#body insecurity

[underoospeterparker]

Ahhh I luv your work! Can you pls do a plus sized reader x finnick where reader is a bit self conscious due to maybe something another victor said or how the capitol people were

thank you!! and thanks for requesting <3 i love this so so so so so so much!

victor!finnick odair x plus sized!victor!fem!reader

tw: body insecurity!! don't read if you are uncomfortable please

"Is something wrong?" Finnick said, his voice deep and uncharacteristically quiet. His face looked raw as he stared at you, silently pleading with you to tell him something. Anything.

You forced a smile. "Nothing's wrong," you replied, averting your eyes from his heavy gaze and focusing on the mirror in front of you.

They were right, you thought. You were ugly. Too ugly to be with Finnick, anyway. He was skinny where you were curvy, he had muscles where you had rolls of fat. He had a pretty face and you had a chubby one. You were nothing special.

He tilted his head, unbelieving. "Honey," he murmured. "Please."

The elevator doors opened and you stepped out, away from him and his piercing look. You glanced back, and the hurt on his face was evident as you turned around again. "There's nothing wrong," you whispered.

Later, you lay face down on your bed, head shoved into your pillow. Your tears were silent, but even if they were loud, they would have been muffled anyway.

You heard a knock on the door. Finnick. "Can I come in?" he asked, too good for his own good.

Knowing he wouldn't stop until he found out what was wrong, you relented, a sigh so heavy he could hear it from outside the room.

He pushed open the door softly, his head peeking out from behind the frame. Spotting you on the bed, he immediately crouched down by your side, pulling you to face him with ease.

Finnick's gaze softened at the tear tracks on your face. "Oh, sweetheart," he crooned, his voice oozing with honey. "You gotta tell me what's wrong."

He cupped your cheeks in his warm palms, nothing in his eyes but care and concern. "I don't know," you whimpered, and his heart shattered. "They were just-"

His face hardened, his body becoming almost unresponsive except for the occasional thumbing away of your tears. "They? Who's they, honey?"

You sobbed, and he climbed into the bed with you, wrapping his arms around you. "It's okay," he cooed, "you're okay, baby."

Once you felt okay to speak, he pulled away from you, just slightly. "Some of the victors," you said, hesitating slightly. He motioned for you to keep going. "They were telling me awful things. About how I didn't deserve you. How I was fat, and ugly, and-"

Finnick cut you off with a finger to your lips. "And you believed them?" he asked, incredulous. "Honey, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, tightening his hold around you. "You're absolutely gorgeous, alright? Just the way you are."

"Really?" you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"Really. And if anyone tells you otherwise, I'll kill them myself."

You giggled wetly, pressing your face into his chest. "By the way," he said, "I'm just curious. Who said this to you?"

"I'm not sure," you admitted, wiping the remaining tears away from your cheeks. "I think they were the two from District Three. Why?"

He smiled. "Just wondering."

[balkanradfem]

Looking back at past insecurities

So as you all know, I am today very wise and mature woman; I say smart things, and I have good opinions. However, there was a time when I was but a wee child, with no insight, but I still had opinions. And insecurities, like all female children, I was worried about my looks.

One of the things I was upset about, was the appearance of my legs. Women's legs were shown in media as the main attraction back in the early 90s, when I was consuming movies and cartoons. Even in animation, a signal that a beautiful woman was behind the corner, was a dainty, curvy leg being shown from behind the wall, to distract and lure an unsuspecting character. My leg was not curvy or dainty. My legs looked muscular. They were also very hairy. I would look at them and feel like maybe I am not a girl enough, maybe I got too many traits passed down from my father, and now I didn't look like a girl, and I wouldn't count as one, and I could never pass a successful female cartoon character, a thing that was very important back in the day.

It's also, when you're a teen, you're convinced that any visual flaw you have is the reason why nobody will ever love you. It's funny now, but when you're 14 it feels real. So I believed I would be left behind by the world, because my legs were so unsightly and I shouldn't ever allow anyone to look at them, the disgrace. The shame.

I have since lived a fair bit of my life, and found that my legs, not only look muscular, they're very strong. They give me immensely good balance, because my feet are also large, and my thighs hold a lot of weight, so my center of balance is very low. Nobody can push me and have me topple over, I stand still. I rarely fall down because of how naturally good my balance is. I was able to go running, even after being sick for months, and I could do it for half an hour without training, just because of how naturally strong my legs are. I can do leg exercises without any issues, even without being consistent with it. Now I'm mad that my arms are so weak and I can't lift things as well as I can use my legs. My ability to walk, run, keep balance, climb, exercise, have been invaluable to my life. I'm never looking at my legs with anything but admiration because they're a powerful asset to me.

Another thing I had felt a bit bad about, was the size of my nose. I thought it was too big for my face, and it wasn't really. It was too much media with tiny nosed women that have swayed my opinion of how big women's noses are allowed to be. But, I thought I'd look better with a smaller nose, and that it was making my face be ugly, so it was a reason to drown in sorrow. (I say this jokingly. I only felt a little bad).

I look at the mirror now, and I'm laughing because this nose is big so I could breathe really well! I really thought as a teen that I would do better with a smaller nose? That's where my breathing goes trough! My lungs are, blessed and healthy, and this means I am not struggling to breathe, I am able to fall asleep breathing trough my nose easily, I can blow a lot of phlegm when I'm sick all at once, and clear my nostrils easily, this is a very functional and good nose to have! And it's the correct size for my face, I would look ridiculous with any other nose than my own.

A lot of my opinions have changed, because I've aged and experienced life, I've met a lot of people who didn't have what I had. A pair of healthy legs, a good functional nose. I've befriended people who had something wrong with their leg, or had one missing. People who struggled with breathing. I've met older people who had trouble with their hips, arms, shoulders, back, eyes, skin. I sadly, got some parts of me non-functional too, so now I can't run or walk as I used to, and I experience problems and pain on almost daily basis. So now it feels very silly to be critical of appearance of perfectly good, functioning, healthy and helpful body parts; they're giving me great joy and ability to do whatever I want with them!

And I also believe I never would think to feel shame about the appearance of my nose, or my legs, if I hadn't been exposed to media that was very particular about how women, or female characters could look. It was like being told 'this is whats expected of you', and I couldn't reach it. I was a teen, and teens are more sensitive to appearance than any other demographic. It made me distressed. There was nothing I could do but feel like something is wrong with me, and I would be proclaimed ugly because of this severe flaw. Somehow males were never subjected to standards that harsh; they would receive onscreen representation love regardless of the muscles in their legs, or sizes of their noses, I wonder why is that.

It would have been so nice to see hairy, muscular, big nosed women in the media when I was a kid! Then I would look at my legs and nose and think 'yes, I am just like that female superhero, I am going to kick ass when I grow up'. Wouldn't that have been nice to grow up with?

[leezlelatch]

I didn’t see if your request are open or not, and if they aren’t I am sorry.

But if they are..

Chubby Fem reader x Secondo?

Blessed Be 🧿 🪬

Secondo x plus size f! reader. Body insecurity, comfort, fluff, many Secondo kissies.

Secondo sits upon a plush couch, his legs crossed. He adjusts his cuff and lays a hand upon his knee, dark sunglasses shield his eyes even while inside the boutique, and his expression remains stoic as always. Salespeople hover around nervously, unsure whether to offer him anything, or remain silent as he waits for the woman he came in with to come out of the changing room.

It's so quiet, one could almost imagine crickets, and Secondo strains to make out even the softest shuffle from within the room you were currently confined. A worker to his right glances from him to the closed changing room door several times, her feet bouncing in place before she takes a step forward. Secondo holds up his hand, silently, and the woman stops, her face pale.

He gets up, gloved fingers adjusting his waistcoat, and he steps toward the door, knuckles rapping against the wood. "Amore," his voice is quiet, a gentle rasp. "My eyes are bereft of you. Will you not come out?"

There's a beat of silence, and then the door opens with a creak, your face peering out, brow furrowed. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment. "Nothing is working...," you murmur.

"What is not working, my dove?"

"Everything," your voice is exasperated, pained as you hide your form behind the half open door. "This isn't the store for me."

Secondo arches a brow, his sunglasses subtly lifting. "Ah, then we shall go elsewhere, sì? Do not feel as if you must pretend to like the selection for my benefit."

"The selection is fine. These just aren't clothes for someone like me..."

"I am not understanding." Secondo attempts to push the door wider and you stop it. The quickness with which you attempt to shield yourself from him, the widening of your eyes, the shame in them, they stop Secondo cold.

"No," he says. It is not in protest to you, and it is inflected with devastation, worry, love. He pushes through the door, and you make a noise as you're crowded into the small space, the door firmly closing behind him.

Secondo takes off his sunglasses, his eyes moving over your form. You're wearing a dress, a lovely shade of green, and it is form fitting. The skin under your arms spill over the cut of the sleeve, breasts filling all available space, and every roll and bump is accentuated, your belly stretching the material. He can see the outline of your belly button. And then his eyes return to your face, and you look so sad. But the way your shoulders are curved inward, and you try so hard to not look at him, he can see you're steeling yourself. Waiting for an unkind word. Waiting to be told that you are too fat, too ugly. And his heart is in agony.

"Amore. Amore mio," he coos, stepping closer. "Look at your Papa." His hand cradles your jaw, turning you so carefully to face him, and it takes a moment, but your rapidly wettening eyes meet his. "Ah, sì. There she is. My most beautiful one." His fingers brush along your skin.

You open your mouth to protest, to pull away, but he only holds firmer, his other hand falling to your waist. "No, my dove. This is when we talk. We promised to be honest with each other, you remember, hmm? When I was so stubborn, too much of a cold man. But you have kept me warm by the fires of your heart, no?" His thumb wipes away a stray tear from your cheek. "Let me be your hearth."

"I should be doing more," you say, voice hushed and thick with tears. "I should look my best for you. You take me to these nice places, and I don't want to disappoint you."

"Amore. I have never wanted you to be more than yourself. I take you to nice places because I want to spoil you, but you must tell me when you feel uncomfortable." His hand drops from your face to join his other at your waist, slowly exploring your curves, curling underneath your belly, squeezing at the plushness of your bottom, gliding over the thickness of your thighs. "There is more than one definition of healthy. What I am concerned about, is that you feel confident, not only in what you are wearing, but what you are eating. I want you to have that extra treat than deny yourself because you think it fits some outdated notion that I have no interest in. And if you want to explore different habits, I am with you. Your journey is mine, no matter what form it takes."

You let out a breath, eyes straying to the ceiling as you try and reign in your emotion. But it's so hard not to cry, so hard to just...let it all go even though you want to fall into the sweetness of his words. The gentle reverence of his touch. "I just...want you to be proud of who is on your arm."

Secondo steps forward, leg between your thighs in order to press you against the wall. You squeak in surprise, and he smiles, tilting his head to ghost his lips over yours, his breath hot against your skin. "I am proud. So proud, amore mio. This Papa does not deserve the blessing of your presence. The deliciously sinful sensation of your body pressed against his own." His fingers unzip the dress, closing the distance with a quick kiss when you sigh in relief as he pulls the tight material from your body. "I wish to drown in the beauty of you. Lose myself within the softness of your skin. You see, amore? Can you not see? I am undeserving."

His lips press featherlight to your neck, and then he bites, revelling in the way you arch against him. "You are so beautiful. Oh, my dove. Sì, sì, così perfetto per me..." The dress falls from you, pooling onto the floor, and he wraps his arms fully around you, hands flat against your back as he presses you against him with a desperate fervor, bodies melting against each other when he finally takes your lips in a passionate, deep kiss. Secondo licks into your mouth, swallowing any sound you make. His hand presses against your stomach, and he grabs at your flesh, kneading and caressing, worshipping you with hands that have overseen powerful rituals in Lucifer's name.

To Secondo, this is the most potent magic of all.

Secondo pulls away very slowly to brush his nose against yours, peppering tiny kisses to your cheeks. You take a shaky breath, fingers clinging to his jacket. "I love you," you tell him, lips pink and puffy and so perfect, he has to take another taste.

"And I love you. All of you. You are mine, hmm? You understand your Papa?" He looks deeply into your eyes, pinning you with a stare, that one that reminds you that Papa Emeritus II is just under the surface. It thrills you.

"I understand," you confirm, a smile finally crossing your features, one that he mirrors as his thumb once more strokes over your cheek.

"Good girl," he whispers.

Secondo picks up the dress and tosses it to the side, giving you space to change back into your clothes. He takes the edge of your shirt and helps you bring it down, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind as he continues to rain kisses upon every inch of your face he can reach from this position. It makes you giggle, so he does it more.

When the two of you leave the changing room, the workers are at the front, and thankfully say nothing as Secondo makes no effort to return his sunglasses to his face, that white eye rooting them to the spot as he guides you from the store. Will it be much of a surprise Monday morning when the manager receives an email from corporate about including plus sizes?

Secondo spends the entire ride home touching you in some manner, kissing you, lavishing you in the attention you rightfully deserve. Because your body is his temple, and he plans to worship it for the rest of his life.

You are more than worthy. You are perfect. You are his home.

[ashersbraincell]

Body and voice insecurities fucking suck because you just want to enjoy videos/photos of ye good old days and every single one is RUINED by the fact that you stick out like a sore thumb with the sheer putridity of your ugly ahh mug and your annoying fucking voice

[oceandaffodils22]

Here’s a ficlet I wrote and posted on twitter for the pregnancy day of the past Stewjoni Biology Week organised by @deaddoveobikin 💚

Hope you enjoy some soft obikin with my beloved Preggy-Wan!

The war has finally come to an end, and the two generals can now indulge in some well deserved rest.

Or at least, they would if only Anakin did not let his oh-so passionate horniness enfold and - quite literally - fill his partner, who’s now expecting not one, but two babies.

Needless to say, despite the terrible timing, the splendid news is nothing but a breath of fresh air for the couple.

And so, days, weeks, and months go by between missions (and complaints from a certain overprotective boyfriend) - “Now, Anakin, enough with this nonsense. I am pregnant, not on the verge of death. I am perfectly capable of doing my duty, as always. Nothing’s changed.”

Little does Obi-Wan know, though, that a rather… big change is awaiting him indeed - and not simply metaphorically speaking. The more time passes, in fact, the larger and rounder the Jedi Master gets, engulfed in piles and piles of robes and cloaks, in a clumsy attempt to hide his growing belly.

There is no need, in truth, since everyone is well aware by now of the inextricable bond between the two Jedi - pregnancy and babies included. Yet, Obi-Wan seems not quite ready to be open about it, feeling ever more uncomfortable and insecure each passing day.

Alas, it is known that the stubborn Stewjoni old man has a habit of withdrawing behind a wall of apparent self-confidence and serenity - hard to tear down even for those closest to him. (Hard, yes, but not impossible. Especially for an equally stubborn partner…)

And so it is that on a particularly warm night, Anakin’s usual deep slumber slips away mere hours after its arrival, leaving him half awake in a surprisingly empty bed.

Rubbing his eyes, he looks around, struggling to see through the enveloping darkness, aided by the feeble and delicate light coming from the window - that very moonlight now gently caressing his beloved’s beautiful features.

Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to have noticed the ardent look his mesmerised boyfriend is giving him. Rather, he stays still, sitting on the soft beanbag chair in the opposite corner of the room, his lovely grey-blue eyes fixed on an indefinite point.

Anakin’s gaze, instead, can’t help but linger on the blessed view before him: Obi-Wan’s glorious belly and breasts - only veiled by the lace bra Anakin gifted him for his birthday - shining in all their magnificence.

“Anakin! What are you doing up so late?” The older Jedi breaks his lustful fantasies all of a sudden.

“Well, I could ask you the same thing.” Anakin slowly approaches him, his eyes still fixed on his body. He’s about to make one of his usual naughty jokes, but he stops the second he notices Obi-Wan’s uneasy look as he puts his hands on his belly, almost as if to cover it.

“Hey, is everything okay? Seriously, why are you awake? Wait, are you all right? Do you feel sick or-“

Obi-Wan gives him a tender smile. “I’m fine, dear one. No need to worry. You should go to bed. I’ll join you in a moment.”

But Anakin Skywalker is not one to easily surrender.

Thus, he hops on the beanbag as smoothly as possible, wrapping Obi-Wan from behind before the poor pregnant man has the time to realise what his pesky lover is doing.

“Anak-“ he instantly breathes out, only to relax mere seconds later as he feels Anakin’s soft lips stroking his cheek.

“Master, will you tell me what bothers you? Who do I need to punch?”

“Anakin!” The older man lets out a scandalised yet amused cry. “There is absolutely no need. Truly.”

“Then what is it? What’s the problem?”

Obi-Wan sighs, resigned - relieved, actually - to finally let it all out. “It’s- I’m not quite sure. I don’t even know how to explain it. Everything is so new and I have this… constant feeling of being heavy and big and… awkward. And-“

He lowers his gaze, embarrassed. “Oh dear. Now I feel incredibly foolish and ungrateful. I’m sorry, Anakin. This is all so disgraceful of me. I should only be happy and thankful for this wonderful gift the Force has blessed us with. I truly am. Please, forget what I said. It’s probably the hormones.

See? I told you you should go to sleep instead of listening to this old man’s pathetic rambling.”

Anakin’s lips curve into a fond smile. “Well, the thing is that this old man also happens to be my beautiful boyfriend, who I’m very much in love with.”

“Even this… big and round?” Obi-Wan’s oh-so tenderly surprised eyes turn towards him as Anakin can’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, Anakin, I’m not. I believe I’ve made it quite clear. Now, could you please be serious?”

“Sorry, sorry! I will, I promise. It’s just that… It’s so obvious to me.” The younger Jedi smiles, his hands gently caressing his lover’s belly. “Of course I love you. How could I not?

Obi-Wan, you’re beautiful. You’re literally glowing! And yes, you’re soft and round... And I like you even more like this,” Anakin whispers as his enchanted gaze falls on Obi-Wan’s perfect body.

“I mean, I stare at you in front of everyone. I just can’t help it! I can’t stop looking at you.”

“Really? When?”

If he didn’t promise him to be serious, Anakin would surely chuckle again - because how can his Master be so maddeningly cute and oblivious?

“All the time. Even Windu noticed it! And offered me his best scowl by the way, thank you very much,” he huffs, pretending to be annoyed. “ ‘Focus, Skywalker!’ Well, it’s a little bit hard when my boyfriend is so kriffing perfect!”

“Oh, dear one.” Obi-Wan’s voice is as soothing as a balm, his eyes ever so charming and loving.

“Great, I’m blushing now…” Anakin murmurs, embarrassed, as he feels his cheeks burning furiously. “Now who’s the awkward one?”

This time, it’s Obi-Wan’s turn to chuckle and show him his profound love. So he leans in slowly, and kisses him with that mix of passion and gentleness only he is capable of.

“Thank you, my dear,” Obi-Wan whispers right after, finally letting himself go to his safe haven.

“You know I’m always here for you, my love. All three of you,” Anakin says softly as he puts a gentle kiss on his lover’s head.

And so they stay, their hands intertwined in one another on the perfectly round belly protecting the babies the two parents are so eager to meet.

[manedstripedcomic]

Maned and Striped - 076 - "Just the way you are"

Sometimes, you forget that you are beautiful for other people, and you need to be reminded of it. That's what happened to Lucas not too long ago, poor boy couldn't find anything attractive about himself, thinking Zack was the handsome one in the couple. Zack had to remind him of how much he loves him and how much he finds him attractive.

[suspiciouslynotapastor]

He heard what y'all were saying.

[denerturee]

Beware of this kind of person!!!

People who laugh and make fun of people's bodies are the worst DEMONS you can find...

[candywife333]

There’s Never A Right Time

This story is inspired by Say Goodbye by Chris Brown. I was in my feels and had a nice dramatic set of ideas that made me feel like writing angst. It’s a one shot because I have commitment issues with finishing my fanfics in case you guys haven't noticed.  It will be a pretty long fanfic. Here is the teaser. Hope you guys enjoy! 

Summary: 

Jungkook hadn’t thought about the woman he had left for a long time. He had gotten secretly married to her and all it took was a shadow of distrust to make him abandon her. If the world questioned the sanctity of her character, then the world had to be right. Right? He hoped he was right at least. Because if he wasn’t , he had lost the best thing that had ever happened to him in his life. As he continued to work as a top idol, artist, and entrepreneur time went by. He had other women but they never lasted long in his life. When he attended an award show with the rest of the members, he saw a girl there. Another artist. Definitely someone he knew he had never seen or heard of before. Who was she? Something about her was familiar. Maybe her eyes. And then it struck him, making him go as cold as a corpse. He had seen those same eyes somewhere else alright, in the mirror when he looked at his own reflection every morning. 

TEASER

The lady stood in front of him and the other members. She exuded a powerful aura, regal and dignified. These qualities were rather an unusual combination for idols, especially Korean idols so he was a little starstruck. Something that was rather unusual for any member of BTS to feel. She couldn't have been more than 18 years old though based on her appearance. The girl must be mixed race because she had very unconventional features for an idol. She had dark thick curly black hair that trailed to her hips and her skin reminded him of strongly brewed milk tea. The even more startling features were her plush lips, a prominent straight nose graced by a diamond stud, and double lidded eyes fringed with what seemed to be thick eyelashes. 

She was sporting an unusual outfit as well; a customized skirt and bra set that he only saw gypsies and belly dancers wear. A gold belt adorned her waist sitting lower on her hips with a diamond belly piercing highlighting her lithe , toned figure. He couldn't stop looking at her because strangely enough something about her was familiar. 

He made eye contact with her accidentally and what he saw made his heart palpate against his chest. He had seen those same eyes every day of his life in his mirror. Her doe eyes were too similar to his own. They say that eyes are a mirror to the soul, but her eyes were a mirror to his own. 

Who was she? He felt a stir of panic as their eyes met and she bowed down low. She was of average height, but her presence seemed to envelope the room since other well known artists,  idols, and staff greeted her politely. The stage director came near her bowing. To Jungkook’s surprise , she spoke in fluent Korean though she seemed to be a foreign artist. 

The stage director and the girl were a few feet away from BTS when the stage director exclaimed , “How is your mother doing Cha-ya? She must be worried since you have only promoted up til now in the US, Thailand, and India. Are you having a comfortable time adjusting over here?”

The girl’s eyes lit up in glee as she responded with a little chuckle, “It has for sure been a different experience than the U.S. and India for sure. The stage is so organized and everything is so close by for promotions. I am enjoying it to the max. Mom told me to eat well and sleep 8 hours a day. You know how doctors are like. She’s constantly checking in on me to see if I am stressed out. Saiyan and Arang are also being such worrywarts since this is the first time I’ve been here.”

The stage director continued in mild surprise, “Are they your brothers? I thought you were an only child ?” 

She guffawed in a cacophonous fashion which made several idols and artists look her way, in awe and confusion. Jungkook thought that she was a rather different type of artist. Very uninhibited by social norms. Clearly she had not been brought up in Korea. 

“Director, we are actually triplets but both of them were born a few minutes ahead of me so they insist that they are my older brothers. We are very tight knit and they will be coming to visit soon. Saiyan is a pretty popular model right now and so he will be finishing his Engineering degree at Washington State and rush over here for Seoul fashion week. Arang on the other hand finished his MBA/Medicine dual degree, so he will be managing a chain of Health and Wellness Resorts over here. “

The director’s jaw slid open in an exclamation. He sputtered in disbelief, “ How are all of your siblings so well studied and managing jobs like that? You must be the only sibling purely in entertainment.” The girl deliberated for a second before responding, “Mom made sure we all had solid educations before pursuing these types of careers. She is always skeptical of fame, and she brought us up to be extremely disciplined, stable, and loyal individuals. I am actually finished with my course in Law (focus in international law) ,but currently all that is stalled for the time being because of my activities in entertainment.”

As Jungkook was hearing this conversation along with the other artists in the room who were curiously eavesdropping as well, the Director continued in awe, “Your mother seems to be an extremely strong lady. I knew she was a doctor  who seemed extremely rich and well off, but she must literally be a goddess to give birth to such high achieving kids. What about your father, what does he do?” 

Cha-ya scoffed with a quizzical, somewhat bitter look, “He actually left her before we were even born. We found out who he was when we all finished college. Our mother made sure our upbringing was never lacking. We saw him a lot on the Korean and world news growing up but never knew that he was our dad. You know,  he is someone whose popularity never fades strangely enough. He sold his soul for fame, so it is to be expected perhaps.” The director looked so intrigued and invested as he prodded for more info, “ Who is he? Definitely we would know who he is? Is he a singer, actor, businessman in the industry over here?” 

Cha-ya’s entire expression became rigid and mask-like as she replied in what seemed to be a disinterested tone, “ We do not consider him our dad, so neither my brothers, nor I would like to claim him. He was a sperm donor. That is the long and short of it. Who he is, is as irrelevant as what today’s weather forecast is. He betrayed my mother and trusted the world over her. She went through so much pain just to be by his side. And when she thought the pain would end, he left her. I have to be on stage, so if you will excuse me now Sir.”

 She side stepped the director and went closer to the entrance of the main stage. Jungkook could feel the bile and vomit rising to his mouth. She had been pregnant when he had left her? He had three kids, that he never knew anything about? This grown beautiful artist was his daughter?And he had two more accomplished sons?  His parents had grandkids? And how the hell did she brith triplets?!! Wouldn’t her vagina tear ??????!!!

 His world was crashing down on him as the rest of BTS stared at him with stark grief painted across their faces. They all remembered her name, it was unforgettable.

Before he could process anything, he heard the booming noise starting up on the stage. Wait, wait up a minute! This track was the most popular pop/ rock release of the year all over the US. He saw his daughter he never knew he had on stage in an elaborate headdress dancing with precision and fluidity on stage. She had no backing track, the other idols could tell. This was live. Only one artist sang with no backing track in all her performances this year in the US. She was on MTV and all other award shows, becoming sensational, l hitting all headlines for singing with no backing track usually acapella . Shadow, that was her romanized name, but in all Asian countries she went by Nee-Da. 

She had risen to the top for the past 3 years for her herculanean work ethic , creative marketing/business acumen. She was known for her cutthroat ruthlessness in the music industry, mostly aided by the fact that her mother was known to own and manage the world’s most innovative new security system, Poison. He did not know what to be more shocked about at this point? How could he not have recognized her? Seeing her in real life was different from seeing her on stage with all the makeup and ornamentation on. 

She was the pop-star of the era, a business mogul with a net worth of close to 300 million dollars at such a young age due to her clothing and makeup line. She was his daughter. How could this even be possible? Jungkook could feel his identity crisis coming. How did he birth the most iconic popstar of this generation, who as of now hated his guts? What scared him even more was the realization of who her mother was.

The lady he had left, the woman he could never forget even in his dreams was her mother. And her mother owned the world’s scariest personal security company, Poison. The company had revolutionized personal security by founding a bracelet and many other gadgets that created magnetic repellant force fields around individuals. It was notorious for being marketed only towards woman and could only be activated when the device recognized the XX chromosome, so the device would never protect men. 

Basically, women all around the world who had these devices now had a programmable magnetic forcefield around them which shielded them from the outside world. Firearms, Tasers, and aggressors were all repelled by this technology. Women could safely walk out in the middle of the night as long as they had a device, which was continuously made affordable at its very inception by the reclusive owner of the company. 

With this  technology ,the owner instantly became the most powerful business woman, icon, feminist, that the world knew. That is in fact all the world knew. That she was a woman. But nobody knew anything else about her, she was an elusive person who didn't show up to most media events. Her personal motto was that the products advocated for themselves. Her financial officers and other company higher ups showed up in the media, but she never did. Most people in the world didn't even know how this woman looked like, because of how reclusive she was. 

All people knew was that she was Cha-ya’s mother and that she had two other kids. 

What Jungkook got to know that made him almost go into a stroke was the sheer fact that Cha-ya’s mom was his Y/N. The one whose heart he had broken years ago. 

Y/N was a billionaire of gargantuan proportions, a net worth that made his look like chump change.  His daughter was the iconic popstar of the century, someone whose craze and popularity surpassed his own in his heyday. Which meant that his son Saiyan was the new model who had just walk in Paris Fashion Week as the face of Armani. The same one that Jimin’s daughter had raved about the other day. Which meant that his son Arang became the CEO of the exclusive wellness resort, Ellysium , a resort only catered to the richest of the richest. All this calculations overwhelmed Jungkook to the point that there was only one reasonable outcome. He fainted. 

[misespinas]

As absurd as it is, cutting my hair short has really showed me how much I actually conform to gender roles. My hair is like a grown out pixie, I used to have this hair in high school (except styled in a more GNC way), but now I constantly look at myself and think “I don’t look cute.”

I never had this problem in high school, even when I suffered from body dysmorphia. I never thought I didn’t look “cute” or “feminine” enough. But now I find myself having to wear makeup every day (mascara, lipstick) in order to be more comfortable. It’s as though if I’m lacking in performative feminity somewhere, I have to “make up for it” elsewhere.

I’m curious how common this is for other people, because this hair length used to be my comfort cut years ago, but now my hyper awareness of how I’m perceived by others makes me feel “unfeminine” and unattractive even though that has never been a problem for me in the past

[tea4ts]

could never be in a band without hiding my face bc someone would inevitably find a bad picture of me and suddenly im 13 again

[fitnesflag]

Embracing Body Positivity with Science 🌟🦋

Hey beautiful souls, let's spread some positivity and talk about why it's essential to be proud of your body, just the way it is. 🌈💕

Self-Acceptance: "Learning to be proud of your body is crucial for mental well-being," says Dr. Kristin Neff, a psychologist. "Self-compassion involves accepting yourself fully, including your body, with kindness and understanding." 🌺💖

Body Diversity: Dr. Linda Bacon, a researcher in body image and health, emphasizes the importance of embracing body diversity. "There is no one 'ideal' body type," she explains. "Every body is unique and deserving of love and respect. The keyword is not about conforming to societal standards; it's about celebrating diversity." 🌍🌻

Health at Every Size: "Health comes in all shapes and sizes," notes Dr. Deb Burgard, a psychologist specializing in eating disorders. "The keyword is not about achieving a certain weight or size; it's about prioritizing health and well-being, regardless of your body shape or weight." 🍏🌟

Media Literacy: Dr. Carolyn Becker, a researcher in body image and media, highlights the importance of media literacy in promoting body positivity. "Media images often perpetuate unrealistic beauty standards," she says. "By critically evaluating media messages and surrounding ourselves with diverse representations of beauty, we can challenge harmful stereotypes and embrace our unique beauty." 📺💪

Self-Care: "Taking care of your body is an act of self-love," says Dr. Marsha Linehan, a psychologist. "Nourishing your body with nutritious foods, staying active, getting enough rest, and practicing self-care rituals are all ways to show appreciation for your body and prioritize your well-being." 🍓✨

[hekatiane]

I am absolutely radiating. Why can't you see?

[barbie-necromancer]

I hate how much space i take up

[succubusjuice]

✨️⭐️🌟⭐️✨️

[mapis-putellas]

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 2897

Warnings: body image issues. Quite detailed too, so be careful and look out for yourselves.

Summary: After you tear your acl, your mental health takes quite a severe hit. [Requested]

Notes: one more draft to go after this, then we is done for a little while

It was no secret that Alexia was the epitome of fitness. Every muscle seemed to have its place on her body, sculpted from years of dedication on the field and in the gym. She was renowned for her strength and endurance, and her intense daily workouts left her with abs sharp enough to carve ice. Her legs were powerful, capable of sprinting up and down the pitch for ninety minutes straight, and when she wrapped them around you, every single coherent though you had immediately leaves your mind. It was impossible not to admire her—no, to adore her for it. She didn't just look incredible; she carried herself with a natural grace, a quiet confidence that made her strength seem even more alluring.

She was up before the crack of dawn every morning, lacing up her trainers and stretching quietly in the hallway while you mumbled sleepy protests from bed. And she'd just smile, soft and affectionate, bending down to press a kiss to your forehead before heading out. Sometimes, she'd even sneak a second workout into her day, returning to the gym after training if she was feeling restless. It was her way of clearing her mind, finding her center amidst the stresses of her intense schedule. Her body was her temple, her mind, a fortress—and she was diligent in caring for both.

You were in good shape, too, of course. It was a necessity as a professional footballer, but you didn't feel the same love for exercise as Alexia did. To her, fitness was a passion; to you, it was a means to an end. You'd lace up for runs, lift weights, and do the drills, but it was all about maintaining strength for the game, not about striving for the chiseled perfection that Alexia seemed to attain effortlessly. You had some definition—your muscles were toned in places, and you were proud of the fitness you had. But you didn't have a six-pack, or the rock-hard thighs and sculpted arms that Alexia did. There was softness to your body, a gentle curve that felt miles away from the physique she held herself to.

You'd grown to accept that, too. Sure, some days, you'd catch a glimpse of Alexia in her workout gear, fresh from a morning session, muscles rippling under her taut skin, and you'd feel a pang of envy. But it wasn't enough to change how you viewed yourself. You might not have the carved-out, intensely toned build that she had, but your body was yours, and that was enough. You nourished it, rested it, treated it well. Alexia adored you for who you were, and she'd always made it abundantly clear that you didn't need to change a thing. So, you held onto that, content in the comfort of her steady admiration and your own quiet acceptance.

And then it happened.

*

Tearing your ACL was more than a setback. It was a wrench thrown into everything you knew about yourself, your career, and your confidence. The physical pain was intense, yes, but the mental toll? That was a different beast altogether. The moment the diagnosis came, you were handed a new path, one that demanded you start over, essentially relearning how to walk, run, and move in ways that had once come effortlessly.

Your recovery plan was strict. "Get stronger," the physical therapist had told you. "Anything you can do to support that knee." The aim was to build strength before agility, to make sure that when you eventually stepped back onto the field, your knee would hold up. And to build that strength, you needed more muscle.

So you followed the program. A different nutrition plan meant eating more, much more than you were used to. It was a meticulous routine of high-protein meals and heavier weights, adjusting your body to a new rhythm. The change in your body was immediate and striking. Muscle mass took time, but the weight gain didn't wait for anyone. It wasn't just muscle; some of it was fat, too. Your once lean and toned frame grew softer, more solid, and the athletic lines you'd been so familiar with blurred into something different. Every time you caught yourself in the mirror, the difference seemed glaring.

You tried to remind yourself that it was part of the plan, and in some ways, it was working. The muscle you gained gave you the stability you needed in your knee, and as you got stronger, so did your confidence in moving. But it was a far cry from what you were used to, and the internet, naturally, had a field day with it. Photos started surfacing, snapshots of you out and about or in training, and the comments came fast and merciless. Every little flaw was picked apart: a fold in your chin, the curve of your waist, the size of your thighs. Strangers felt entitled to judge you, to dissect every inch of your body in ways that left you reeling.

It got to you. How could it not? The comments slipped into your thoughts, lingering like a shadow every time you ate, trained, or even looked at yourself in the mirror. Even the smallest gestures became tainted by this newfound self-consciousness. In the shower, you'd notice the places that felt softer. In the gym, you'd feel acutely aware of the way your body didn't look like it used to. And it followed you home, creeping into the space you shared with Alexia, a place that had once felt like a sanctuary.

Alexia, in her usual affectionate way, was none the wiser. She treated you exactly the same, her hands roaming freely over your body with the same warmth and adoration she'd always shown. But every time she touched your waist, your stomach, or the soft flesh of your thighs, you'd feel a pang, a quiet discomfort that you tried desperately to ignore. You told yourself it was silly, that she hadn't even noticed the change. But each time her hands grazed over the parts of you that felt different, the ones the internet was so quick to call out, you couldn't help but brace, almost flinch.

When Alexia would lie beside you on the sofa, her head resting on your thighs, the weight of her presence suddenly felt heavy, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. You'd struggle to enjoy the moment, fighting the urge to shift away, to hide. Or when she'd wrap her arms around you from behind, resting her head against your shoulder, and you'd feel her fingers press softly into your stomach, all you could think of was whether she felt the difference. If she noticed the extra softness there.

Then, there were the times she wanted to be closer, when her hands wandered a bit further, her gaze lingering with the kind of adoration that used to set you at ease. But now, each brush of her fingertips over your skin, every glance that she stole felt like a magnifying glass on every insecurity you'd grown to harbor. It was as if the comments you'd read online were imprinted on you, and every time Alexia's touch lingered, they echoed in your mind.

You tried to bury it, to keep your discomfort hidden beneath the surface. Alexia never let on that she'd noticed anything different; if she did, she was remarkably patient, waiting for you to open up. But you couldn't bring yourself to admit the insecurity gnawing at you. She didn't seem to mind, so why should you make her aware of something that, to her, didn't exist? So, you hid it, smiled through the lingering self-doubt, and tried to keep up appearances.

But it was exhausting, living in constant vigilance, battling an inner voice that refused to quiet. And as much as you wanted to shake it, to silence the nagging insecurities, they lingered, shadowing your every thought.

*

Alexia's gaze was intense as she leaned over you, her body pressed to yours, the warm weight of her presence grounding you in place as her lips moved insistently against yours. It was a familiar rhythm, one you usually found yourself melting into. Normally, her touch—firm yet gentle—would have had you feeling nothing but desire, lost in the anticipation that only she could draw out in you. But tonight, you found yourself bracing against her, your mind elsewhere as self-doubt seeped into every crevice of your thoughts.

In the months since your injury, your body had changed. The rehab program had brought new strength, but also unexpected curves. You felt softer than before, and no amount of repetition to yourself that it was necessary, even healthy, could shake the unease when you looked in the mirror. Stretch marks that had once been barely visible now mapped their way along your thighs and hips, undeniable reminders of the ways your body had adjusted, healed, and grown. But rather than pride, you felt exposed, vulnerable, as though these visible changes were flaws rather than symbols of resilience.

Alexia's hands moved purposefully down your sides, her fingertips grazing the hem of your shirt. The familiar touch that once filled you with security now left you tense. She had been so patient, so understanding, never pressing you to go further. You hadn't made love since before the surgery. First, it was because you couldn't physically handle it. Then, as you started healing, there was always some excuse. You'd kept her at arm's length, letting yourself be the one in control, making sure her attention stayed solely on her own pleasure. You'd hoped it would distract her, keep her from noticing the hesitation that lingered in your own movements.

But tonight, Alexia's determination to close the distance between you was clear. Her hands, more insistent than before, slid up the curve of your waist, drawing you closer, pulling you back into the intimacy you'd once shared without question. The air felt heavy with the unspoken, and you felt the edges of your own defenses starting to fray, your discomfort edging into something you couldn't suppress.

When she tugged at your waistband, her intention was unmistakable, and your body instinctively pulled back as your voice rose, pleading, "Stop." It was barely more than a whisper, but the tremor in your tone cut through the haze between you, and Alexia stilled immediately. Her hands halted as she pulled back, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and yearning. Her breathing was still ragged as she leaned back, moving to her knees, studying you with furrowed brows. The way she looked at you, raw and concerned, was almost too much, the shame twisting inside you like a vice. She asked gently what was wrong, her voice softened, but the words sat heavy in the air.

Your hands flew to your face, covering your eyes in an effort to hide the turmoil, but you felt her move closer, her presence warm and unwavering. Her hands reached for you, wrapping around your shoulders as she drew you to her chest, her bare leg slipping behind your back as she cradled you against her. One of her arms slipped under your legs, tugging you sideways so that you were cocooned in her embrace, sheltered and safe.

The tears you had been holding back spilled over, and you stifled your sobs against your palms, feeling Alexia's gentle sway as she rocked you. Her hand stroked up and down your back, a steady rhythm that eased some of the tension from your body. You clung to her, desperate for the comfort her touch provided, feeling your breath catch as you tried to force yourself to calm down.

There, in her arms, you knew that hiding wasn't an option anymore.

"What's wrong, amor?" her voice was so tender that the words you'd been holding back spilled out before you could stop them. Choking on each syllable, you told her everything—how much you hated the way you looked, how every curve felt wrong, how the stretch marks on your thighs and hips felt like a betrayal. You admitted that fueling your body had become a battle, that you'd started skipping meals, working out to the point of straining your knee, forcing yourself to push through the ache just to feel worthy.

"I spend so much time," you said, your voice breaking, "just standing in front of the mirror, analysing everything. Picking myself apart until I can't stand it anymore. I can't even..." Your voice faltered, thick with tears. "I can't even look at myself."

Alexia's hold on you tightened, her fingers digging slightly into your back, as if to keep you grounded. Her eyes never left your face, absorbing every raw word, her own eyes brimming with pain, reflecting the hurt you'd been carrying.

"I didn't want you to see me like this. I didn't want you to look at me without clothes because... if I hate what I see, then... then surely you would too." The admission slipped out, a final, aching confession. "Maybe if you just waited... if you could just hold on a little while longer, I'll be back to how I was before. And then... then it'd be okay."

But before you could finish, Alexia cut you off, her voice firmer than you'd ever heard it, startling you with the sharpness of her words. "Don't you dare say that," she whispered, her tone fierce with a hurt that mirrored your own. You flinched, and she immediately softened, her fingers brushing your cheek as she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'm sorry, amor. I didn't mean to scare you. But you're wrong," she said, her voice still laced with intensity. She tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze, her brown eyes holding you captive. "Please, just listen."

As she adjusted you slightly in her lap, holding you close, she wrapped her arms around you, drawing you into the comforting circle of her warmth. You nodded, still sniffling, your fingers curled into her shirt as you leaned into her touch.

"You are beautiful," she said firmly. "Siempre. Every day. Every moment." You opened your mouth to protest, but she pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you before you could interrupt. Her gaze softened, her thumb brushing away the remnants of your tears as she continued.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see someone strong, even when you don't feel it." Her hands slid down your arms, squeezing gently. "These arms? They hold me, support me, even when you're feeling like this. And your legs? I know you think they're different now, but to me, they're perfect." She moved her hand down to rest on your thigh, tracing small circles with her thumb. "Do you remember the times I've rested my head here, just because it's where I feel safe?"

You bit your lip, feeling your resolve waver as her words seeped into the cracks of your defenses.

"And your stretch marks?" She leaned down, her lips brushing over your thigh, a gentle kiss that made you shiver. "They're proof of what you've been through. Proof that your body is fighting, that you're healing. They're beautiful to me. You are beautiful to me."

Still, the doubts clawed at you, whispers of insecurity that wouldn't quiet. She saw the uncertainty in your eyes and, as if reading your thoughts, she brought her hand up to cup your face, her gaze locked with yours.

"Please, amor," she murmured, her voice almost a plea. "Let me show you."

You could barely bring yourself to nod.

With that, she kissed you, her lips moving slowly, reverently. Her hands cupped your face, her fingers tracing the lines of your jaw, holding you as though you were something precious. And with each kiss, each soft murmur of adoration, you felt a little bit of the weight start to lift.

She coaxed you to lie back, settling you against the pillows, her hand trailing down to link with yours, her fingers warm and grounding. As she leaned over you, her lips found your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses that sent warmth spreading through you. Her lips traced every inch of exposed skin, reverent, tender, making you feel seen in a way you hadn't allowed yourself to feel in so long.

“I love this," she murmured, her fingers tracing over your hips, the slight curve of your waist. "Every part of you is beautiful to me."

She kissed the stretch marks on your thighs, her lips brushing over them with a tenderness that brought fresh tears to your eyes.

Her hands remained steady, her fingers tracing over your body as if memorising every curve, every line. She didn't rush, allowing you to sink into the feeling of her touch, to let yourself be held, to let yourself be loved without hesitation or restraint. She murmured soft affirmations, telling you how much she adored you, how lucky she felt to have you, her words anchoring you to the here and now.

And somewhere in the midst of her gentle worship, you found yourself relaxing, the tension in your body easing as her love wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You felt her hands against your sides, her lips pressing tender kisses to your skin, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel beautiful.

As she continued, her lips pressing gentle, adoring kisses over every inch of your body, you knew that healing wouldn't be immediate, that learning to love yourself again would take time. But with Alexia by your side, holding you, loving you, showing you the beauty she saw in you, you felt a glimmer of hope that one day, you might see it too.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @silentwolfsstuff @simp4panos @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan