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pascalsbby · 1 year ago

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CARNAL

Carnal Masterlist / Masterlist

Summary: 1.7K / dbf!joel, mention of eventual dark!joel, f!reader (everything you could ever want, just trust me <3)

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap (24/50s), female masturbation, joel masturbating, dominate & aggressive joel, cam girl, pet names (kitten, birdie, sweetheart, darlin’), praise kink, he talks you through it, talk of: ass play, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v, sucking fingers, tit fucking, spit, edging, kinda stalker joel, pure filth.

Holy fuck this is filthy… just porn with a (surprising) plot.

“I never wanted a quiet, sensible sort of love. I wanted to be devoured.” - Beau Taplin

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“Oh kitten. You’re a fuckin’ slut, aren’t ya? I don’t think seein’ how I could ruin your three holes is enough swee’heart, I need more of you.” Both of his massive hands were squelching against his spit-covered cock, pumping up and falling heavily down onto his thick thighs, his knuckles tightening, squeezing out the spit and precum between his fingers as he gripped harder.

His breathing was turning almost whimper-like, your favorite. His deep Texas accent always presented itself when you got him worked up like this, right before he spurted thick white ropes across the computer screen, stomach hitching and cock visibly throbbing. “Oh fuck, oh fuc-k Birdie,” he would let out. Sometimes you were lucky enough to catch his asshole puckering as he emptied himself, if he was positioned just right in his office chair.

“What’s a big, bad man like you doing whimpering for me?” You cooed, smirking at the computer screen. He could see you, all of you, spread eagle for him, cunt glistening with thickening slick, turning whiter every time you brought your fingers in and out of your hole, every once in a while reaching deeper to wet your asshole. He always moaned when you did so. His moans were deep, guttural. What a dirty fucking perv.

But still, you wanted to see him, you imagined his mouth falling slightly open as he squeezed his eyes shut, fucking deeper into his hands, chest heaving.

You could tell by his build he was at least in his late 40’s, pushing away the thought that he was around the same age as your dad. Not married, obviously. No kids, or if so they were already out of the house.

Figures, as he was sat in front of his screen, ass-naked every Thursday night for the past three months. He found your profile on the cam website and has only touched himself to you and the filthy pictures you send him nearly every day, since. He says he likes the way your stomach looks soft, how when you turn around and spread for him your back rolls form ever so slightly, and how the two dimples on your lower back are, “callin’” his name.

“Fuck baby. Shut the fuck up ‘n open your mouth for me,” he demanded.

You did as he said, sticking out your tongue to show him that you wanted his spend to fall down your tongue and land right between your spread legs. You wanted to push it in your whimpering hole and keep it there.

“Oh what a good girl,” he praised, nearly purring.

He watched as the saliva dripped between your breasts, bulging out of the top of your nearly see-through black dress, and he tried to imagine what his cock would look like between them. How warm your throat would feel as he stuck his fingers down it until he collected enough spit to make fucking between your breasts easier. Not that he particularly cared whether you were in pain or not, but he imagined your tiny throat around his thick fingers would feel good. Slapping the head of his cock against your face, seeing it’s outline in your throat as you choked on it.

He cried out in pleasure as a small amount of cum dripped out of his weeping hole, using his other hand not wrapped around his cock to collect it. He wiped it down his shaft, using it to further edge himself. He sulked deeper into the chair he was sitting in, making sure not to lower his head in pleasure too much. He didn’t want you to see him.

You loved moaning for him, whimpering and drawing out his screen name as he talked you through your orgasms- talked himself through his own.

“Let me see ‘em sweetheart. Take off your dress for daddy ‘n let me cum one more time on your pretty tits, yeah?”

His mind wandered, what color would your nipples be, how would they feel swelling under his tongue? What would your pussy smell like? Licking lines between one tight hole and another, weeping and wet- eventually having your arousal run down his chin wetting his patchy and graying beard. Your cum drying on his lips, sticky against his neck. He moaned breathlessly.

“Mmm daddy, you see, I would love to, but our hour is up, and I’ve gotta go. What a shame,” you pouted at him. He had a truly worrying number of orgasms for a middle-aged man, another and he might fall right over. “Send me an extra 80 and I’ll find some time to sneak away to the bathroom tonight. I’ll see how far I can fuck my fingers into my pussy for you, hmm?”

You hit end before he could gather his breath, and a response. Your phone dinged with the money he owed you, plus a little more. Wiping your own spit and slick away from your mouth, you got up to shower. You needed the cold shower to take away the red in your cheeks and the red marks across your body. Self-sustained, of course, but for him. For his pleasure. For the money.

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The gallery evenly hummed under hushed warm lights and a whispering crowd. Your artwork, you, were splattered so carefully across the walls, and your friends and family were looking upon you. You’d already made your away around to thank everyone for coming, for putting on a brave face just to later mimic the thoughts they’d been sharing with you since you picked up a paintbrush. “And how will this sustain you? What kind of job will this get you?” You didn’t have the heart to tell them that currently, a nearly 50 year old man was sustaining you for fucking yourself in front of a camera for him.

Where was Sarah? It was like her to be late, but not this late to something so important.

Your eyes roamed the smallish room, and there was another person you had missed. Sighing from the promise of more conversation and “what’s next” questions, you moved your hair behind your ear and started walking towards him.

Amidst the crowd, your eyes were drawn to the man, unfamiliar. You had only invited family and close friends. Sure, the show was open to the public, but who would have taken time out of their Thursday night to come see some art senior’s capstone show?

He emanated both beauty and fear- timidness on your part. There was an undeniable allure about him, your curiosity piqued. You observed the man closely, trying to place where you had encountered him before, who he could possibly be. His large back was turned to you, but you could see by the gray in his hair that he was too old to be one of your friends’ play things.

He turned away from the piece he was admiring, showcasing his side profile first, and something inside of you clicked. Not knowing if it clicked in place or out, the feeling quickly dissipated into fear. He was ethereal and your chest was heavy. Your palms sweating, you looked around to see if he had the same effect on anyone else, but no one was paying attention.

He was fully turned now, approaching you, but you couldn’t make eye contact. Your spine tinged with a sense of familiarity that sent warning signals to your senses. His eyes bore into you, and suddenly the half-naked self portraits on the walls felt like nothing compared to the depth in which his gaze cut into you. You felt like you needed to run. Your nipples hardened almost painful under your dress.

The air around him reached you before he did. Aged whiskey, honey, musk… a man. The flannel he was wearing draped over his broad shoulders perfectly, looking too thick for a May night. He looked completely out of place. He reached his hand forward and all you could do was stare at it.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

It was massive, his fingers thick and calloused from hard work and time. They looked familiar, even. Surely not… You recognized your pause and looked up at him, taking his hand as he introduced himself.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, Birdie,” He smirked beneath the facial hair, lips turning upwards on the right side, showing his teeth. He looked down upon you, eyes darkening as skin touched skin. He saw in your eyes as you realized who he was.

“Joel Miller,” his deep southern accent dripping with charm and an underlying edge that made your heart race, “and you?”

No.

“Hey! Oh my god, I’m sorry, Chase called me so I had to step out for a minute,” Sarah entered the liminal space, nearly squealing. “THIS IS INCREDIBLE. I am so proud of you.” She had you immediately in a hug. “Oh, and I see you’ve met my dad.” She said cheerfully. “I thought I’d drag him out here to meet my bestie so it won’t be so awkward when you come and visit me. Cause you’ll be coming to visit me… right?”

You smiled, as warmly as possible as your body was fighting off a panic attack.

Recognition flickered in your mind, triggering fragmented memories of perfectly unsettling encounters. Joel was the one who had whispered, screamed, filthy words to you over the computer screen. His messages laced with cum and an intensity that had left you both captivated and unsettled- but always wanting more. You hadn't invited him to the gallery, and you had certainly never met him in person. The puzzle pieces fell into place, and a chilling revelation washed over you as he continued roaming your body, eye-fucking you, as you half listened to Sarah- he knew exactly who you were. He was here on purpose.

You introduced yourself to him, reaching your hand back out as his engulfed yours, warm and dry. “Sarah has told me so much about you,” he winked, “work has me busy so I don’t visit here too often but I couldn’t miss this,” he gestured.

He pulled your body into his for a hug. What a fucking gentleman, huh. Suddenly the ground wasn’t solid and your body was being held against his stoic frame… and suddenly your thighs were slipping together under your dress, wet and sticky.

“You cleaned up nice baby. Couldn’t look too fucked out for tonight, could ya?” He whispered into your ear, chuckling deeply into your hair as it moved against his warm breath, tickling your neck.

“Joel Miller, as I live and breathe.” His warmth was suddenly gone and the air felt thick, empty. “Now who would have thought our girls would end up being best friends? How come we didn’t put two and two together before?” Your dad patted Joel across the back

Oh, fuck.

Part 2: Prologue

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A/N: Now imagine how it would be if they were physically together… oops! I’m always taking requests <3

2K notes · View notes

eshayteaparty · 2 months ago

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Better Again

JJ x Reader (Outer Banks)

Word count: 6.5k

TW: for anorexia, swearing, mentions of abuse, depression, self harm, body-shaming, pet names, desc of reader being overweight, desc of reader being underweight, bed-rotting. Angst. Mentions of fem!reader

Summary: Your weight stops you from loving JJ. Bad eating and exercising habits you tried to hide catch his attention. He tries to tackle them alone, but once they blossom into something bigger, he needs you to try. There's some obstacles in your way.

First fic and it's pretty heavy so it might not be the best gng :) P4L

Life in North Carolina was a dream.

It wasn’t that way because of what you had, necessarily- it was who you had by your side. A loyal group, four whole friends, who were there for you tenfold.

Even if problems were smothered by fear, they were never left untouched. The pogues always did at least the bare minimum in offering support if the insecurity or mistreatment was something you were reluctant to open up about. They’d be there on the outside, waiting patiently to be let in…or for their chance to hold you up under your arms when you crashed out.

Some things, however, were just too embarrassing to talk about. You’d rather tackle them in private, on your own. Away from prying eyes.

Even if the fight was impossible.

Every single day, without fail, you would exercise. You couldn’t even call it that, really- it was just jerking your body around in constant, relentless movements you had heard could tone your body and help you to lose weight. You would always call off plans at night, saying you were too busy, and had always denied the pogues coming into your home if you felt you hadn’t done enough activity that day.

Your body was a mess. You’d spend ages picking at the fat on your lower stomach in the mirror and analysing your frame to the max. No matter what you did, or how little you ate, or how much you moved…you were big. A big girl.

The pogues didn’t seem to think that way about themselves, and rightfully so. They were all so effortlessly beautiful, and ate with confidence you felt would always be out of your reach. Even though you, too, were a pogue, on the outskirts of society and barely scraping by on occasional lucky breaks finding treasure and odd jobs, you couldn’t bring yourself to eat. It was a privilege whenever you were offered nice food, and you decided not to take it.

Nobody mentioned it at mealtimes. The atmosphere was meant to be happy when they ate together, after all. Moments eating food were warm, fleeting moments, with positive connotations. It’s not that they didn’t care. Maybe they assumed you’d already eaten. Even if your favourite foods were placed in front of you.

Above all, you felt silly. Your issue felt so insignificant, so nothing compared to what the others went through. Kiara was kicked out constantly, JJ met up with them day and night with fresh bruises and marks up and down his body- John B had no parents at all. You, having trouble with eating, were unimportant. You didn’t deserve to be the priority, so you never would be.

It had been a long day of exploring and sailing around The Cut, and everybody was hungry. The plan was to visit Kiara’s parent’s restaurant and beg them for food until they broke. JJ’s idea, as it usually was.

JJ kept himself fit and strong. He stayed active all day, and ate just as much. If you had ever struggled while eating, he’d simply ask you if you were ‘gon’ finish that, mama?’. What he ate probably still wasn’t enough to keep him running- he wasn’t well off, after all- but there was always a smile on his face, colour in his cheeks and volume in his hair. Meat on his pearly bones.

Weight wasn’t even close to being a topic often brought up in the pogue squad, but JJ partook in it occasionally with you. He’d pick you up in his hugs, do his best to imitate a skeleton when you sat down or sighed, and squeeze your shoulders or hips from behind just to hear you shriek. It wasn’t out of malice, of course, he’d rather Ward came back to life for the fourth time than body-shame you. It still irked you a little, though. How he managed to hold you, and see you like that, when you were a fat person.

You were a fat person. There was one in your reflection every day, and walking around with the pogues until the sun went down. There was no timeline or another life where you weren’t ginormous, and chairs didn’t creak under your weight, and your thighs didn’t chafe when you wore shorts in the summer.

That is what stopped you from getting closer to JJ Maybank.

“I always forget how magical this place is.”

JJ lets the words come out in a satisfied gasp as he drops the water glass away from his mouth. He points finger guns at Kiara’s dad as he walks through the restaurant- much to the old man’s dismay. John B stifles laughter as JJ kicks back in the booth and rubs stomach impatiently. “I’ve got a hankerin’, Carrera sir, for your famous fries! Unwrecked!”

You sit in-between Kiara and JJ on the left side of the comfy leather booth, just so they won’t spend the whole time bickering. You’re grateful that every time your group comes here, they just order a load of fries for the table. There’s no such thing as portions when your family does nothing but share.

“You’re so…polite, JJ,” says Kiara, sarcasm weaving skillfully into her words as she gives him the look, “I’m starstruck by your manners every time I do this for us.”

You laugh as convincingly as you can, but grease and salt is a fiend that fills all five of your senses and ends up turning you numb. You bring your hand to your chest as Kiara’s mum brings over two baskets of loaded fries and the pogues all cheer. JJ slaps you on the back, not bothering to be cautious. “Look at this feast!” He raises a fry, bumping Pope with his arm as it's on its way up. “Let tonight foreshadow the kook-est of all futures!”

“Had no idea you knew such big words.” Pope mutters this through a satisfied smile and takes a fry for himself as politely as he does just about everything. “Thank you, Mr. Carrera. I’ll pay you back in a few days, at least.”

You stare down at the food in front of you, feeling familiar cotton block your ears and give you shaky hands. A pit forms in your stomach. Yes, you’re so, so hungry, but…you haven’t done enough. You don’t deserve this. To eat.

Somebody clicks their fingers in front of your face, and you look up to JJ’s blue-green eyes staring back into yours. He smiles crookedly.

“Does it look that good?”

You look from JJ to the fries, then back again. “Sorry?”

He sniggers. “Cmon, it looks like you’re in a trance, ma. Don’t make me ‘here comes the aeroplane’ you. Dig in.”

Fingers grip the soft skin of your thighs under the table, digging into those instead. You flinch, and come to find they’re your own.

Say something.

“I…I can’t.” Your voice comes out croaky and unconfident, and you mentally berate yourself. “I mean- I mean I shouldn’t. I already ate…heaps. You guys have been at the beach all day.”

Kiara’s pulled from her idle chat with John B, and she looks at you too. “Like you weren’t there too? I distinctly remember Jayj…teaching you how to surf again, or…”

“Or,” JJ runs a hand up your back, your fat back, making you jump. The whole booth shakes. “She’s not even here. She’s a memory and I was surfin’ with the boogeyman.”

He grabs a hold of your shoulder and squeezes as gently as he always does, but tonight it’s too much.

Your hands push up from the booth and you squeeze past Kiara, no doubt disturbing her with your wide frame on the way out. It feels like you can’t find your footing, even on solid ground. “I-I’m jus’ gonna go home,” you croak, sniffing back your emotions.

The pogues all stare at you from the booth. You’re clutching a chair by the bar in your oversized t-shirt, looking near tears. Nobody wants you to go.

JJ makes a move towards you and you smile at them all as best as you can. You’re busy tonight, anyway.

“I’m okay.” You say, tucking back your hair behind your ears. “I’ve got stuff to do tonight, honest. Cleaning my place ‘n all, it’s a dump.”

They’re all obviously suspicious, but their stares turn into cheeky looks, like they’re getting you to admit something.

“Is that why I can’t ever come over?” That was JJ. The question makes your smile a bit tighter and your clothes, too, in turn. You can feel them suffocating you endlessly.

“You can’t ever come over cuz I’m a weed-free zone, Jitterbug.”

JJ relaxes back into his seat and winks at you. “Have a good one, baby. That place better be squeaky clean for t’night.”

Kiara elbows him harshly in the side and waves you off as you go. “Later!”

You begin the trip home with your phone light turned on. Luckily the darkness of winter hasn’t yet swallowed up the orange sky and taken away the last silver linings of light. Even though it’s dangerous for you to be alone outside in later hours, you’ve got a few conditions in your favour at the very least.

Obviously as a pogue, you didn’t live in a sparkling mansion. You didn’t even live in a sparkling house. What you had was more like a bungalow- one story, small space, one bedroom- but as you lived on your own, it was just right.

You were happy to be by yourself. Nobody could stop you when you exercised, or didn’t eat for hours, or passed out from overexertion. It was your own hideout. Since you’d been picking up odd jobs here and there as young as twelve years old, you’d saved up enough to move out of your deadbeat parent’s house and go full swamp-scum pogue. That was what you had wanted anyway, to connect with your friends and avoid your folks as much as possible. There had been no such thing as ‘easy’ from the minute you popped out.

The pogues never bother to lock the door of The Chateau in case anybody and everybody needs to crash there for the night, or a few days, or even for the rest of their life. You honour this rule too by always keeping your house unarmed. You walk through the front door after the trek home you’d just been on and shut it behind you. Home, sweet home.

An empty spot waits for you on the floor of your room. You could first…go over what you had today.

For breakfast: An apple and two bits of toast. That was already too much.

Your snack: Packet of seaweed. Salty, refined- a bad, bad habit.

You hadn’t had any lunch. You’d had another apple, a bowl of cereal, and skipped dinner.

Too many calories, too many carbs, too much gluten. You could burn it all off if you worked hard enough, and eat less the next day.

You strip off your shirt to save yourself the annoyance of washing all the sweat out later and turn on the same old disc in the radio you always use. It’s nonsensical pop. Just what you need to tune out.

The music consumes you as you let yourself fall into the same repetitive actions from every night before. In and out, losing your breath over something you’re gaslighting yourself into thinking will work. In and out. Burn, crash, but it’s a good kind of hurt. The hurt that says you’re making progress. The hurt that says, ‘you will be skinnier’. Eat less tomorrow, work harder today. Every day.

Thoughts leak into your head through a faucet you’ve even considered turning off via lobotomy sometimes. A cesspool of more hurtful but effective ideas is yours to swim in, to inhale, to feel all over. Vomit. Laxatives. Ozempic. No, that would mean something really was wrong. That was too risky. Too confirming.

That really said you had an illness. All you were doing was exercise and…dieting.

That was okay.

You had been keeping up that aching burn in your stomach for probably around thirty minutes, with your ears getting sweaty from your hair hanging down beside them in stringy tendrils, when there’s a jaunty knock on your bedroom door.

“You busy, mama?”

JJ wasn’t just what he presented himself to be on the surface. Inside, you knew he was perceptive to how you felt and what made you tick. He knew when you were sad, when you were put off, or about to lose your shit. Even if you never let him in the way you let him talk to you and offered him advice, he could read you- whether you liked it or not.

Tonight, as soon as you’d left, you had an inkling that you’d shown too much emotion about the food. You had..panicked. Normally, nonchalance about your disordered thinking came easy to you, and therefore masking, but it was the pressure and the smells and the gentle touches of his hands on your big, fatty shoulders and up the sweaty rolls of your back…it was all too much.

He’d noticed. Everybody had, but him especially so. The stress on your face, the messing with your hair and the reluctance you had had to speak or banter were all tell-tale signs of turmoil you wouldn’t tell anybody about. The pogues were a family, he supposed, after all. All families had secrets. Despite that, he wanted to be let in. To know you.

Hearing him knock makes your stomach drop. You’re sweaty, red in the cheeks and your hair is a mess, You’re done for. Your voice becomes a rasp as you yell out,

“In a second!”, and rush up to your dresser to pause the music that had blared in your ears and distracted you from wanting to stop just a moment ago. The door handle bends- he’s not waiting.

“JJ!” Your voice gets shrill and tight, like a balloon under pressure. “I said in a second!”

“If you’re doin’ something private, you know I’m always up to assist!” He says through the opening door. His tone is joking and friendly. It always is when it comes to you. He’s tried to be gentle before, but it never got through to you. You’d felt like he was babying you, or something.

He strolls into the room as you have your back to him, standing over a basket of your washing. Okay, this was fine. The flush would just be…embarrassment. The sweating because it was summer. He’d have no idea.

“It’s pretty humid in here, for our luck this season.” JJ walks around to you, his hands in the pockets of his board shorts. You straighten up and he smiles at you, but it turns down once he’s looked you over for a second.

“..Woah. you’re not sick, are you?”

You swallow. “No. You embarrassed me, Jayj, I was like- like changing when you knocked. And you never wait.”

He looks you up and down and you realise from the look in his eyes and the slight frown on his face that oh shit, he does not believe you.

His hand, familiar, raises towards your face, and you flinch. You aren’t sure what you’re expecting. It comes up to your forehead and you can feel the coolness of his rings whilst your eyes are shut.

“You feel ill.” He says slowly. His eyes bug a bit and he steps back, his boots making new scuff marks on your carpet. “Don’t tell me that’s the start o’ monkeypox'. I’ll set this place on fire.”

Happy to have a way out, you allow yourself to laugh a little. “It’s not monkeypox, Jay. That’s not here yet.”

“What happens when we go find El Dorado, though? All those foreign places..brewin’ with the stuff.”

He sits down on your bed and you don’t do the same, which was probably a mistake. You can still feel his eyes on you as he gets comfortable and you follow through with sorting your washing.

“Y’got sweat all up your back, miss.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. Did you really skip the fries cuz you were full? Or did you get sick from something else?”

You start to feel genuinely sick now.

You thread your hands through your wispy hair, looking at the floor as you turn around to face him again. “Uh…yeah, I was…full.”

JJ stops looking at you, and starts to stare at you instead.

Sweaty back, sweaty face, red cheeks, and your muscles and hands are even shaking a little. Unless you’re going into cardiac arrest, this is way more than a sudden new illness you’ve contracted. Above all, you look upset. Like he’s about to foil your plans or figure something out about you that you wanted to hide.

“Hey…baby.”

He stands up. You stand back.

“I noticed…you’re a little on the skinnier side.”

No, no, no. this wasn’t meant to happen.

“I just…I know I dig atcha’ for it, but it- like- it freaks me out a bit sometimes. You never take your shirt off when we’re in the water, or even just sailing, you never ever eat the grub Kiara’s family cooks up for us, which is free, by the way, so not takin’ advantage of that is a tad insane-”

“Stop it.”

You barely recognise your own voice, but at least it’s saying what you wanted to. JJ looks taken aback.

“I’m fine, JJ. I’m not skinny. You’re being ridiculous.”

His eyes bug all over again. “What do you mean?? Look at you, baby! I could shot-put you a hundy’ yards, no sweat!”

“You’re lying!” You start to yell at him. Your sweat has dried uncomfortably against your skin and made your t-shirt stick to you even more than your fat abomination of a belly does every day, all day, without mercy. Nothing fits you right, nothing looks right on you, you’re ugly and fat and piglike and he’s a liar, he’s such a liar. “Look at me, clearly! I’m not skinny at all!”

JJ doesn’t understand what you’re saying, and it’s written all over his face. What were you even talking about?

You were skinny. The entire group knew you were skinny. You had hollow cheeks that made you look sad even when you were happy, you had ribs that looked like bookshelves storing organs growing colder the longer you restricted yourself and you had such small wrists that JJ had once laughed that a prison break would be a breeze for you- they’d never be handcuffs in existence small enough for your tiny hands.

The pogues were all at least somewhat underprivileged, and it came in different forms. They all assumed you just didn’t have food at home, or were too busy working to even spend the money you made. Because of this, they all did their best to take you out to eat, or catch fish for you, or steal a slice or two of bread from a house they were investigating to fix you up a makeshift sandwich. You always refused. It didn’t seem like it had been out of courtesy anymore.

You were sleepy and irritable and sometimes slow on adventures because of your condition. Your blood ran like toothpaste. JJ could never see your veins. Did you have issues drinking water too? He didn’t know. He realised he had had no idea what your problems truly were, until tonight.

Tonight, he’d caught you in an act that had spoiled your life for months. You’d forgotten when you’d even started ‘working out’ all alone. He hated himself for not seeing the signs, but at least now, while you stood in front of him, in deep denial and misery and self hatred, he was here to save you. He’d turned down your street and he’d park in your head and tackle your struggles like they were his own.

He’d figured it all out from looking at you once.

Just how pathetic were you?

“I’m not skinny, JJ,” you know you’re going to lose, so you’re falling apart, standing in front of your full-body mirror going, “you’re crazy. J-just look at me, honestly. Maybe c-compared to Nikocado I am.”

JJ’s head starts to constantly shake. “No, ma, just look in the mirror for a sec. Look, I can feel every single damn rib!”

You smack his hands away. “I’m literally gaining weight!”

He starts to laugh, incredulously, because he just can’t believe you. “You’ve been losing weight every day. I can see it, cuz I look atcha’ every day, baby. Us pogues are terrified you’ll straight pass out in the water one day and we won’t be there to save you.”

Tears well in your dull eyes. He can’t even remember the last time they had even a little light in them.

“Wh…do you do this every night?”

Shit.

“What?”

“Get all sweaty? I know you’re working out. That’s a labour sheen if I’ve ever seen one. Looks like you lifted fifty tons just now.”

He quiets his voice as you start to shrink in on yourself. He feels guilty for accusing you of that, but it worries him. He’s shooted his shot a few times in the past year and tried to see you after dark, but you always turn him down. Tell him, ‘we can hang out in the morning’. It’s all making sense.

He facepalms, laughing humorlessly. “Holy shit, baby. You realise this is like…a massive problem, don’t you?”

“What is??” You don’t want him to say it. You can taste your tears on your cheeks as they roll down, and worry about your sodium intake as a bitter joke.

“You- you’re starving yourself. How did I not see it?? God, and- and you were exercising just now, I know it. What’s wrong with you??”

“Nothing!” You say shrilly. “Is it not fine for me to exercise?? You can’t dictate what I do!-”

“You’ll fuckin’ die if you keep this up!” He yells at you. It hurts. It hurts more than hunger ever has, or the workout burn, or the one time you did end up making yourself throw up after you felt you’d had too much to eat one day. “You’ll die, baby!” He clutches your shoulders and feeling the bones there makes him feel sick. Soon enough, his own eyes are tearing up. “Why’re you doing this? You’re tiny. You make Bella Hadid jealous. Actually, it- it’s just as abusive as that!”

“I’m not.” You’re sobbing instead of talking. He holds you hostage in front of the mirror and even looks like he’s about to pull your shirt up and make you stare. You shake your head hopelessly as you’re met with the sight of your rolls of fat, all your chins, all the features you have that have haunted you for years.

And yet…he keeps telling you you’re wrong. Can’t he see them too?

“I’m fat, JJ! I’m a f-fucking fatass! I don’t need to eat more!”

“No, no, baby, no. Look at yourself, cmon..what’re you seeing that I’m not…?”

You grab at the skin around your middle as you fall apart. The skin- globs of clay and meat and horror contaminating your waist and making you undesirable to all. “Look at me!!”

JJ watches you grasp at nothing. He even puts his hand there, on your belly, and he feels your hip bone harshly bump the inside of his wrist. He shakes his head again.

“There- there’s nothing there, mama. You’re nowhere near fat. I’m scared for you, you- you’re not at all. You’re light as a f-fuckin’ feather.”

“I’m fat.” The words come out of your mouth like a useless mantra. “I’m big, JJ, you’re just being nice, my- my clothes don’t fit, my face is greasy a-and big..”

“Darling…” he trails off, because he feels so hopeless. “Don’t say that. I t-think- I think you’re dysmorphic, or something…you’re on the verge of your death.”

Even though he’s telling you all of this, you just don’t believe it. You never believed when they were concerned for you, either, because you never ever saw why. You were…big. Right? A big…girl.

“This is called…an ed, or something.” He mutters by your ear, feeling a little ill in the stomach. What does that mean for you? Does it even mean something? “God, you- this is crazy, baby. I wish I had more bank, I swear I- I’d get you fixed so quick..”

“I don’t n-need to be fixed.”

“Yes, you do. You’re..you’re anorexic. I think that’s what the word is.”

“I’m not.” The words are coming out of you like you’re a robot, and it makes him desperate. He turns you towards him and guides your chin towards him so you have to meet his eyes, no matter how you feel about it.

“You’re being silly, y/n. I-I know you’re still in there, c…c'mon. You’re unwell. Don’t you- don’t you feel unwell?” His voice breaks a bit, as he’s worried your bones will be doing in no time. “H..hungry?”

You know you’re not fine. You know what you’re doing to yourself is wrong, but…the results were meant to make it right. It’s not two wrongs, it’s just one, fueled by..a good idea. But it’s not working.

“..n..no.”

“Liar.” He wraps you up in a tight hug, bringing one hand to wrap around your lower back and the over to blanket your shoulders. You wouldn’t have to reciprocate for him to be holding you both tight enough to support a bungee jump. Your ribs are definitely poking him, but he doesn’t make a sound. That breaks you in turn. Hesitantly, you cuddle him right back, feeling so confused about why he cares so much.

You were supposed to receive this love when you got slim. When your body was pretty enough for him to love it as much as he does your nature.

In JJ’s head, however, he had loved both features the same this whole time.

“You’re a little liar, baby.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. listening to your own breathing, just so he knows you’re still alive. You’re both lucky you’re still alive.

“You’re hungry, and a liar. And I- I’m gon’ getcha well. Promise.”

Mealtimes were never the same after that night.

Right off the bat, JJ had told you he wouldn’t take you to hospital if you promised to try, for him- neither of you could afford the proper therapy anyway. Instead, he would be with you for most of the day, and at all meals, no matter their size. It got irritating, always being made to finish your food and having your bedroom walked into every night without fail, but…nothing bad really came of it, at least at first.

A few weeks in, you started to pull back. Your head would relentlessly tell you you were fat, or unwanted, and if you got well, you’d be even bigger than you were before. He wouldn’t even want to look at you. On the off chance you were ever alone, you would cry. You would hold your hands to your blotchy face and cry your energy away. Adventures were skipped because of your mental state.

JJ was the most worried he had ever been for you. He couldn’t relate to your struggles- you’re grateful he didn’t- but even if you had a full belly you just looked so…sad. You never smiled when you ate, though you were around folks with ‘next-level jesting abilities’. Colour came back into your cheeks, but not your eyes. You were just depressed.

He’d taken all the mirrors out of your bathroom so you could shower. He’d taken even the tiny scales out of your kitchen so you wouldn’t get a fright and fully spiral. You were teetering on a dangerous edge, and he was trying desperately to reel you in before you drowned or slipped sideways into a whole new pool of disorder.

You’d spend all day inside. When he didn’t have food for himself or you that day, he’d sit with you and keep you company to make sure you didn’t exercise and hurt yourself. He’d also taken everything sharp he could find out of your house. Just in case.

You gained weight. You couldn’t really feel the difference, but it didn’t hurt as much to lie down and you didn’t feel like you’d fall to bits if you took a tumble. Your insides got warmer and your temperature climbed, which was good, but you never showed mental improvement. You had genuinely thought what you were doing was okay, as long as it was making you skinnier. He didn’t know how to cheer you up anymore, or convince you of how beautiful you were.

But there was no way in hell he wasn’t going to try.

He was there with you, one night, on your bed. Holding your hand, petting your thawing knuckles. It was dark and quiet in the room. JJ couldn’t remember the last time the lights had been on when he was around.

You’re laying beside him, your arms as far away from your stomach as humanly possible for you. You hated feeling your body. All the new skin there made you repulsed by yourself.

“..Y/n?”

Your eyes don’t open. “Mmm.”

“We..okay, listen, so we wanted to check out this shipwreck, tomorrow morning. Sarah Cameron’s comin’ along and okay, before you complain, I know she’s a Kook, but JB’s makin’ eyes at her and I wanna see some action.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I didn’t finish.” He looks at you, and lifts his hand under your chin to make you look at him again. “Wanna come?”

“I can’t swim.”

JJ sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “Yes, you can, mama. Y’just never take your shirt off. You’d look amazing in a bikini and I think you know it.”

Your eyes are too dry to shed more tears.

“No I wouldn’t. You waste so much time trying to make me feel better.”

It was the truth. As a result of your crashouts, JJ had been avoiding the group almost as much as you had to spend more time with you. In the earlier days, he’d tried to get you to tag along- he’d even got exasperated and picked you up once, which had made you upset. You were a welcome burden in his heart, but a heavy weight on his mind and shoulders. You never went anywhere but your bed, but he was always afraid your thoughts would get too much for you one day.

“...I don’t know what to do, Y/n.” He rubs a hand over his eyes. “I’m- I’m sorry, like, I really…I’m jazzed that you’re eating, baby, really, but..you won’t ever come outside. We can’t be the pogues without you and you’re not there.”

“I’m sorry, JJ.” You croak. “I’m sorry. I mean it. I just feel so…ugly. Every hour, every day. I can’t help it.”

“Yes, you can. I can. Honestly, you’re the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen, and you’ve just never seen it.”

“Saying that isn’t going to fix me. You don’t have to be the one to fix me.”

His expression crumples like wet paper as your eyes meet his saying that. He sniffs, “baby-”

“It’s not your job. I’m mentally fucked, do you understand? You’re my age, and about as qualified, which I’m n-not. It’s not on you to take care of me.”

You didn’t even notice you had started crying. Tears down your cheeks are a constant sensation at this point. Looking at him now, really looking at him, you can see he’s crying too. It feels horrible inside you, knowing that you did that, but his face still says he doesn’t blame you for a thing.

“I know I’m not a therapist, ma! I- I really- I just really need you to be better!” Cracks in his voice make your own skin feel like shattering porcelain. “I want you back!”

He holds you tight. Some nights he will, some nights he won’t. It depends on how you’re feeling about your body. You don’t feel good, however you know that he probably needs a hug just as much as you.

“I-It’s really hard-” you start to fully sob, losing your weak composure in his arms- “I w-want to get..b-better but you- you can’t cure u-ugly.”

“You are not ugly.” His voice is directly in your ear, making you scrunch your shoulder up. “Listen to me, right now. You. Are. Not. Ugly.”

“Yes I am.”

“Come on, Y/n, we’ve been going over this for a month. Hell- you wouldn’t even know or not! Y’haven’t seen yourself for a month!”

“Well you wouldn’t know what it’s like, JJ!” You yell at him- then immediately realise what you just let slip. His eyes widen a little and his eyebrows furrow as you start to go red from shame.

“...What?”

When you don’t say anything back, he simply runs his pinky across the delicate skin beneath your eye and looks down at the blankets between you two.

“...Day and night, Y/n, I’m struck dumb by how much I think you’re beautiful. It..it makes me feel weak. No matter how you’ve presented yourself to me, healthy body or skin and bones, I’ve never been able to let you go.”

You don’t want to hear him say all this, but he holds your hands and doesn’t let you pull away.

“I mean it when I say you’re pretty as sin. In your best moments, and in your worst, I…I’ve wanted you.” He chuckles bitterly. “Call me a simp, or down bad, but I…I couldn’t live without you. Hearing you were sick made me possessive, and obsessed with you, but it- I don’t know how else to show you that I care. I’ve always cared about you, Y/n. I want you to be happy s-so bad. You don’t have to let me in if you d..don’t want to, but…I want to understand. Understand how you, a girl so ethereal, could ever want to starve or hate yourself.”

If he had had more to say, you weren’t able to hear it, because you’d started kissing him as his voice grew smaller.

You had liked JJ from the very first time you two met and he had always felt out of your league. He was beautiful, bold and blonde, and there was no such thing as a world where you two could fall in love.

One of the main reasons you had such severe body issues was because of your fear of never being loved. Not just by a boyfriend, but by anybody. That threat had followed you around your whole life and manifested as an eating disorder.

If you were skinny, you would have it all. That’s what you had told yourself. Affection wouldn’t feel right if you weren’t slim, would it? Yet somehow, as JJ pets your hair and crosses his legs over yours in your small, dusty bedroom, you felt all the love you had ever wanted doubled in one kiss. Tasting him in your mouth is beer, mint, somehow, and above all, this boy feels like home.

It was a naive thought to have, but in that moment, he was all you needed to get better.

You pull apart.

“...JJ.” You dab your mouth on your shirt and he smiles at you. No matter what you say, he’ll accept you tenfold. This you’re certain of.

“I don’t- I don’t think we should…date. Yet. if you even wanted to.” You say softly. “Just..only because I’m not well and I don’t want those feelings to interfere with us. The bad feelings.”

“...Oh.”

He looks reluctant to agree to this condition, but he knows it would be better for the both of you. He bites his cheek, and nods. “Okay, baby. Don’t feel guilty. I got all the time in the world to wait.”

The room goes quiet, but this time the silence is comfortable.

“But you know I uh…I’m into you. Right?”

“I’m not so sure that’s true.”

“Well, it is.” He lies back down beside you and rests his head on your sagging pillows. “I don’t think I’d spend hours in your smelly shack if I wasn’t.”

“Nonsense, Jay.” You almost laugh. “I'm nowhere near in nice shape.”

“Because you’ve been here every day for the past four weeks.” The plan he’d had a few minutes ago enters his head again at just the right time. “Please, please come out with us. It’ll give you sun, some fun in the water, and you can…you can be with us pogues again.”

You feel a hand gently grasp your own. It’s twice the warmth of yours, and envelopes your fingers.

“Be with me again.”

It’s both crazy and a little embarrassing how fast he got you out of the dumps. In one night, JJ Maybank had improved your body image and convinced you to come outside for the first time in ages. Like Jesus performing a miracle, he had saved you from a self-made tomb.

He gave you your mirrors back so you could pretty yourself up a little, but he had stood with you the whole time and reassured you constantly about how your face looked. He wiped away the tear stains, the crust, smeared your chapped lips in healing balm, and sat you in the bath to give your hair a thorough wash. Those were the perks of knowing a boy who had one-hundred percent tolerance to dirt, you supposed.

When it had come time to pick out an outfit, he was right there again. You hadn’t worn a bikini in ages, but you had come to find he’d borrowed you a one piece from…some kook’s house. You weren’t sure, but were appreciative of the gesture so much that you started to cry again. He was right there to fix your makeup.

Until JJ, you hadn’t known such care and domesticity. He himself called it the bare minimum. You’d promised to give him your very best self in turn, once you were well again, and in good time, you did. Your friendship, fueled by heart and sacrifice, blossomed into something unspokenly more.

You wouldn’t put a label on it yet. JJ was okay with that, and so were you. It felt good to just sit and know somebody cared about you just as much as you did them. Boyfriends and girlfriends were overrated, anyway, and JJ proudly called himself your lover every day.

On the off-chance you had a slip up, he was right there with you if you needed him, but some days, you didn’t want him to see you ruin. He understood that. Not everything was up to him. His duty wasn’t to save you, it was to love you. You were glad he knew it.

Against all odds, you came to love yourself again. That meant you could love him back.

Just as he had promised, he was there waiting on the other side like the light at the end of the tunnel. Lighting your days and your nights, while you were the sun, thriving in the day and going down in the evening. He wasn’t going anywhere.

No solar system is complete without the stars.

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