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anon-e-miss · 3 months

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Shaping You - Seen

Prowl was not eager to see Punch again but his originator in law was king of Polyhex and as long as Prowl lived in his court, interacting with him was unavoidable. He had made a bad impression on him, in more than one way and his title hunting procreators had made a worse one. It seemed that the king was no more eager to see Prowl than Prowl was to see him as he never once summoned Prowl nor Jazz to dine. It troubled Prowl that he was playing a role in estranging Prowl from his originator. Unlike Prowl, Jazz seemed to have always been close to his originator and it was terrible to be the cause of that bond breaking. As Jazz guided him to a carriage, Prowl hoped that this tour and the gift of his bridal armour to his citizens might ease some of his distaste.

Jazz had insisted they wait until Hotwire had completed his proper armour, though the mock up had served Prowl just fine, the final product was cut of thinner metal and painted the richest blank paint and the most perfect iridescent white Prowl had ever seen. It gave the effect of appearing as if it had been carved of crystal and not of metal. If Prowl had not known better he would have expected his chest plate to be transparent. This was armour sculpted by an artist, a striking contrast to the gaudy thing he had worn to his bonding. It in this Prowl felt like the consort of a prince, more than he had in his bridal armour.

“Hotwire smelted yer armour ‘n molded it into bricks,” Jazz explained as they set off, after she separated out the gems. “Got enough that ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout leavin’ anyone short.”

“Thank you,” Prowl replied. “That is easier than donating panel by panel, and less crass than handing my pelvic girdle to a school or museum.”

“Yeah, I didn’t dig that image,” Jazz replied. “Nothin’ crass ‘bout ya but don’t mean others ain’t ‘n I don’t want ya gettin’ anymore grief.”

“Never fear,” Prowl replied. “I will come to some manner of grief by my conduct alone.”

“Yer conduct is perfect,” Jazz assured him. It had not been but it was kind of Jazz to reassure him.

His new armour was snug over his belly. Dipole insisted on spoiling him by experimenting with Praxian cuisine and Prowl was indulging more than he ever had under his originator’s supervision. Beyond that, Jazz was diligent in doing his duty as a bridegroom and he flooded Prowl’s gestational tank at least twice a mega-cycle, if not thrice and thus Prowl’s belly was kept round with the proof of his virility. If Prowl did not kindle soon it was clearly a fault in his spark and not in Jazz’s efforts.

“Since we got a ways to go, why don’t we keep busy?” Jazz suggested.

“Oh?”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Prowl squealed.

His flaccid spike hung between his splayed legs. Jazz’s spike battered his transfluid duct, ringing his reservoirs dry. Prowl knew that medics routinely drained Praxian brides when they became… congested, this was most certainly not how it was done back home. A froth of transfluids and lubricants oozed from Prowl’s well fragged valve. His belly jiggled as Jazz fragged his aft and Prowl could not imagine would his originator would make of such a sight. Jazz had him wailing in overload and the thought vanished in the white burn of ecstasy.

He was the picture of the blushing bride as they stepped off the carriage. They had spent the entire journey making passionate love and Prowl could not keep the flush from his face as he walked along next to Jazz. His swollen folds and aft rim rubbed against the lining of his armour. This must have been why Dipole had put that absorbent lining in; she knew how Polyhexian grooms were expected to be, insatiable. Prowl thought the crowds gathered at each stop along the tour were surprised by his appearance. He was far more rotund than the photography from the ceremony and parade would have suggested but no one scorned him, at least not outwardly.

Polyhexians in Darkmount wept at their gift, they received the largest share of ununtrium as Jazz believed they had the most need and seeing the bombed out shells of buildings, Prowl agreed completely. They needed a medical centre, schools and every other government service returned. Prowl heard talk of Empties and insisted on going to the Dead End to see the situation. Victims of EMP weapons that had broken their processors and their frames, the Empties were shunned by their own framekin out of fear their madness could spread. No one entered the Dead End except to harass the poor wretches and as a result the shattered district was a restricted zone with armed guards at the gates. When Prowl entered the gates with guards grumbling at his back, he was struck dumb by the devastation. It was as if the district had been smelted where it stood. The buildings looked like they were melting even now. Many of the Empties had a similar appearance. Prowl saw one planting seeds in what must have once been a traffic circle. From the way the soil looked, Prowl did not believe anything would grow here again. He knelt next to the mech and planted seeds with him.

“Ratchet?” Jazz’s voice broke Prowl from his reverie. “Whatcha doin’ here.”

“I have a clinic here,” Ratchet explained. “I’m doing what I can to make them comfortable.”

“Hello Ratchet,” Prowl greeted the medic.

“You’re looking better,” Ratchet declared. “Much better.”

“I am pleased you approve,” Prowl replied. His own kin would not. “Is there any ununtrium left to donate to Ratchet’s clinic?” Prowl asked.

“Yep,” Jazz replied. He waved a servo and their escort left to fetch the donation from their carriage. “Consider us yer official patrons, Ratch.”

“Mecha will tell you that you should put your shanix to better use,” Ratchet replied.”

“‘N those mecha can kiss my aft,” Jazz replied.

Prowl prayed the weapon that had done this damage to the Dead End and its residents had been destroyed and its blueprints tossed in the smelter. It was so terrible, so terrible what it had done. War in general was terrible but the Empties had been damaged in such a hideous way. Even vorns after the weapon had detonated, the damage continued to spread in the frames and processors of the survivors. Empties who had appeared physically undamaged in the beginning had developed deformities. This was why their neighbours feared them. They feared it was contagious. Ratchet said it was not and Prowl believed him.

“Y’er perfection,” Jazz told him when they returned to the carriage.

“How do you mean?” Prowl asked.

“Their own kin shun ‘em,” Jazz said. Some o’ those sparks got livin’ kin ‘n they don’t claim them ‘cause o’ the Affliction ‘n ya planted seeds wit one. Ya didn’t argue it was a weird place to plant, ya just… joined ‘m. Ya saw ‘m.”

“They deserve to be seen,” Prowl replied. “The seeds will not sprout. The soil has been as devastated as the buildings, but perhaps in time it will be restored. I saw a tree growing out of the wall of a temple in Petrex. How it sprouted there, who could ever know, but it did and maybe something will sprout here again.”

“Perfection,” Jazz declared. “Y’re perfection.”

Pictures of Prowl planting seeds with an irradiated Empty replaced those of the bonding in the media. Prowl was uneasy, it was clearly socially unacceptable to interact with Empties and he had made enough missteps already. Dipole called him a saint when she showed him an article she had saved to memory glass. He did not feel like a saint. If anything, Prowl felt like a fool for acting without thinking. Though he did not regret gardening with the mech, Prowl feared what the king would think of him endangering his heir by abandoning the itinerary.

Trying to calm his battle computer, Prowl walked the palace’s haggard garden. It must have been splendid in its time but the vorns of civil war had not been kind to it. He saw an amethyst sapling leaning and looked about for something to use for stakes. Branches from the dead try that might have propagated the sapling remained on the ground nearby. Prowl used them to hold up the sapling. It would probably be pulled up whenever the palace hired gardeners again but for now it would hold.

“What would yer procreators think o’ that scene?” Punch asked. Prowl flinched. He should have seen the king coming. Stiffly, he turned around and prostrated himself as the Polyhexians did, lowering his crest to the ground.

“Which scene, Your Majesty?” Prowl asked. Punch scoffed and Prowl flinched again.

“The one all o’er the news,” Punch said when Prowl did not speak further.

“Where I gardened with the poor mech?” Prowl asked. “They would have been less than enthused.”

“Why?”

“The castes do not mix in Praxus,” Prowl said, never lifting his helm. Though they hope to climb above theirs, it would not be permitted to step below mine.”

“Hypocrites,” Punch grumbled. “Go on, get up.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said as he did as he was told. He gestured to the sapling. “I do not think to make a claim on it. I just thought that as long as it was here, it should have some support.”

“My great great great grandgeni planted this garden for his bride ‘cause he was homesick. The amethyst trees were the first thing he planted. It’s nice to see a part o’em lives.”

“I see,” Prowl replied. “That was considerate of him.”

“Ya ain’t a fool,” Punch said. “Y’re procreators bragged ‘bout yer test scores ‘n they were impressive. Ya didn’t do anythin’ wit’em.”

“They considered it unseemly for me to seek a true function,” Praxian brides may dabble but they do not work.”

“In that armour, how could they?” Punch asked. “I know what ya ‘n Jazz did, donatin’ that o’er priced scrap were it’s needed. That was yer idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Prowl replied. “I thought it could be put to better use.”

“‘M not inclined to like ya, mechlin’ but ya don’t make yerself easy to hate?”

“Oh?” Prowl asked before his processor caught up with his mouth. “It came easily enough to my caste mates.”

Punch laughed and Prowl flushed.

“I can see why Jazz ‘n Dipole o’ taken a shine to ya.”

#maccadams #valveplug #tf prowl #tf jazz #anon-e-miss writes #shaping you #bodyshaming #body positivity

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candywife333 · 11 months

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Endlessly

A short one shot from my blurb bucket list.

Tears dripped down my face in torrents as I realized what I had to do. I had to leave this man. He didn't love or respect me. He never even wanted to be a friend. This marriage had shown me how much more I didn't belong in his life. I know he thought he was above me. I could tell by how he treated me throughout the entire duration of our sad little marriage.

Our parents were family friends. His parents were business tycoons who wanted to marry their son Park Jimin off to me, a hopeless nobody according to Jimin’s assessment of me throughout our schooling years. He had treated me like dust beneath his shoe when we were both in the same middle school and high school. We ran in the same circles as my parents owned a fancy bakery in the nice part of town. My parents had grown up with his parents and though we were never anywhere as rich as them, my parents provided me a comfortable upbringing. Jimin’s parents were extremely kind people who never acted arrogant, even though they owned a chain of extremely lucrative hotels.

At the age of 16 Jimin had a Mercedes Benz, Rolex watch, a separate outhouse next to his parent’s estate, and the attention of any girl he wanted.

At the same age, I had my cat, Sugarplum, my teddy bear, Roosevelt, my parents and our bakery. That was enough to tell you how different we were from one another. For some ridiculous reason, his parents thought that I would be the best girl to marry him to. I remember that day when I was paralyzed by shock when I came back from school one day to find them all in my living room. His mother, Mrs. Park had cracked open a warm smile as she saw me standing in from of the door as I awkwardly greeted them.

My mom came from the kitchen exclaiming in a voice filled with hidden glee, “ Oh, Y/N. Baby, you are back from school. How was your day? Got any articles published for the school newspaper?” I quietly responded, “Yeah mom, getting ready to finalize some edits.” As I walked into the living room gingerly, thinking it was only Ms. Park and my mom, Jimin came in with my dad and his dad from our back yard. Mr. Park chimed in joyously, “ Y/n , You have grown so much. What a beautiful girl you have become.” Jimin coughed silently, laughing under his breath as I grimly realized that he didn’t share the same sentiment as his dad.

I couldn’t see what Mr. Park meant either since I had just worn jeans and a long sleeve top to school. But I had not been brought up lacking manners, so I replied, “Thank you Mr. Park. Very kind of you to say so. How have you been doing? Would you like me to get you and Ms. Park some tea and cake?” The brightly smiling older man chuckled in a pleased fashion, “Why don’t you do that sweetheart. We have some good news for you when you come back.”

I walked into the kitchen puzzled at what he was referring to. I came back with the refreshments and set then down on the table as my mom said, “Why don’t we let Y/N first finish college and then we can plan the wedding?” I almost fell off the couch. I felt like I had been slapped by a fish. What the freaking hell did she mean marriage!?? Were they trying to sell me off like a week old salmon in a fish market? And to who?

I exclaimed in a rather nervous tone, “Mother, what are you talking about? What is going on here?” Mrs. Park started in a placating tone, “Sweet heart we were just talking about when Jimin and you would be married.” I almost choked as I screamed in terror, “EXCUSE ME?!” Mr. Park smiled as he continued, “Darling don’t frighten Y/N. Sweetheart don’t worry. We will wait till you and Jimin finish your under grad degrees and then we will plan the engagement and get you two hitched. It won’t be immediate. You will have time to get to know him.” Jimin sat there in silence with a neutral mask on his face as my face contorted in terror, making me retreat upstairs in utter shock.

I could hear my dad say, “What do you say Jimin? Ready to take on your dad’s company?” I could hear as Jimin replied in a resolute manner , “Of course uncle. Once I get my business degree and finish my MBA, I will be able to take care of Y/N properly.”

Contrary to what everyone thought, Jimin proceeded to treat me like an invisible being throughout the duration of our college years as well. We had ended up at our hometown college which happened to rank pretty highly across the country. Though I didn’t agree with this supposed marriage which both our parents had come up with, I thought we would at least get to know each other as friends. And then maybe eventually as a couple if we suited each other.

Jimin and I had run in different circles all throughout high school and middle school. The same trend continued in college. He hung out with other extremely handsome and privileged guys who would also eventually take over their family businesses as heirs. Just as he did in high School, he had a loyal fan following of beautiful well bred girls whose sole existence in college was to trap rich man in marriage. Anytime I would come across him, I would greet him.

He would walk past me as though he never heard me. The girls he would hang with would always be teeming around him in a protective pentagon. He sure was satanic. His behavior and the way he acted above all others in school had not changed. To top all this behavior all off with a cherry, he was known around campus for having a new girl every month. His dipshit friend Jungkook, had coined the term, “new flavor of the month”, to describe his excessively promiscuous and nonchalant behavior.

To my utter dismay, this man who I had known to never be husband material, continued to exemplify that he was the farthest thing from husband material the world had ever seen. He was as similar to husband material, as polyester was to silk. I had had some faith in the fact that he may change his behavior initially. As we almost ended our college years, I could tell that he wouldn’t change and he would carry this dismal behavior into a marriage that I never even wanted.

I told my mother numerous times as college ended, “ Please mom. Why do I have to marry him? He has the pick of the lot, so many attractive rich girls. Why me? Can’t he just marry one of those.” I started sobbing in frustration as I bit out in desperation , “He doesn't even greet me mom. He doesn't acknowledge my existence. He hates me. I don’t want to marry someone who hates me. You know me mom. I can’t survive with someone who hates my guts, someone who disrespects me. I am the closest thing to a fiancé he has and he doesn't even want to be friends. Why do you and father insist on ruining my life this way?”

To my shock my mother started crying as well as she morosely said, “ I am so sorry my baby. I didn't know that he was treating you this way. His parents and I always thought he was a well mannered child so we had betrothed you to him when you were barely 10. His dad has a really bad heart condition. And since his dad and mom were your godparents, they wanted you to marry him because you are such a good girl. His father may pass soon, and he wanted see his son wedded to you before he passed.”

“His parents really think you are the best person for Jimin. You are solid, trustworthy, loyal, beautiful, loving and a hard worker. Nobody in their circles, no matter how rich or vain they may be, amount to you in worth.” Your mother continued in a serious tone, “But sweetheart, if he is treating you like trash, I will tell his parents that this won’t work. They can find someone else for his ungrateful ass.”

You laughed for the first time in a long time as your mother started cussing out Jimin for being a turd. But knowing yourself you knew what decision you would take. Your godparents had been there for you since you were born. They had taken care of you and your parents when your parents were initially setting up the bakery.

You decided it then and there. You would marry Jimin and be with him for a few years. When it would get unbearably hard, when you would feel like dying, you would leave him. Inevitably the marriage would die, it was just a matter of time. And, you would be giving your godfather the gift of a wedding for his son.

I laughed bitterly as my sob fest ceased. It had been 5 long years since your marriage to Jimin at the age of 21. His father had been elated to see him married off to you. They treated me better than their own daughter this entire time. It almost made up for how badly Jimin had treated me. But that's the thing, almost was never enough. Every person had their limits. And I had hit mine.

I started packing away whatever clothes you could fit into the suitcases. It had been enough. His cold behavior towards me, the disrespect of having random women over at the house, the disregard towards me as a partner. The tipping point had been when I was about to visit him at his office and heard moaning coming from inside the room.

In these five years of being married to him I had developed a prowess as a writer and published so many books that had became a best seller. Under your clandestine alias, Strawberry, I had now accumulated a personal net worth of 50 million dollars USD. This progress had deemed me financially independent. I had never touched Jimin’s money since the beginning of the relationship. Whenever we went to galas with him for the purpose of PR for his company, he had provided me money to buy clothes and accessories.

I had always been a chubby girl who wore glasses and nondescript clothing. But Jimin and most of the world didn't know that I had a personal sense of fashion and beauty sequestered in my closet ready to unleash to the world once I divorced this ungrateful shit. The plan to leave had been in the works since the day of the wedding. Five years of building, brooding, working hard, and patience had earned me the right to a divorce. Even when I married him, he never tried to get to know me.

I had tried to be his friend, taking care of him when his dad was sick in the hospital on multiple occasions. There were days Jimin didn't even get out of bed because of the sheer misery of his father’s condition. I had supported him that time, sleeping with him when he was lonely and crying in bed in the middle of the night. We had separate bedrooms, but he had come crying to my bed at midnight one night , sobbing profusely as he crumbled into my arms. “I--I-I can’t do this y/N, I can’t see him die with my own eyes. I love my dad, I can’t imagine life without him.”

He wretched and sobbed for what seemed like eternity as he lay in my bed, snuggled in my arms as he tried catching his breath. I had stroked him on the head, patting him on his back, rocking him to bed as though he were a baby. At the time he had settled against me exhausted with his arms encompassing my waist. His face had burrowed into my chest as he fell asleep, tired from his crying fit. This incident had repeated itself so many times during the course of our marriage. The worst part was when he would act like a completely different person every morning after his crying tirades. He would seek solace in my arms in the nights and become like a cold, impenetrable version of himself the very next day. I was his emotional support animal, and he was the man I could never call my own.

Reminiscing all those times made silent tears trail down my face as I faced the whiplash of memories. I had tried making him breakfast, packing his lunches, and had tried my hardest to at least be his friend if I could not be his partner. He would let me do all this for him, without appreciation or gratitude. He would eat my food and treat me like a stranger. Treat me like I had never existed. He never remembered my birthday, never concerned himself with my needs.

When I had tried to kiss him on his lips, trying to making the first move one time, he had spelled out in no uncertain terms, “ You are only my wife in name. Don’t try to make this relationship anything else than what it should be, a PR relationship. And how could you think I would ever be attracted to you? Do you ever look at yourself in the mirror? Learn to take care of yourself. How could you continue to look like a slob your whole life? You’ve seen who I dated in school since we were kids. Did any of them ever look like you?”

He walked away like nothing had happened, as I crumbled to the ground crying, injured by the one person I had tried so hard to get close to. That night had led me to understand that he was way above my league, at least according to his standards. If this was a PR relationship, then why did he cry to me at night? Why did he come to me wounded, expecting me to complete him and in the same breath stab me in the heart for caring?

I had to leave. I had to leave. I had to.

JIMIN’S POV

As most marriages go, they are usually banal affairs. Unexciting and monotonous. Duties and responsibilities littered my brain as I came home early. As I looked for the wife I would never in a million years have thought would be mine, I stumbled upon some photos in her room. Nudes of a full figured girl dominated the frame of the polaroid photos scattered around the floor. I choked in utter shock at the slip of a stocking and a flash of her bosom.

I picked up the photos, shocked at how beautiful they looked. This was my wife? The quiet girl who even in our school days simply seemed like the kind girl next door? She wore these stockings underneath her everyday clothes? My pants felt uncomfortably tight as I ventured further into her room.

Why were clothes littered all over her room? She was usually extremely organized. She ran our house as tight as a captain would run their ship. Everything was always cleaned and in its place. As I ventured further into her room, I saw piles of lingerie of shapes and sizes I never imagined on her bed. Where was she ? And what was she doing with all these clothes? If it wasn't for me, then who was she entertaining? Rage filled my gut as I couldn't imagine her betraying me with another man.

On the bed, I saw official documents. One word caught my eye, filling me with dread, my panic continued to rise as a I clutched papers to my face with latent fury. It read, “DIVORCE SETTLEMENT DOCUMENTS”. I yelled in a full blown nervousness, “ Y/N where are you? What are you doing? What are these papers?!? Y/N?!”

In the utter chaos wreaking havoc upon my mind, I opened the door to her bathroom, and I almost fainted. Y/N was decorated in a red lace thong with a blood red bra and stockings to match. Her voluptuous stomach gripped the strings of the thong as her thick ass swallowed up the thong string. Stretch marks climbed in spirals along her hips as her bra struggled to house her breasts. Her thick thighs were encased in transparent red thigh high stockings.

I couldn’t even hear her screaming as I continued to stare at her body in undisguised, mind numbing lust and adoration. I had never seen my wife naked. I had never even touched her or any other woman for the entire duration of our marriage. I may be a bastard, but I was loyal to my wife. And my dick that had been dead from the antidepressants and grief at my father’s condition, came to life.

Y/N yelled in frustration, waving her hands in front of me to get out of the room. I marched up to her as the cloud of lust magnified within me. She cowered away from me, placing hands to cover her breasts and pussy. I took hold of her arms easily, wrenching them to the side as I studied her beautiful body up close. If I had known this was how my wife looked like, I would have never made it to work on time every morning.

What startled me was the sniffling though. I panicked as I looked up to see her crying profusely with the most abject grief in her eyes. I had hurt her somehow. She was usually the most neutral, cold faced girl I had ever come across in my life. Her facial expressions never showed emotion except for the times when I would hurt her, when I was so weighed down by the grief of my father that I would lash out at her. Little did she know how elated I was to marry her the day of our wedding.

Growing up an only child without many real friends made me a very unexpressive person, but when I loved someone, I loved them deeply. And my wife was clearly hurt so badly. I had hurt her so badly, that she was considering divorce. As it all clicked into place, I wrapped my arms around her and rocked her in my arms, soothing her, “Tell me what is going on baby? What is happening? What did I do to hurt you? Why are you trying to leave me?”

She tried batting away my arms that settled around her hips and backside. But I wouldn’t let her go. I had messed up so badly and once I saw those papers, my mind whirled with terror. I couldn’t survive without this woman. She was my life source, my rock, and she couldn’t leave me. She shouted out in a cracked voice, “ You don’t love me! YOU DON’T CARE FOR ME. GET AWAY FROM ME!! YOU CAN GO MARRY SOME SKINNY CHIC WHO YOU HAVE BEEN FUCKING IN THE OFFICE DAY AND NIGHT! NOW LET ME GO, YOU TURD!!

I grabbed on to her tighter, confused at her accusations, “Baby what are you talking about? I haven't touched any girl in the five years we have been married.”

She wheezed in disbelief, “Liar, why are you always doing this to me? You are as cold as a stone, you freeze me out when you feel like it. And I heard the moaning coming from your office, and all the women you have been parading around my house, cheating on me with. Well I am done, I have been done for a long time. I am clearly unattractive and ugly and not in shape. I want to leave, I want a divorce. I do not want even a penny from you, but I have to leave. You are not healthy for me. This is not a healthy marriage.”

All of her words hit my like trucks as I begged with her, “Sweetheart, I never meant to make you believe that I have been disloyal. All those women at our house were my business partner’s sisters and family. That’s why they would greet you when they came in to the house. They run a family led corporation , and all of them had come here for business meetings.” As she became quiet, I continued, “ The day you came to see me at the office must have been when my PA twisted her ankle. The physical therapist and I were both in the room with her. She was moaning in pain because it was a completely avulsed tendon. I am so sorry I made you believe otherwise, that you are not the only woman in my life.”

“I know how horribly I conducted my self in school . You always saw me around girls and so you thought that behavior of sleeping around would continue into our marriage. I would never do that to you. You are the only one who truly cares about me. And I was a shallow piece of shit for making you fell unattractive. The day I put you down for your appearance, was the worst day of my life. Dad was getting his prosthetic heart valve replacement surgery and I was so stressed. Mom was crying and I didn’t know what to do, that I lashed out at you when you had nothing to do with it.”

As her crying ceased, she tried to get out of my embrace, but I wouldn’t let her. “Baby, please give me a chance to make it right. I know I have treated you dismally, less than human. But I love you, I have loved you since the day we got married. I just never knew how to show it to you. You have always been so independent, self sufficient, never relying on me for anything. I almost thought you never needed me. And the grief made me an even worse person than I thought I was capable of being.”

Y/N took a huge gulp of air as she exclaimed, “I don’t believe that you are attracted to me or that you love me. You have treated me horribly for years, and I never even felt like we were married. I felt like a roommate who you just used for emotional support. Then you would freeze me out and insult me when I tried to help you. Anyways, you like skinny girls who don’ t look like me, why don’t you just go and find one. I will divorce you and you will never hear from me again. And I will find someone who loves me, who thinks that kissing me and showing affection to me is not a chore.”

I started panicking. I was ridiculously attracted to her from the beginning, but the depression medication had literally made me a sexless creature for the past five years. But now she thought that I was not attracted to her, when in fact it was the medication which I had recently been tapered off of by my doctor. What if I couldn't convince her that it was all the medication? She would leave me, and I would crumble into tiny pieces, because I couldn't live without her.

I explained in a frantic voice, “Baby, it was the medication. I was on antidepressant medication for so long and it killed my sex drive so badly. I couldn’t even have sex if I wanted to, it killed my erection. How can I show you that you are a goddess to me? I don’t even deserve to be next to you. I loved you since we were in 7th grade. But I got so nervous around you that I couldn't even speak when you greeted me. Whenever you would talk to me, I literally felt like dying of nerves. I wanted to talk to you so much when we were going through school, but my anxiety crippled me. I never wanted to make you feel undesirable.”

As she looked at me in indecision, I swooped down to kiss her passionately against her lips, opening up her mouth to receive my tongue. I gripped her exposed butt and squeezed, “Please let me prove to you that you are all I will ever need.” I nuzzled my face against her neck, biting and pecking against it as my hands massaged up her hips, trying to find the string to her thong that I could unravel. Her eyes twinkled with what looked like hope as she whispered, “You can try.”

------Please let me know if I should release the rest of the smut for this one shot.

#jimin x reader #chubby reader x bts #bodyshaming #bodyworship #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfic #angst #troubed marriage #arranged marriage #jimin x chubby reader #smut

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