at it. It made you feel so small and helpless. But it wasn’t an intimidating, or even humiliating weakness, unlike what you felt the first weeks of your relationship. It was thrilling as it was flattering. Nurturing, in a way.
God damn it, he had really tangled you deep in his web.
He stuck the last tangerine wedge through your lips, cradling you. Before you could even bring your teeth together, he caressed your cheeks with his palms. You slowly and thoroughly processed the sweet morsel, methodically squashing its juice out, then masticating its pulp on your gums.
He licked his lips just as you swallowed, bending his neck into yours.
His sultry voice vibrated against the back of your head: “Ahu~… a bitter little thing like you needs some sugar to taste just right,” he flirted, slipping his fingers under both your shirt’s ends; while he lifted you up towards him. Driving his lips away with his pointy tongue, he leaned into your lips.
Your tongues engaged in a particularly one-sided wrestle. Yours didn’t stand a chance, as usual. And neither did your wrist, which he gripped, forcing it to caress his chest. In fact, none of his arms wasted a single inch of your body, his delicate but stern touch caressing your whole anatomy. You fidgeted in his hands.
Having had just about enough of your numb tongue, he reeled his head away from yours, goofily grinning. He planted kiss upon kiss on your cheeks and neck. You had never gone from feeling like the prey of his lustful instincts to his house cat in such a short time.
He was so good at making you feel flustered…
He dove his head deep into your chest and chortled: “Oh, honeybug! I’m never letting you go! Get well soon so we can play harder again!”
You blushed, patting the back of his head, then sternly reminded him of the fun you would be having right now if it weren’t for the burger… but upon further reflection, you felt compelled to add you did neither blame him or regret it.
His only response was diving further into your chest. You flushed redder, and ruffled his hair.
After a good minute of silently using your pectoral region as a pillow, he jerked back, the deep purple hue of his cheeks revealing his fluster. He leaned back on the couch and repositioned you between his legs, hugging your shoulders.
“Well…. I’m sorry, honeybug. I know how hard you’ve been avoiding that kind of food but… you have to understand. You had seriously earned a treat…” you winced was he tightened his legs around you and slip a pair of hands underneath your shirt.
He began caressing your stomach, and playfully rested his chin on your shoulder.
“…specially with how well your diet is going. You’ve made so much progress. Look at this!” you timidly yelped as he princess-carried you with a single pair of arms. “Two arms! Just two! A few months ago, my wrists got sooo cramped with three, but look at you now! So nimble! So lithe!”
He held your shoulders down, squishing your back against him.
“I’m going to have to hold you extra tight so you don’t fly away with the wind! Ahuhuhu~!” he sang, rattling you around.
This did not make you feel particularly uncomfortable, but you felt the need to beg him to handle you more carefully, on account of your delicate stomach.
He sharply stopped his shaking, raising an eyebrow. He patted your tummy, which softly gurgled in protest but… didn’t do much more.
“What was that, Honeybug? I cannot hear you over your agonizing pain. Guess I should have not bothered making all that nice stuff for you, if it was going to be this pointless!” he sneered.
You sighed, feeling the timid bubbles and shifts of your digestive tract. An improvement already. That tea really had done wonders on you. You thanked him, tilting your heads together to kiss his cheek. He playfully rubbed it.
“Awww… there’s my sweet little ant. Just take it easy until you’re all fixed up so we can go running later… or heck, we can have ANOTHER pushup competition!” he cackled.
You hissed and stared right into his cheeky grin, politely informing him of your refusal, based on his natural advantage. He struggled to not burst laughing, and hid four of his arms behind his back.
“Cheater?! Me? That is some serious libel, Honeybug, I will not stand for this indignity! We will settle this in a handstand duel! The one who falls first has to-“
You silenced him by slamming a cushion against his face. He cackled aloud.
“Ahuhuhuhu~!! Okay, I give! Leg-based competitions, only, deary,” he conceded.
You nodded, glancing aside. After swallowing and sighing, you admitted you didn’t really mind the edge he had over you wherever you were… wrestling. He roguishly smiled.
“Oh, honeybug, you know I’m always up for some… grappling. Let’s have a go!” He began unbuttoning his shirt. “What do you want to do with all the leftover silk this time?” Your tomato-tinted skin shivered. “We have plenty of scarves already so… perhaps I can make a bandana for you…” he readied his abdomen, slipping his pants down, then rested on his knees and wrapped a pair of arms around your neck.
“Oh, but what would people say if they knew? “ He teased, using his fingers to draw circles along your shoulders as he tugged your shirt down. “I wonder if that’s a normal thing for humans… what if they knew where the fabric’s from?!” he mocked.
You hid your face in embarrassment.
“Think about it! What would your human friends say if they knew you’re going around wearing clothes made from your monster boyfriend’s silk? Silk from your monster boyfriend’s butt?!”
This time, you shut him up by stuffing some fig crackers down his smug trap.
The sound of crunching and his muffled laugh intertwined.