#beating anorexia | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hjvi · 24 days ago

Text

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝘜𝘯𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘠𝘰𝘶

⚠︎ mdni, heavy smut, eating disorder (anorexia), overall mature subjects, and more

⤷ A gentle reminder: If my content ever feels overwhelming, please take care of yourself and step away. Anorexia is a key theme in this story, and as someone who understands its weight, this fic is deeply personal to me. I want to remind you that you're never alone in your journey.

Sending love and healing to all. 🩷

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙧 1: 𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙔𝙤𝙪

It was a cold night in Boston, the kind where the chill seeps into your bones no matter how many layers you wear. I had stayed late at the skating rink, sitting on the cold, hard bench near the ice. My ribs throbbed with pain, my breath coming out in sharp gasps every time I tried to inhale too deeply. A kid from the hockey team had slammed into me during practice and sped off without so much as a backward glance. I hadn’t caught his face, but I’d seen the name on the back of his jersey before he disappeared into the chaos of the rink: *Sturniolo.*

What a jerk.

I pulled my hoodie halfway up, exposing the ugly bruise spreading across my ribs. Purple and blue blotches marred my skin, and as I reached to touch the tender area, a sharp pain made me flinch. I let out a small gasp that was quickly swallowed by the empty rink. Keeping my gaze down, I tried to steady myself, still reeling from the impact and my growing frustration.

The weight on the bench shifted, and I looked up, startled. Sitting beside me was a scrawny boy with messy hair that flopped into his piercing blue eyes. His crooked smile felt both comforting and disarming at the same time, as if we’d known each other forever. I hurriedly pulled my hoodie back down, embarrassed by my vulnerability.

The boy leaned forward and pulled a pair of skates from his bag. The last step to completing his uniform. Without hesitating, he turned to me.

“What happened?” His voice was soft but curious, laced with concern. “I saw you black and blue earlier.”

I tried brushing him off, shaking my head. But he pressed on, his blue eyes steady.

“I’ve been slammed on the rink a million times,” he said, his voice warm and earnest. “I’ve got stuff in my bag to help.”

When I didn’t immediately respond, he smiled—a little awkward, a little shy—but it was genuine. His sincerity chipped away at my defenses, and before I knew it, I found myself reluctantly lifting my hoodie just high enough for him to see the damage.

His expression changed the second he saw the bruise. There was a flicker of something—anger, maybe guilt—but he quickly masked it, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal.

“How’d it happen?” he asked, his voice calm.

I hesitated, then admitted, “Some kid from your team slammed into me before speeding off.”

His brows furrowed, and his bright eyes darkened just slightly.

“Who?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm. “What does he look like? I’ll force them to make it right if I have to.”

“Don’t,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t want to make it worse. Besides, why did he care? He didn’t even know me.

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. He reached into his bag and pulled out a cream. Looking back at me, he held it up, his gaze asking for permission before he did anything.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice soft again.

I nodded, biting my lip. When the cream touched my skin, I flinched at the coldness and the sting.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, his hand freezing mid-movement. There was something comforting about the way he focused, his touch gentle but deliberate.

“Bro, stop flirting with that girl and get on the ice!” a voice from the rink called out.

The boy whipped his head around, his face twisting in annoyance. “Shut up, Nate, or I’ll beat your ass,” he shot back, his Boston accent cutting through the cold air.

Turning back to me, he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry about him. That’s Nate. He’s younger, so… childish at times.” He paused, then offered me that crooked smile again. “I’m Chris, by the way.”

I was still reeling, unsure how to process the interaction. “Maybe I’ll see you sometime,” he added casually. “Ninth grade is starting.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to say.

Chris tied the last of his laces, stood up, and turned to leave. That’s when I saw it—the name stitched across the back of his jersey: Sturniolo. My stomach sank.

“Wait,” I called out, jumping from the bench and grabbing his jersey.

He turned, confused.

“You’re the one who slammed into me on the ice,” I accused, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “How could you sit here pretending to care when it’s your fault I’m hurt?”

His face shifted, a mix of guilt and realization. “Wait, what?”

I pointed at the name on his jersey. “I remember. You hit me and just skated off like it was nothing.”

He sat back down, patting the bench beside him. “Sit,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

Reluctantly, I did.

“That wasn’t me,” he said after a moment, his voice steady. “Matt! Nick!!” he suddenly yelled, startling me.

Two figures emerged from the shadows of the rink. They were identical to Chris, save for slight differences: one was taller, the other a bit more reserved.

“Now, which one of you hurt my friend?” Chris demanded, his voice carrying an edge I hadn’t heard before.

The taller one raised his hands defensively. “Don’t look at me. I’d never slam into a girl.”

The second boy, the same height as Chris, scratched the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “It was me,” he admitted quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Chris turned to me. “See? It wasn’t me.” Then he glanced back at his brothers. “Trust me, I’ll make sure he pays for that.”

The taller boy—Nick, I later learned—rolled his eyes. “Matt probably skated off because he was too scared to apologize.”

Chris smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Also, Nick here would literally never touch a girl.”

The comment made Matt chuckle nervously, adding, “Yeah, Nick’s as gay as they come.”

Nick’s face turned bright red, and he elbowed Matt in the stomach. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no real malice in his voice.

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in my chest easing. “You’re identical,” I said, my voice full of wonder.

Chris grinned. “Yeah, but don’t let that fool you. We’re all very different.”

That was the beginning. I didn’t know it then, but that moment would change everything. Chris and I became inseparable after that night. Ninth grade flew by, each day blurring into the next as we spent more and more time together. He became my person—the one who always made me laugh, who always had my back.

But as the year ended, something shifted.

By the time summer came, Chris and I were practically inseparable. Wherever he went, I wasn’t far behind. From late-night texts to aimless walks through Boston streets, it was like the city itself revolved around us.

Chris had this way of making everything feel lighter, as if the world’s weight could never touch us when we were together. He was magnetic, always moving, his energy as unstoppable as a train. Whether it was cracking jokes or randomly sprinting across the park because his ADHD made him restless, he kept life vibrant and unpredictable.

But the closer I got to Chris, the more I felt something growing in me—something I didn’t want to admit.

I was falling for him.

It started small, like a quiet hum in the background. The way his crooked smile lingered in my mind longer than it should. The way I found myself hanging onto his every word, even when he was just rambling about his brothers’ antics or the latest hockey drama. I tried to push it away, telling myself that what we had was too important to risk.

By the time school started again, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. The feelings were too big, too overwhelming, and they scared me. Chris was my best friend—my person. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if I told him how I felt, and it ruined everything?

I decided it was safer to bury it. To push him away before I let those feelings consume me.

didn’t realize it at first. Maybe I didn’t want to. But slowly, without warning, I began to fade. I started losing weight—faster than I could explain. I stopped eating. The mirror became my enemy. I stopped feeling like I belonged in the world, stopped feeling like I belonged anywhere, especially not in Chris’s world. He was always so vibrant, so full of life. And I—well, I felt like I was shrinking, piece by piece, until I barely recognized myself.

It happened slowly at first. I started skipping hangouts, pretending I was too busy or too tired. Chris noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“Why do you keep bailing on me?” he asked one day after school, his voice laced with frustration.

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve just got a lot going on.”

His blue eyes narrowed, searching my face for answers I wasn’t ready to give. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”

I nodded, but the lump in my throat made it impossible to say more.

As the weeks passed, the distance between us grew. I stopped sitting with him at lunch, started ignoring his texts. My hoodie sleeves got longer, my jeans baggier. I could feel my body changing—getting weaker, thinner—but it felt like the only thing I could control.

Chris tried to reach me, but I kept shutting him out. I thought I was protecting myself, but really, I was just building a wall I didn’t know how to tear down.

The last time I saw him before everything fell apart was on a rainy November night.

He showed up at my house unannounced, pounding on the door until my mom let him in. I was curled up in my room, the darkness of the evening matching the heaviness in my chest. When I heard his footsteps on the stairs, my heart raced.

“Go away,” I said when he knocked on my door.

But Chris didn’t listen. He never did when he thought I needed him. He opened the door and stepped inside, his damp hoodie clinging to his frame.

“What are you doing to yourself?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Is this because of me? Did I do something wrong?”

I couldn’t respond. Instead, I buried my face in my hands, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Chris crossed the room in two strides, sitting on the bed beside me. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a hug so tight it felt like he was holding me together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into my hair. “I’m so sorry if I did this to you.”

I sobbed into his shoulder, clutching at his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart. His arms were strong and steady, and for a moment, I let myself feel safe.

I wanted to tell him everything—that I was terrified of my feelings for him, that I didn’t know how to face the intensity of what I felt. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I sobbed. I just sobbed

He held me tightly, his embrace warm and safe. I cried into his shoulder, the pain and frustration pouring out of me. For a moment, it felt like everything might be okay.

But then he pulled back, his hands on my shoulders. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes, met mine.

He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“This is my fault,” he said. “I thought I could help you, but I’m just making it worse.”

I pulled back, my chest tightening. “What are you talking about?”

“I think…” he hesitated, swallowing hard. “I think it’s better if we end this. If we stop being friends. I don’t want to make this worse for you.”

“No,” I said, my voice rising in panic. “You can’t leave me. You can’t do this.”

“I have to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I hate you!” I screamed, the words ripping out of me before I could stop them. “How could you leave me like this? Like none of it mattered?”

Chris didn’t say anything. He just stood up, white knuckles clenched into fists, shoulders heavy with something I couldn’t name. He walked to the door, pausing for a moment as if he might turn back, but then he left. The sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house, leaving me alone with my shattered heart.

It’s been years since that night. I avoided him, avoided anything that reminded me of him. But I never stopped loving him.

It’s strange how people can haunt you—how their presence can stretch across time and memory, pulling you into a place you thought you’d left behind. I can hear Chris’s voice in my dreams, like an echo. His laughter, that goofy sound that used to be so comforting, now cuts through me in ways I don’t know how to explain.

Senior year began with a weight heavier than ever. My mom’s disappearance left me reeling, and I spent the first few months of school at home, too numb to face the world. By the time I finally returned, it felt like I was stepping into a different life—one where Chris had moved on without me.

I slipped into an empty seat, anxiety clawing at my chest.

Then I saw him.

Chris.

He was taller now, more muscular. His messy hair was a little more tamed, but his crooked smile was the same. When he saw me, his blue eyes lit up with recognition, but there was something else there too—something heavier.

He sat beside me, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. Then he smirked.

“Identical,” he said, the word laced with nostalgia.

My breath caught. I knew exactly what he meant—our first meeting, the joke about him and his brothers. It was like no time had passed at all, but the distance between us felt insurmountable.

“All these years, and you haven’t changed the slightest,” he said, his voice softer now.

I looked down at myself. My oversized hoodie, my low-rise jeans, the way my hair fell in my face. But I knew what he meant. He’d noticed the weight I hadn’t gained back, the way I still hid my body.

“I told you…” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I told you that night to stop doing this to yourself.”

His words hit me like a punch, bringing back memories I’d tried so hard to bury. That hug. His arms around me. The tears.

Chris’s voice broke through my thoughts, louder now. “I left, and you still do this!”

He stood abruptly, his fists clenched at his sides. His blue eyes were glassy, his anger barely masking the pain behind them.

Before I could respond, he stormed out of the classroom.

I sat there, stunned, my mind racing with questions. Did he leave because he thought it was his fault? Did he think abandoning me would fix everything? Why was he angry now?

Matt, sitting across the room, pulled out his phone. After a quick glance, he stood and left too.

Matt always left class. He said it was anxiety, but I’d never been sure. Now I wondered if it had always been tied to Chris. Had they both avoided me because of some unspoken agreement?

The bell rang, but I didn’t move. My body felt heavy, like I was rooted to the chair, the echo of Chris’s words replaying in my head. I told you to stop doing this to yourself.

The classroom emptied around me, but I couldn’t bring myself to stand. My mind was a storm of emotions—shock, regret, guilt, anger. Chris had walked back into my life after years, only to see the version of me I had worked so hard to keep hidden.

He still cared. That much was clear in the way his eyes had softened when he looked at me, even as his voice carried the weight of frustration. But it wasn’t enough to dull the sting of his departure years ago, or the hollow ache of losing him.

I finally forced myself to leave the classroom, the hallways now quiet except for the faint hum of the janitor’s floor buffer in the distance. I walked with my head down, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as if that could hold me together.

The air outside was crisp, the late autumn wind biting at my cheeks as I pushed open the school’s heavy front doors. Clouds hung low, heavy and gray, threatening rain—or maybe snow. I didn’t have a plan, just a need to escape, to breathe.

I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to tell him everything I’ve been hiding for so long. But I can’t.

Because now, it’s too late.

Now, he’s a stranger to me. And I’m a stranger to him. We’ve both become something else, something broken, something beyond repair. But the worst part is that I still want him. Still need him. I still want to be the girl who laughed with him in the ice rink, who let him heal her throbbing ribs.

But I can’t.

The distance between us is too wide now. The years too many. And all I’m left with is this aching, gut-wrenching regret, wishing I could go back to that first time—when everything was simple, when he was just the boy who held my hands and made me feel like I was worth something.

But I can’t. And now, I’ll never be able to.

Chris doesn’t know how much it hurts, how much I still care, how much I wish I could go back to the beginning.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

I rounded the corner of the school, hoping to find a quiet place to gather myself, as if on cue my doubts are interrupted when I heard voices. Familiar ones.

“She’s the same, Matt. The exact same,” Chris was saying, his voice low but urgent.

I froze, pressing myself against the brick wall.

“I thought me leaving would make things better. I thought it was my fault she was doing this. That’s why we stayed away. But now…” His voice broke, and my heart clenched.

“Now that you’ve seen her again?” Matt’s voice was softer, cautious.

“Now that I’ve seen her again, I know I have to fix this,” Chris said. “I have to fix her. I love her.”

The words hit me like a freight train, and I couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped my lips.

The boys went silent.

“Did you hear that?” Matt asked.

Chris didn’t respond. I could hear the crunch of gravel underfoot as he stepped closer, and I panicked.

I turned and bolted, my footsteps echoing loudly against the concrete. I didn’t stop until I was halfway down the block, my breath coming in sharp, painful gasps.

I spent the rest of the day walking aimlessly through the city. Boston was cold and unforgiving this time of year, the streets slick with damp leaves, the sky a dull, oppressive gray. I stuffed my hands into my hoodie pocket and kept my head down, avoiding the curious stares of passersby.

Chris’s voice haunted me. I have to fix her. I love her.

It wasn’t the confession I had imagined all those years ago when I first realized how deeply I cared for him. Back then, I’d dreamed of him saying those words with a smile, his arms wrapped around me in some perfect moment where everything finally made sense.

But this? This felt like pity.

Did he think I was broken? Something that needed to be fixed?

The thought sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through me. He didn’t know what I’d been through. He didn’t know how hard it was to keep going some days, to carry the weight of my own mind while pretending to be okay.

But he also didn’t know how much I still loved him.

When I finally made it home, the sun had set, and the house was dark except for the faint glow of the living room lamp. My mom was still gone—her absence a constant, gaping hole in my life—but I barely noticed anymore.

I kicked off my shoes and trudged upstairs to my room, collapsing onto the bed without bothering to turn on the light. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out reluctantly, expecting a spam notification or an overdue assignment reminder.

But it was a text. From Chris.

“I know you heard me today. Please talk to me.”

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I wanted to reply, to tell him everything I’d been feeling since the moment we met at that rink all those years ago. But instead, I locked my phone and threw it onto the nightstand.

I couldn’t do this. Not yet.

The next morning, I woke to find another text from Chris.

Meet me at the rink tonight. 7 PM.

No explanation, no apology. Just a time and place.

Part of me wanted to ignore it, to keep avoiding him like I had been for years. But another part of me—a part I thought I had buried—wanted to see him.

So at 6:45, I found myself standing outside the rink, my breath visible in the icy air as I stared at the building. It looked smaller than I remembered, its once-bright paint now faded and peeling.

I hesitated, my hand on the door handle. Memories flooded back—Chris’s crooked smile, his warm hands on my bruised ribs, the way he’d made me feel seen for the first time in my life.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.

"You came," he said, his voice low, almost like a question.

I nodded, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my hoodie. "You didn’t really give me a choice."

He let out a soft chuckle, but there was a tremor in it, a kind of quiet pain. "Fair enough."

For a moment, we stood there in the cold, the silence between us stretching like an old, worn-out thread—thin and fragile, yet somehow holding us together.

"I didn’t leave because I didn’t care," Chris said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "I left because I thought I was hurting you. I thought… if I stayed, you’d never get better."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt my throat tighten as I stared at the scuffed floor beneath my feet. "You don’t understand, Chris. It wasn’t you. It was me."

His eyes pleaded with me, and for the first time, I saw the rawness of his hurt. "Then help me understand," he said, his voice cracking. "I can’t stand this. I can’t stand seeing you like this, knowing I might have made it worse."

A wave of emotion rose up in me, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. I fought them back, refusing to let them fall. "You didn’t make it worse. But leaving... leaving didn’t help either."

He didn’t answer right away, but I could feel the weight of his presence as he stepped closer, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps. When he was close enough, he stopped, his blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that left me breathless.

"I’m here now," he said, his voice steady, but there was an undeniable edge to it. "And I’m not going anywhere this time."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted so badly to trust that the cracks in my heart could finally heal. But the fear—so deep, so rooted in the years of silence between us—held me back. I couldn’t let myself fall again, not like this.

"Why?" The word came out barely above a whisper, fragile and unsure. "Why do you care so much?"

His gaze softened, the pain in his eyes giving way to something gentler. Slowly, as if he was afraid to break the fragile moment, he reached out. His fingers brushed lightly against mine, a touch so simple yet so powerful that it sent a shock of warmth through me.

"Because I love you," he said, the words coming as easily as a breath. "I always have."

Time seemed to stop. The world around us faded into the background, leaving only the sound of my heartbeat, racing and erratic. I didn’t know if I could trust it, but the spark of hope—the one I thought had long since gone out—flickered to life inside me. Just for a moment, I let myself believe in it.

Let myself believe in him.

The air in the rink felt different now—thicker, heavier, charged with a kind of tension I wasn’t sure I could handle. My heart was pounding so loudly in my chest I was sure he could hear it.

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

Chris took a step closer, his tall frame towering over me, yet somehow he felt small in this moment—vulnerable, waiting for a response. I looked up into his eyes, those piercing blue eyes that had always felt like they could see right through me, and suddenly, I wasn’t afraid.

“You mean it?” I whispered. My voice sounded foreign to me, barely audible over the hum of the overhead lights.

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

For a second, I thought about all the years I’d spent trying to push him away, trying to convince myself that I didn’t need him. And now, here he was, standing in front of me, telling me the one thing I’d been too afraid to admit to myself.

I reached out hesitantly, my fingers brushing against his hand. His skin was warm, rough in places from years of hockey and restless habits, but it was familiar. Comforting. He didn’t pull away; instead, his fingers intertwined with mine, his grip firm but gentle.

“You broke my heart when you left,” I admitted, my voice trembling.

His face fell, guilt clouding his features. “I know,” he said. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I’m here now. And if you let me, I’ll spend every day proving that I’m not going anywhere.”

I bit my lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. My walls were crumbling, but I couldn’t stop them this time. Maybe I didn’t want to.

Chris took a step closer, his free hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair out of my face. His touch was soft, like he was afraid I might break.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

“I think I fell for you the first time I saw you sitting on that bench,” he said, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You were so mad at me—well, at Matt—but even then, I couldn’t stop looking at you. And when you pulled my jersey and called me out for something I didn’t even do, I knew you were different.”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound surprising even me. “So, you’re saying you fell for me because I yelled at you?”

“Pretty much,” he said, his grin widening. “You were fearless. And kind. And even though you had every reason to hate me—or at least Matt—you still let me help you.”

I felt my cheeks flush, and I looked away, but Chris gently tilted my chin back toward him. “Don’t hide from me,” he said softly.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach at the way he was looking at me—like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

“Chris…” I started, but he cut me off.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly. “Not yet. I just wanted you to know how I feel. And if you’re not ready, that’s okay. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost too much to bear. For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of something I thought I’d lost forever: hope.

I tightened my grip on his hand, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” I admitted, my voice shaking. “But I want to try.”

Chris’s face lit up, his smile so bright it felt like it could melt the ice beneath us. “That’s all I need to hear,” he said.

He stepped closer, his arms wrapping around me in a hug that felt like coming home. His embrace was warm, solid, safe, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself lean into it.

“I missed you,” I whispered against his chest.

“I missed you too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

We stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms as the world outside the rink faded away. For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.

And for the first time in years, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t so alone after all.

A/N: Hello, lovlies! I just want to take a moment to thank you for making it this far—I truly appreciate you. This fic is incredibly close to my heart, especially because it touches on the topic of eating disorders, which often doesn’t get enough attention. I wanted to create a space where vulnerability, especially in love interests, can be explored openly. It’s so important that we see these deeper, more complex sides of each other in stories, and I hope it resonates with you all as much as it does with me.

If you or someone you care about is struggling with anorexia, please reach out to the helpline at [National Eating Disorders Association Helpline: 1-800-931-2237 or text "NEDA" to 741741]. You are not alone, and there is always support available when you need it.

I’m really excited for the chapters to come, and I hope this story gets recognition. Thank you again for your love—it truly means everything to me.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

302 notes · View notes

strangevynl · 7 days ago

Text

NOTICE | k.sm x reader

nerdyboycrush!seungmin x bsf!reader

warnings: eating disorders | anorexia | angst | one sided love.

—————

Seungmin was the epitome of "cool," though not in the traditional sense. He wasn't the jock, nor the rebellious bad boy, but there was something magnetic about him. With his glasses perched perfectly on his nose, messy but somehow deliberate hair, and sharp wit, Seungmin had the rare ability to be both the smartest kid in class and the one everyone wanted to be around. It didn’t hurt that his quiet demeanor gave him an air of mystery that only added to his allure.

Everyone knew Seungmin, and, naturally, everyone had a crush on him. Girls from every corner of the school would flock to him, hoping for his attention. Some flirted, others tried to offer help with his studies, but Seungmin’s eyes—those expressive brown eyes—always seemed to drift toward someone else.

And that someone else was “you.”

You had been best friends with Seungmin since middle school, and somehow, over the years, your friendship had deepened. He was the person you could laugh with, vent to, or simply sit in comfortable silence with. Yet, no matter how long you had known him, no matter how often you walked beside him between classes, he never seemed to see you the way everyone else did. He saw you as his best friend. His "just friend."

Meanwhile, every girl in school—whether it was the popular cheerleader, the shy new transfer student, or the class president—would make it a point to talk to Seungmin. They’d ask him questions about assignments, casually compliment him, or simply drop by his locker to chat. You couldn’t help but notice how his face would light up when they spoke to him. He was always so kind to them, so patient, so *interested.* And no matter how much you told yourself you were happy just being his friend, it stung every single time.

One day, as the two of you sat under the big oak tree in the school courtyard during lunch, a girl from your class—Hannah, who was known for having a sharp eye for cute boys—walked up to Seungmin. She had a flirty smile on her face and, without skipping a beat, leaned over to say something that made Seungmin laugh.

You sat there, pretending not to notice the slight tightening in your chest. You focused on your half-eaten sandwich, not wanting to give away how affected you were. But as you took a bite, you couldn’t help but glance up at Seungmin.

And, of course, his eyes were on her. He was looking at Hannah like she was the only person in the world, his smile widening as she said something else. You could almost hear the unspoken words in his expression, his interest in her so obvious it made your heart ache. For a brief second, his eyes flickered to you, but it was just a glance, a fleeting moment before his attention returned to Hannah.

You looked down at your hands, willing the heat that had rushed to your cheeks to subside. “It’s fine,”you told yourself. “You’re his best friend, and that's enough.”

But deep down, it wasn’t enough.

🎐…..

A week later, you were walking to your next class when you bumped into him in the hallway. Seungmin’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly adjusted his backpack strap, offering you a sheepish smile.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t see you there,” he said, his voice warm and familiar, just like it always was.

You managed a tight smile, trying to act like you weren’t just thinking about his constant attention toward other girls. “Hey,” you replied, glancing up at him.

“Hey, are you alright? You look a little… distracted,” he said, his brow furrowing in concern. You could tell he was genuine, but you also knew he didn’t understand what you were feeling. He never did.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, shaking it off. “Just… thinking about stuff. You know how it is.”

Seungmin nodded, oblivious to the weight of the unspoken words between you. "Right, right. So, I was wondering if you wanted to study together later? I’m trying to get ahead in physics. I know you’re like, the best at it.”

You hesitated. The offer made your chest swell with warmth because, for a moment, it felt like you weren’t just his "friend"—you were something more. “But am I?”you thought, shaking the doubt out of your head.

"Yeah, that sounds good," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions in your chest. "I’ll meet you at your place after school.

As Seungmin gave you one of his genuine, effortless smiles, you tried to ignore the ache inside. You were his best friend, and you’d always be there for him. But sometimes, just sometimes, you wished that the way he looked at you could be the same way he looked at everyone else.

The study session later that day was almost painfully normal. You sat next to Seungmin at his desk, working through problems in physics like you always did. But this time, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his eyes lit up whenever another girl walked into the room. His smile was easy, effortless. His attention was easy to earn, if you were a little more than just a friend.

By the end of the session, as you packed up your things, you felt a knot in your stomach. Seungmin didn’t notice, of course. He never did. He was too busy asking if you wanted to grab a snack or if you were free for a movie on the weekend.

But as he smiled at you, a little too wide this time, a quiet voice whispered in your heart: “Maybe this time, he’ll see you differently. Maybe, just maybe, one day, he will.”

But until then, you’d be right by his side, even if he couldn’t see the feelings you kept hidden behind the smile.

🎐….

Days turned into weeks, and your growing distance from Seungmin became more apparent, even to you. You didn’t spend as much time with him after school, no more study sessions or spontaneous trips to the convenience store. He tried to reach out a few times, but you brushed him off with excuses. “I’m tired,” you’d say. “I have a lot of homework.” It wasn’t like you were lying; it was just that the homework had become the perfect excuse to hide from him, to hide from everything.

You felt safer alone in your room, away from the world that reminded you of everything you weren’t.

The weight loss continued, and soon your clothes hung loosely from your frame, the reflection in the mirror becoming harder and harder to recognize. Your ribs were more pronounced now, your arms thinner, your face sharper. For a fleeting moment, you thought you might actually be happy with the changes. Maybe if you could just get thinner, *prettier,* then maybe—just maybe—someone like Seungmin would finally look at you the way you’d always hoped.

But deep down, you knew the truth. It wasn’t just about your body it was about the part of you that had been slowly fading away, trying to fit into a mold you were never meant to. You’d been chasing something you’d never get, and each pound you lost felt like a part of your soul slipping away with it.

🎐….

One afternoon, while sitting alone at lunch in the library, you heard footsteps approaching. Your heart sank when you looked up and saw Seungmin standing there, his gaze soft but filled with something you couldn’t quite place. You hadn’t seen him in a while, and he seemed different somehow—distant, like he wasn’t sure how to approach you anymore.

“Hey,” he said, his voice tentative. “Mind if I sit with you?”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to smile. “Of course.” It was a hollow gesture, though, and you both knew it.

Seungmin slid into the seat across from you, setting his lunch tray down with a small clink. He didn’t start eating right away. Instead, he just looked at you, his eyes tracing your face in a way that made you uncomfortable.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his tone neutral, but there was a tightness around his jaw. “I know I haven’t been the best at… well, understanding, but I thought we were still friends. I thought we could talk about anything.”

You didn’t know how to respond. The words that had been boiling inside you for weeks were stuck in your throat, the anger and hurt mixing with a deep sadness you didn’t know how to explain. You wanted to shout at him, tell him how much his rejection had destroyed you, how much it still hurt every time he laughed with another girl, how much you wished you could just be someone he could care for the way you cared for him.

But instead, you just stared at him, your fingers fidgeting with the corner of your book.

“I’m fine, Seungmin,” you said, repeating the lie you’d been telling yourself for months. “I’ve just been… busy.”

He frowned, leaning in slightly. “I don’t believe you,” he said softly. “You’re not fine. I can tell.”

You could feel the heat rise in your face, a mixture of guilt and frustration. You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to mind his own business. But you couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said quickly, the words rushed, almost pleading.

Seungmin looked at you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. You could see the concern in them, but you couldn’t bear to face it. The last thing you wanted was for him to pity you.

“I’m worried about you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve changed. And I don’t think it’s just because of school.”

You froze. There was no way he could know. He couldn’t know the lengths you’d gone to in order to change yourself, to try and fit into some version of “perfect”that you knew wasn’t even real.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, this time your voice firmer, even though your heart was breaking. “Just leave it alone, Seungmin. Please.”

His expression softened, but there was still a flicker of something behind his eyes—something that you couldn’t decipher. “I’m not going to leave it alone,” he said, his voice more determined now. “I’m your friend. And I’m here, okay? Whether you want to talk about it or not.”

For a second, you almost wanted to tell him everything—how you’d felt so invisible for so long, how his rejection had torn you apart, how you’d convinced yourself that losing weight, changing who you were, would somehow make him see you. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to show him the broken pieces of you that you were desperately trying to hide.

Instead, you just looked away, trying to keep the tears that threatened to spill under control.

“I don’t need your help,” you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Seungmin’s eyes widened slightly, as if your words had stung more than you realized. “You don’t need my help?” he repeated, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t need anyone?”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your shaking hands. “No. I don’t. I’m fine.”

There was a long silence. Seungmin seemed to search your face, as if waiting for you to say something more, to open up to him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“I’ll leave you alone, then,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “But just know, I’m here. Whenever you want to talk.”

And with that, he stood up, his tray untouched, and walked away. You watched him go, your chest tight with a mixture of relief and guilt.

But as the door to the library closed behind him, a cold, heavy emptiness settled over you. For a moment, you thought about calling out to him, about telling him everything. But you couldn’t. The distance between you had grown too wide. You’d built up too many walls.

And no matter how much you wanted him to see you, to see the real you, you couldn’t tear down the ones you’d put up, not now.

---

The weeks dragged on. Your weight continued to drop, and while you were more withdrawn, you started to notice people around you especially Seungmin looking at you differently. Some of the girls who used to talk to him started whispering, glancing at you with something that resembled envy.

But you didn’t care about them. You didn’t care about anyone except Seungmin. You had spent so long wishing to be someone who could be noticed, someone who was worthy of his attention. But even now, when you had finally become someone different, it still wasn’t enough.

And deep down, you knew something even more painful than that: He might never look at you the way you wanted him to. But the hardest part was realizing that you might never look at yourself the way you wanted to either.

——

That night, you found yourself sitting at a study table, surrounded by half-open notebooks and the faint buzz of other students working in the background. But your mind wasn’t on the textbooks in front of you. It was on him—Seungmin.

Yes, you were back at his place after he requested you to study with him. you can never seem to restrain yourself when he asks you for something it was always one of his charms, his round boba eyes looking at you pleading beside the lockers for you to study for the exam with which ended up with the both of you here. Studying like the old times

You had tried so hard to push those feelings away, bury them deep, pretend you were fine, but every time you saw him—every time he smiled at you or talked to you like nothing had changed—it became harder to ignore. It wasn’t the rejection that had hurt the most. It was the fact that it felt like he only saw you as his best friend. Just a friend.

You stared down at your notebook, the words blurring together, your hand shaking slightly as you tried to focus on your notes. You couldn't anymore.

The words bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of you, and before you could stop them, you turned to Seungmin, who was sitting across from you, tapping away on his phone. His usual easygoing expression was there, but tonight, you could barely look at him without feeling the weight of everything you had been holding back.

"Seungmin…" Your voice trembled, and you hated how fragile it sounded. He looked up, sensing the change in tone, his brow furrowing in concern.

"Yeah?" His eyes softened, and in that moment, he looked so oblivious to the storm swirling inside you.

You couldn’t do it anymore. "You have no idea, do you? How much this… all of this has affected me."

He blinked, clearly confused. "What are you talking about?"

You inhaled sharply, your chest tightening as frustration and pain flooded through you. You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care about holding it in or pretending you were fine. "When you rejected me, Seungmin… it crushed me. You said you liked me, but not that way, and it’s like you’ve been treating me like nothing changed, but everything changed! I didn’t just get over it! I couldnt”

Seungmin’s face went still, and for the first time, you saw something flicker in his eyes—something like guilt. But it was too late for that. You had to keep going, or you’d never find the closure you needed.

"I lost so much weight after that. You know that, right? I thought if I changed how I looked, maybe I’d be good enough for you. Maybe you’d see me differently. But no matter what I did, it didn’t matter, because you’ll always just see me as your friend! I was so stupid to think you could feel the same way about me. I was just a friend, and that’s it. I wasn’t even enough to make you see me as “more."

You felt the words hit the air like a slap, the raw emotion in your voice a stark contrast to how carefully you’d kept it buried for so long. The room felt heavy, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you’d said too much.

Seungmin was quiet. Too quiet. You dared a glance at him, only to see his face twisted in an expression that was too hard to read.

"You…" His voice cracked, and he looked down at his hands, his fingers pressing into the paper on the desk. "I didn’t know… you really felt that way. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, you know that, right?"

Your heart hurt hearing him apologize, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too late. “I know you didn’t mean to,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But you still did. And it changed everything.”

The silence stretched between you two, thick with all the unsaid things. You watched Seungmin, who was struggling with his words, looking at you like he didn’t know how to fix this, because maybe, in some twisted way, he couldn’t.

"I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t enough," he said quietly, his voice sincere, but it still felt distant. "I… I just never saw you the way you wanted me to. I see you as my best friend. That’s all I can see."

Those words—those exact words—were the ones you had dreaded hearing from the moment you’d confessed. You had known it all along, deep down, but hearing it from his lips, right in front of you, was still a punch to the gut.

"Yeah," you whispered, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. "I know."

The realization hit you hard. He would never look at you the way you wanted him to. No matter how much you changed, no matter how hard you tried, he would always just see you as his friend. And somewhere inside, you knew that was the part you had to let go of.

Seungmin looked like he wanted to say more, but you couldn’t let him. You had already said everything you needed to say. And as painful as it was, you felt like a weight had been lifted—finally, the truth was out.

Without another word, you stood up from the table, your hands shaking as you gathered your things. Seungmin called your name as you walked away, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t.

It was time to stop pretending. Time to stop chasing someone who would never see you the way you wanted to be seen. Time to start moving on, even if it meant leaving a piece of your heart behind.

🏷️: none yet!

#skz angst #stray kids angst #stray kids ff #skz fluff #seungmin angst #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #stray kids smut #seungmin x reader #skz angst seungmin #kim seungmin smut #skz drabbles #skz au #skz fic #skz soft hours #skz hard hours #skz soft thoughts

210 notes · View notes

paloma-ascends-into-hellfire · 10 months ago

Text

eating disorder harm reduction

no one ever compiled this so that it what we are doing today. for people with eds and people whose loved ones do. please note: i’m not a doctor. this is a compilation of things from books and ed resource sites.

for people whose loved ones have an eating disorder:

try to make sure they know these things.

try not to force them to eat, they might feel uncomfortable eating in front of people. also, risk of refeeding syndrome.

if their life is in danger and you are seeking help for them, consult the person beforehand to make sure they will be safe and give them a heads-up so that they aren’t startled (especially if they’re neurodivergent! giving them notice will aid control!)

offer them ways of controlling things aside from food - practice consent, include them in conversations, don’t talk about them behind their back, compliment their makeup or hair.

be patient. the person may be irritable from lack of sleep, feelings of depression, worthlessness, etc., or malnutrition.

keep in mind that you can’t tell if someone has an eating disorder by looking at them. people of all weights do - only 17% of anorexics are underweight - and also, men and non binary people can also have eds.

general:

drink lots of water, especially if you’re drinking lots of caffeine.

drink some electrolytes at least once a week - gatorade, electrolyte tablets, coconut water, doesn’t matter, just get it into your system.

if you are getting dizzy or flushed and can feel your heart beating, quick carbs will raise your blood sugar - sweets, bread, fruit, juice, non diet soda, whatever. keep snacks around pls.

your brain uses 400-500 calories daily. eat more than this.

take your supplements!

you still need protein, have an egg or something.

don’t take adderal or insulin unless you are actually diabetic or neurodivergent, because you are raising the price by buying them and denying access to those who need it.

throw a towel over the mirror. it’s not worth it if it’ll cause you anxiety.

try to limit disordered behaviours like body checking, purging, and weigh ins.

practice good dental hygiene.

put your scale somewhere where you have to actively look for it to weigh yourself.

avoid social media and for your sake don’t go on pro ed tiktok or tumblr or twitter or insta.

get a buddy who also struggles with the same thing if possible to support each other.

get regular medical check ups (if you can afford it)

practice things within your control - makeup, hair, clothing, etc.

push your rules - eat 5 minutes before your time, or 50 calories over your limit.

for people with restrictive disorders (e.g. anorexia):

do weight and resistance training at least twice a week to prevent musculoskeletal conditions such as osteoporosis.

don’t drink on an empty stomach.

try to put gaps between fasting periods.

don’t fast for more than 72 hours.

wear lots of layers to keep warm.

eat an extra 100-200 calories on your period if you menstruate.

have a metabolism day.

take care of your hair.

as horrifying as this is to many people, please go to the hospital if you’re experiencing heart problems or if you’re passing out for more than 30 seconds.

for people with purging disorders (e.g. bulimia):

if you would like to purge, wait 15 minutes first.

after purging: drink lots of water - the emptiness you feel is dehydration. don’t brush your teeth but rinse your mouth out, preferably with an alkaline mouthwash or baking soda mixed into water. do something you want to do, like reading a book or watching a show. don’t smoke. don’t have anything acidic. eat a banana or some chocolate or a rice cake to keep your blood sugar levels in check.

if you vomit blood or your vomit looks like coffee grounds, this is a sign of internal bleeding. you could be drowning in your own blood from a hole in your esophagus, essentially. go to the hospital or call 911/999/the emergency number in your area.

stay safe everyone. i hope this helps. also, i do not use these tags - i have them blocked - but i am using them so that people on these tags will find this because they need it most.

#ed harm reduction #harm reduction #ed recovery #pro recovery #notpro4n4 #tw eating disorders #tw ed not ed sheeren #pro a4a #ana trigger #ana rant #tw anorexia #tw bulimia #anamia #⭐️ving #edhr

362 notes · View notes

blixabargelds · 4 months ago

Note

things you said while we were driving plssssssss (4 whatever ship u so desire)

hellooo did this for clegan specifically for me and @swifty-fox's au we've been cooking we lov this version of our boys hope u do too gdfjff vague context: modern au where they are both unwell 🙃 this also ended up being 1.5k whoops

cw anorexia

John finds him in their usual spot. The camera nestled in the far corner of the yard hasn’t worked for months, operating solely as a fear mongering tactic. There’s a nook beneath it, tucked between the outside wall and the yard fence. It’s a good place for hiding. For trading cigarettes for gum, for kissing. Gale has only used it to hide lately. He sits against the wall, pulling at the hem of his fraying t-shirt, watching the strange glide of his pale skin slide over the bones of his hand, flexing his knuckles. There’s a rustling in the foliage beyond the fence. Gale looks up, expecting to see a rat, and instead comes face to face with John for the first time in weeks. He’s grinning. Gale blinks at him, bewildered, heart kicking in his chest, as John is grinning right at him. He’s got a beanie pulled down low despite the summer air, and he’s brandishing honest to God bolt cutters.

“Jesus, John,” Gale says.

John winks as he cuts the fence. “C’mon, baby. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

...

“You look worse,” John says, tapping his restless fingers against the steering wheel and fiddling with the stereo.

“Ain’t as bad off as you,” Gale says. “What’s with the moustache?”

John laughs. Turns to Gale with eyes gleaming. “Straight razors, baby! World is your oyster.”

Gale rolls his eyes and smiles. He drops his head back against the carseat, pulling his sweater closer around his body as the breeze rushes in from John’s open window. There’s some upbeat old song rattling its way out of the tiny speakers, John singing along loudly as he vibrates in his seat. Gale rolls his head on his neck lazily to look at him. He seems okay. Curls grown past his brows, flopping down over them in gorgeous, loose spirals. He’s got shadows under his eyes, purpling and deep, but he’s boundless with energy that might be infectious if Gale weren’t so hungry. He watches as John dances in one place, grin still plastered below that stupid little moustache.

“You okay, Bucky?”

“Peachy,” John smiles at him. He squints, then, looking at Gale with scrutiny, and far too much time with his eyes off the road. “You okay?”

“Mm,” Gale says. He shifts a little, feeling his seatbelt dig into his hip bones. “Better now you’re back.”

“Huh?” John says over the roar of the wind. “Sorry, what was that? You gone soft on me, Buck?”

Gale groans in false irritation. Says quietly, “Heard me the first time, John.”

John throws his head back and laughs. Leans out the window like a dog and hollers down the open road, one hand on the wheel and the other on the door, and Gale drags him back inside as he swerves. The midday sun beats down on the hood of the car, trees rushing past, and as Gale settles back into his seat he watches, and tries to identify them. He grows tired after a while. Tucks his legs up and leans into the passenger side door, eyes drifting shut.

“Where we goin’, Bucky,” he says, keeping them closed.

“Takin’ you on holiday, doll,” John says. “Gonna find you a diner and feed you up. Or you can watch me, because I’m fuckin’ starving. Then we’ll get a motel, one of those ones with the heart shaped beds. And I got a friend down South, real sweet kid, you’ll like him, Buck, you’ll really get on. He’s kinda loud, y’know, but I know you like that, really, and he’s got all these fuckin’ baseball cards. Which ain’t your thing, I know, but, he’s real sweet. Lives with his boyfriend, Kenny, he’s got the biggest garage you ever seen. But we’ll get the motel first. One of those ones with a claw foot tub. But we’ll get to a diner first, ’cos I’m starving. You starving, doll?”

Gale hums in vague acknowledgement. The motion of the car rocks him into a nodding state, and he thinks he might sleep like the dead with nobody interrupting to check on him.

...

“Buck.”

Gale shrugs off a hand on his shoulder.

“Buck.”

Gale groans, tucking his face further into the loose hood of his sweater, turning away.

“Shit- Gale. Gale.”

“Wh’sit?” Gale mumbles.

“Aw, Jesus, thank God,” John is saying, continuing to jostle Gale roughly from his doze. Gale shivers as he comes to, entire body laden with the aching remains of sleep. He can’t seem to shake it off fully. He opens his eyes, sees John’s pinched face swimming in front of him. They’re still in the car, but it’s stopped moving. “You fuckin’- been parked here half an hour, baby, you wouldn’t- fuck, you’re freezing.”

Gale is. He becomes aware of it like falling; gradually, then all at once, full-bodied shudders ripping through him, making his teeth chatter. He hugs his arms tighter around himself, fingers brushing against his shaking ribs. He looks groggily out of the window. The light outside is milky, but not as if it’s fading- more like it’s just begun to birth.

“Wh’re are we?” he says. His jaw is clenched against the chill in his bones, pushing his words out in odd slurs.

“Uh,” John’s head whips around. As he comes further into focus, Gale can see the shadows under his eyes have darkened still, a vaguely wild expression in his face. “I don’t know. Been drivin’ all night. I think- fuck, I think I had the window open too long or somethin’, Buck, I turned around a while back and your lips were all blue.”

Gale absently presses trembling fingers to his mouth. “’M fine.”

“We gotta find that diner,” John says. “Hey, Gale, look at me. When’s the last time you ate, huh? Can you remember for me, darlin’?”

Gale scrunches his eyes shut again. Tries hard to think. “Y’mean solid food.”

He hears John hiss. “Ah, shit.”

Gale grunts around the pain in his stomach. “Don’t go back, Bucky, please.”

“We’re not, don’t worry, I wouldn’t,” John says. He’s shuffling around, now, and Gale reopens his eyes to see him leaning into the back of the car, knocking aside various debris and pulling out a bag of chips. Gale wrinkles his nose, and shakes his head. “Look, I know you’re stubborn, but I’m freaked out, alright, baby. You don’t look so hot, Buck.”

“’M fine,” Gale says. He musters up more conviction, sitting straighter in his seat despite the stiffness in his spine. “Just give me a jacket.”

“I haven’t got one, Buck, it’s fuckin’ July.” John drops the bag of chips, continuing his root around until he finds a can of coke. Gale sets his jaw at the glaring red of it. “Just half. Buck, c’mon. American staple, huh? Goes with the whole trip. Just a bit of sugar, baby, then we’ll find that heart shaped bed. It ain’t half as bad as that shit you get back there, is it?”

Gale’s nostrils flare. John’s impossible when he’s got a bee in his bonnet, and Gale takes the offending can if only to shut him up; get him driving once more. He cracks it suspiciously. Takes a sniff.

“Windin’ me up, now, Gale, it ain’t gonna hurt you,” John says. He turns to the wheel either way. Shoves the key in the ignition and looks back at him with a pointed scowl.

“You ain’t never cared before,” Gale says. He’s still looking at the tab of the can with disdain.

“Never been this far from fuckin’ medical advice with you before,” John says. “Didn’t think I needed- fuck, was this stupid?”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Gale says. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Look.”

Gale bites down on his bravado. Inhales deep and shaky, fingers denting the can with the force of his grip, the little click click click of the bending metal pacing with the thrum of his heart. He takes a sip. Nausea washes over his tongue like thick honey. Every sugary pop of the soda on his taste buds tingles all the way down to his empty, clenching stomach, heavy in it, and poisonous. He hasn’t tasted anything so good in years. John’s eyes are boring into the side of his head as he turns the car out of the shoulder. Gale drinks down another gulp, larger and stinging. So, so sweet. He lowers the can, licks his lips, gathering the stray, sticky droplets, and tries not to moan in wretched pleasure. He turns to John instead, watching his jaw grind against the tug of a smile.

“Okay?” Gale says.

“Okay when you stop damn shakin’,” says John.

He puts his hand on Gale’s leg, leaning past the gear stick as they veer back onto the highway. His long fingers reach around to the soft underside of Gale’s knee, his thumb brushing gently at the lower part of his inner thigh. Gale tries not to bounce his leg at the feel of sugar filling his veins.

“Heart shaped bed, huh, Bucky?” he says.

John smirks at the road. “Drink your fuckin’ soda.”

Gale curls his bony fingers over John’s hand on his thigh. Grimaces, and takes another sip.

“There he is,” John says. “Y’alright, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” Gale smiles. “Told you so.”

#wild eyes #clegan #mota #masters of the air #mota fanfic #john egan #gale cleven #frankiefic #tw ed

70 notes · View notes