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eyesxxyou · 9 months

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Strawberries & Cigarettes

★🍓 {} .. hobie brown x ballerina!reader

rating. mature

word count. 3.4k

synopsis. no one believes that someone like you and someone like Hobie belong together. Your love is messy, chaotic, and painful, but it's caring, honest, and beautiful as well.

🚬・．❕ warning. y/n is a mess, self-harm, eating disorder, but of a toxic relationship, y/n has some problems up there 🧠, fighting, a LOT of angst

Anyone looking at you and Hobie would tell you that the two of you don’t belong together, that your puzzle pieces don’t slot in together just perfectly like they’re supposed to. You’re two pieces from entirely different puzzles. You world is filled with grace, with pink satin and pearl earrings, pink lip tints, and delicate tutus. You dance to the classics, from a tour en l’air to a royale and everything between and beyond.

Hobie rocks out. He’s covered spikes and he isn’t just the bark, he’s the bite as well. He’s the tear in the satin you adored so much, he kissed the tint off your lips, and was the one to get you those pearl earrings through nefarious means you’d rather not ask about. He stomped his feet to Black Flag and would force you to listen to the Sex Pistons for the rest of time if you didn’t make so much of a fuss about it.

Yes, you two were pieces from different puzzles who had no reason to be anywhere near each other. But your pieces somehow managed to snuggle in nicely with each other and create a whole new picture despite your differences because you aren’t all soft and full of innocent delicacies. You’re feet are often bruised and bloody, your hands tremble from all the cigarettes you burn to keep your appetite down, there are deep bags under your eyes that you cover with concealer before you leave the house, and there’s a deep melancholy about the way you go through the world. You dance until you physically can’t anymore, until your body screams at you to stop, until your feet leave streaks of blood across the waxed floor of the studio. You need to be slim, small— shoulders down, chin up, chest out, perfect.

And Hobie— though rough around his edges— can be soft in his own way.

Those at the studio know him vaguely. They know he’s your boyfriend, knows he comes to the studio about 2 hours after your class ends because you always stay later than everyone else and work on the choreography over and over until you physically can’t anymore. They know he’s the only reason you’re still alive. They know that he loves you to hell and back and simply can’t understand why.

So when they seem him, 6’5” with wildly beautiful hair, littered in spikes and piercings, and a unapproachable look to him (the only thing about the two of you that match), they don’t pay him any mind as he makes his way to the studio you’re usually in.

The music’s so loud you don’t hear the door open and you’re so focused on your own reflection in the mirror, making sure you hit every move with the precision and sharpness of a knife without losing any of the grace of the performance, that you don’t see Hobie standing there, watching you in all your beauty.

At least you’re not trembling this time. The last time, Hobie was caught up with something and couldn’t come check on you until much later. He found you here, in a ball on the floor, shaking and half-passed out. It could have been a number of things but did didn’t matter much which on of them it was. He had to pick you up, take you home because you refused to go to the hospital, and nurse you back to health.

Once the music came to an end and you closed your dance in a pose filled with poise and beauty, Hobie began to clap for you, startling you off the boxes of your slippers. You had the reflexes of a cat, swift and agile. You got startled just like one too. “You asshole,” you murmur as he comes over, his boots making a horrible squealing sound against the floor as he does so.

Hobie wrapped his arms around your waist and made eye contact with you through the reflection in the wall-length mirror. His lips pepper soft kisses against your exposed collarbones. “Didn’ mean t’ scare ya, doll.” He loves the way you lean into him but hates the way he isn’t sure if it’s because you want to be closer to him or if your body simply doesn’t have the energy to hold itself up. “Checkin’ in a lil’ early today. You weren’ answerin’ ya phone so I had to come ‘n make sure you weren’ dead.” He plays it off as a joke but you both know he’s more than serious. Your habits will kill you one day and you both know it.

You turn around in his arms, your fingers locked together behind his neck before they stroke the skin under his collar. “Sorry– forgot to take it off of silent after class.” You stand on your toes, feet arching because your scuffed slippers force you to as you stand on the box again. Hobie leans in to kiss you as you pull him in and press your lips against his. You taste like strawberries and cigarettes as always, a mixture of your lipgloss and what you had for breakfast today. Your body arches into his as he holds you tight and kisses you deeply.

“What ‘ave you eat’n t’day?” Hobie asks you, hoping the kiss will lighten the sour mood that question always puts you in. “Coffee ‘n a cigarette don’ count by the way. I mean somethin’ you put in ya mouth, chewed, and swallowed.” He adds on quickly before you get the chance to say what he knows you will and with him eliminating 80% of your entire diet, you remain silent and pull away from him.

Hobie grabs your hand before you can fully retract from him. “Come on, le’s go eat, luv.” And you pull your hand from his. You know better than to fight him on this because it will lead to an argument about your diet in which he’ll say what he always says, “A diet still requires that you eat somethin!” His accent becoming all the thicker.

“Just lemme go one more time first.” You request him to grant you just one more go at the choreography. You feel that you were so close, so so close to perfection though anyone in the building will tell you that you have nothing more to improve on. That’s the thing about you. You nitpick the smallest things and when there’s absolutely nothing wrong about your performance, you’ll make something up. And with a recital just days away, all your worst habits were double as bad. Hobie knew your cycle well. Dance yourself to the edge of death before a recital, usually fall into a depressive episode immediately after the recital because you feel like you somehow fucked up in front of hundreds of people when you were perfect by all standard, and then once he finally convinced you that there was nothing wrong with your performance, the was the grace period in which Hobie could convine you to eat at least a meal a day and to give your brutalized feet a rest. Until it was time for another recital. Then it starts all over again.

He knew your process like he knew his own face and he knew exactly how to disrupt it.

“No– No more t’day, luv. Get ya tings so we can go.” He isn’t particularly gentle in his tone. As said before, a bit rough around the edges. “Don’ fight me on this one. No’ t’day.” His eyes are firm as he looks at you, tells you he’s not going to give this up, even if it starts some shit between the two of you which it undoubtedly always does. He knows you, maybe better than you know yourself. It’s always “one more” until you’re on the floor with bruised, blistered, and bleeding feet, blackened knees from falling, and scraped palms from your delicate hands hitting the ground. And he’s always there to clean you up because that’s just what love is.

You scoff and roll your eyes at him. “Whatever.” But you comply, you brush past him as you make your way to your bag. You sit on the floor and Hobie follows suit with you, grabbing your ankle delicately and pulling it towards him as his long, slender fingers pull the ribbons you had tied so tightly around your ankles. He sees the bandages he's wrapped around your feet began to let a few dapples of blood through. He could see your grimace, the way you tried to hide it like you weren't in pain. He made a mental note to get some more bandages for you.

You pulled on your leg warmers, then your flats to give your poor feet a break. The whole time, you made it clear you weren't happy with Hobie, but you knew he couldn't care in the least if you pretended to hate him because he knew that it wouldn't last. It never lasts, these little fits of yours. As long as you were healthy.

You wrapped your chiffon skirt around your hips and pulled on your shrug sweater, pulling your feet away as Hobie tries to get the full extent of the damage. "I'm fine. You wanted to go so let's go." You grab your shoes, and slip them up before standing uneasily and grabbing your duffle bag.

“We’re goin’ home. I’ll make you sometin’ when we get there.” He didn’t want you on your feet more than you needed to be. Hobie tried to appeal to you, an offer to make you something he knew you’d like. When you don’t respond, he tries again. “I’ll order sushi from tha’ place ya like.” He follows you outside, watching the way you tense a little as the cold air seized your muscles. You were nowhere near dressed enough for the weather. That’s exactly why Hobie brought an extra jacket.

You had a cigarette in the car, your legging-clad legs crossed and your body physically turned away. The window was down to air out the smoke and the wind tossed the tight curls of your hair as you gazed out at nothing in particular. Neither of you spoke. Hobie had nothing to say and you wouldn’t respond to him even if he did say anything.

He did end up getting you sushi. Your favorite. Something small and non-threatening food-wise, something you could eat if you weren’t so goddamn stubborn.

Getting home was a quiet affair as well. Your shared apartment was cluttered with things belonging to both of you. New pointe slippers were sitting on top of the breakfast bar of your studio flat, waiting to be destroyed an broken in the same way your body was. You tossed down your bag with an exhausted sigh. “I’m going to bed.” You hope Hobie will just let it go tonight. You’re in no mood to eat, thought you were fucking starving, much less to fight. But he’s not willing to let it go. “No– come eat. You need to eat before you go to sleep.” You were already removing your shoes as you fell into bed, simply too exhausted to remove any of your other clothing.

You can hear Hobie sigh in frustration. He doesn’t want to be rough with you in any capacity of the word. He just wants you to eat something— anything at all. “Get up, Y/N.” You can hear the way his voice warns you but you don’t want to move so you don’t. “I’m not hungry.” You lie right through your teeth. You’re so hungry you could eat the whole world in one bite and still want more. You were so hungry it felt like your stomach was beginning to cave in and digest itself out of desperation for something with some sort of substance.

“I don’ care if ya not hungry. You’ve gotta eat.” There’s a beat of silence, a chance for you to get up and end this here before it gets out of hand. But you’re both too stubborn for you’re own good. You don’t move, your fingers curling into the sheets as Hobie barks at you. “Y/N, get the fuck up! You’re makin’ this so much harder than it needs to be.”

Today has been log, your temper is short, and for a second, you feel like you’re losing it. You’re so hungry, so so hungry you feel your might not wake up from your sleep. But the recital is so close and you can’t afford to gain anymore weight. In a sudden burst of energy, despite your crippling hunger and the stinging, aching pain in your feet, you stand abruptly and march over to Hobie.

“I said–” you snatch the sushi from his hands and throw it to the ground, “I’m not fuckin’ hungry! Get off my fuckin’ back. I don’t need you up my ass right now!” You grab a dingy pack of cigarettes you had lying around and stormed off into the bathroom, with Hobie right in tow. You close and lock the door before he can follow you inside, his hand slamming on the thin wood that separated you from him. “Well, ‘m fuckin’ sorry that I give a single fuck ‘bout you when you seem so damn helbent on destoyin’ yaself. I’ll jus’ go piss off since ‘m such a fuckin’ nusance to you!” He hit the the door once more before going out to have a cig for himself. He’s not usually one to smoke, but in moments like this, he can’t help but take after your bad habits.

You both needed a moment to cool off. Pent up frustrations coming out in ways they shouldn’t meant that the two of you needed a break before begin near each other again. Hobie snatched his jacket and a stray cigarette with a nighter before heading out the front door to leave the building. He made sure to slam the door, let you know he was leaving, let you fear that he might not come back because you knew you weren’t acting like a reasonable person.

It’s the things the two of you do that destroy each other. But that’s love, isn’t it? It’s the good and the bad? You trying to teach Hobie how to dance like a ballerina like your tiny apartment had any real room for a body like his to move like that, the smokey giggles as you discard the dangers of smoking in bed and simply lie with him under the dim, LED lights and talk about nothing and everything all at the same time. It’s him cleaning your wounds after dancing for so long, you cleaning the cuts on his knuckles after a bar fight. It’s waking up early and watching the sunrise from your bed as he peppered kisses across your neck and worshiped you in the early morning light.

But it was also yelling at each other into the late nights, you throwing his clothes out the front door, him calling you an ungrateful bitch, both saying words you don’t mean. Love is aching. It can be painful, scarring, brutalizing on the soul. But the thing about true love is that it always mends itself despite it all.

A 20 minute smoke break and a few muttering curses later, Hobie felt he was finally calm enough to go back in and talk to you. He’s been sitting out on the cold on the front steps of your complex with nothing but his thoughts and the burning cig to keep himself warm. You were going through shit, he got that, but someone had to make sure you were okay. Someone had to be your self-preservation because you didn’t have any.

You hadn’t come out of the bathroom by the time he returned. Hobie tossed his jacket onto the bed as he made his way back to the bathroom door. He picked up the container of sushi on the way and tossed it into the garbage. He’d just make you something later.

“Y/N…baby.” He spoke as softly as he could through the door. “Can I please come in, luv?” He didn’t want to come in and get a bottle of lotion thrown at his head. You tended to be dramatic when angry. The silent but deadly type.

You were silent for a moment, a small sloshing of water told him you were in the bath. “The door’s unlocked,” he could just hardly hear you mutter beyond the door. Wasn’t exactly the invitation he was looking for, the bottle of lotion could still very well be a risk but it was one he was decidedly willing to take.

He opened the door slowly and peaked his head into the bathroom. You were in the tub with bubbles up to those pretty collarbones of yours. You had a cigarette perched between your dainty, trembling fingers, undoubtedly to suppress your hunger. Your eyes were red and puffy, mascara running down your cheeks in half-dried streaks, your legs pulled up to your chest just barely peeking up over the bubbles. Your favorite glass, heart-shaped ashtray was sitting on the ledge of the tub, already dusty with fresh ashes. Hobie got it for you, saw it and immediately knew you'd adore it. You did.

Hobie came and sat down on the ledge of the tub. You didn't look at him, just took another shaky drag and let the smoke pass by your lips. You looked like a mess and you were but you were his mess. His beautiful mess.

"You know I love you, righ?" He didn't expect you to reply and that was okay. You were tired, stressed, hungry, and probably in an incredible amount of pain. "You're my fuckin' everythin', doll. I'd do absolutely anythin' for you. Anythin'." You still didn't respond but he could see that you were listening, that you wanted to fall into him, kiss him. You turned away further but tapped the end of your cigarette against the edge of your ashtray.

Hobie slid off the tub and got down on his knees beside it to be at your level. "Do you wan' me to die? Is that it. You wan' me to drop fuckin' dead? 'Cause that's what'll happen if I gotta keep seein' you kill yaself like this." Killing yourself if such a proper term for how to treat yourself. You keep going on like this and you won't last much longer. You're so thin, unhealthily so, and you're always praised for it. But you won't eat for days, let yourself get so hungry you need to be hospitalized.

Tears prick your eyes as Hobie continues, resting his head against the tub ledge. "I can'' live in a world where you're not here, baby. I jus' can't. And it kills me to see you die a lil' more every single day." He sees the tears roll down your cheeks in fresh, salty streaks.

"But would you still love me?"

It catches him off guard. His pierced lips twist in dismay. "What?" You take a drag. "You fell in love with this version of me. As bad as I am. How do I know you won't stop loving me?" You knew you didn't sound rational in any way, shape, or form but you feared being left. You feared that for some reason— any reason— he'd leave you. He'd leave you if you weren't perfect, if you weren't thin enough, if you weren't pretty enough. Everyone told you how lucky he was to have you, such a nice, pretty girl on his arm to show off. A ballerina, the epitome of everything graceful, delicate, elegant, and beautiful.

Hobie reaches out, grabs your chin between the tips of his fingers to make you look at him. You can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. "Look a' me." When you don't, he leans in a way that puts him in line of your gaze. "If I stopped lovin' you because you got healthy, I don't deserve you. I could never stop loving' you. When we fight, I love you. When you scream and curse and throw things a' me, I still love you. When you cry all ugly 'n have ya makeup runnin' down ya face like you do right now, I think I fall in love with ya a lil' more."

You cry a little harder, sobbing as your cigarette falls into the water and sinks to the bottom of the tub. You lean into him as he holds you, not caring for the way you got him wet with the bath water and your tears.

"Don't cry, my pretty girl. It's okay." And he kisses you, your lips still tasking like strawberries and cigarettes.

#across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #hobie brown fic #spider punk smut #ballerina #coquette #eating disoder trigger warning #trigger warning

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i-cry-everytime · 3 months

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Cw: spider person, arachnophobia, tarantula centaur I guess 🤷

W what if he was a tarantula..like..

What if you know haha 👀

#danganronpa #digital arwork #dangan ronpa #ishimaru kiyotaka #kiyotaka ishimaru #art #digital art #dr1 thh #dr1 trigger happy havoc #dr1 #trigger happy havoc #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #tw spiders #cw tarantula #trigger warning: spider #so spooky #they so cute tho

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gaypyro · 6 months

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Rating the New Champions Variant Covers

So marvel recently revealed a bunch of Varient Covers of "What if every hero had a sidekick/youth counterpart" and while I love most of the designs, some definately are better then others

#22

I hate the Vision Design and I dont know why. Something just feels fundamentally off about it/ Maybe its the fact its a pitch white, skintight 8 year old? Maybe its the posing? The Debris? IDK Man is feels weird.

#21

and

#20

These two get paired together for a single reason

It's just Billy and Teddy. I love Billy and Teddy, their some of the only actual Gay Men in Marvel, but come one guys. Certainly you can do a young Dr. Strange and Young Hulk thats different? Strange goes higher if only because I like the art more, the Young Hulk I just dislike entirely

#19

Speaking of uninspired, the only reason Miles is above Billy & Teddy is that at least shes a different gender then her mainline counterpart. Other then that its probably the laziest design here. Also, you may notice the webbing seems off, that will be a recurring trend here where limbs or background elements were layered improperly or something.

#18

I actually really like this character design. It looks like a fun character in a superhero elementry school spin-off book. The only issue um... thats Storm. Its the next gen Storm and she's white. That's basically my only issue, and why shes above the 3 I actively somewhat dislike designwise, but... Storm is one the premiere Black Superheros. Having her next gen counterpart be white feels so weird. I

#17

On one hand, I can 100% see normal Deadpool wearing this. On the other, the My Boy adds way to much charm for me to rate it with the other uninspired ones, and at least I dont feel like its whitewashing anything. We are at the point where I'd unironically love to see any of these designs in a book, even if its an Elseworld instead of main universe one.

#16

Teen Female Wolverine has been done to death, but I do like how this one goes for a more monstrous Angle compared to Laura and Gabby. The tattered, beast up costumes, beastial feet, large Ponytail giving off the deelling of a mane, nasty looking teeth, and BONE CLAWS very much makes it feel more like a feral forest mutant then the more clean, assassin design Laura had.

#15

The big thing I like here is it isn't a reimagining of Carol Danvers current, captain marvel outfit, but her Miss Marvel ones. We already have Kamala for a new gen version of Carols current design, so a reimigining of the old one, in a way that doesn't feel super fetishy is nice. First I thought it was a dude, but it might be a girl? Unsure.

#14

I really love this design, but it doesn't really scream Black Panther... and I honestly dont care. I love bright colors, makes my brain go byr, and the fact she has a completely different powerset most likely intrigues me.

#13

I have a weakness for fishpeople of all types ok? I find the designs naturally appealing. Even still, Starlord's Chibi Starfish Successor is neat, but not amazing. The ideas done a lot better later on.

#12

He looks like he is having so much fun with his Mentor. I also like how, unlike everyone else, Black Cat's Apprentice is kinda chubby. I don't know man he just seems like he'd be a fun guy to hang out with at college.

#11

Whats better then a succesor to one hero? a Succesor to TWO HEROES! The Captain America Succesor I feel very much has some elements of Wasp design, and I always am down for High Tech Wingspans even if they weren't intentionally going for it.

#10

Instead of being the Scarlet witch they made her the Magenta Witch. All in all I just really like the sorta sorceror design, especially the chosen color scheme. Also ghostly mystical fire is fun you should follow it into the swamp.

Listen I love this design. Its in the top 10 for a reason but man... that arm. Every time I see the image I cant help but notice how insanely small his arm is, like he was supposed to have both arms resting but they decided "Have him twirl a stake so people know its blade."

Moon Squire is here to kick ass and pass third grade math! I just like the Cowl mixed with baseball cap design lol. Moon Knight always fucking kills it with the drip though so im not surprised.

A Friend told me It's Gwen Tennyson cosplaying Magneto and now I cant not see it. I do like that shes implied to have a different powerset then Eric as well, always fun when they did that.

The better Chibi Venom. Only missed the top 5 since I dont think he'd be able to carry a book as the main protag, he is the perfect sidekick though. Just this mildly creepy cutie pootie handing with the fairly creepy Symbiote. After Extreme Venomverse shouldn't be surprised the Venom varient is amazing, but I am suprised thats the direction they went.

If Next Gen Storm and Next Gen Moon Knight are in the Elementary School book, Wee-Hulk is the main god damn character. She's just a very fun little kid hulk, I especially love how shes doing the Iconic "She-Hulk holds a Car Above her head" pose with an electric scooter.

Listen, Non-Binery Latin America Iron Man with the Criminally Underused Grey Armor design is great. They gpt Green Hair, Pronouns, and the backing of Americas #1 Arms Dealer, ready to take on the world!

The Thing has become one of them Yancy Street Kids, and the Fantastic Four are his gang. I just love the design, Spiky Rock person is always a favorite of mine.

Miku Ghost Rider. On Roller Skates. With a fucking Hellfire Flail. I am imagining she has an entire like, Magical Girl Transformation Sequence whenever she transforms, just with a lot more demons and fire then normal.

Listen, I get it. Legs dont bend like that. She is objectively less creative then the last 3 or 4. But, I like Crows. I like Ravens. I like Thor. And this Thor looks like she wont take any of Odins BS when he goes shit dad mode.

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liroyalty · 2 months

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Me, everytime I find a new neat looking wedding dress doll maker: 💃💃💃💃💅💅💅💅

#(because i will never turn down the chance to put both of my girls in white & a veil)#(they both look SO GOOD in white)#musings [lore and ideas]#ann aesthetic 【in sunlight blooms the peony】#suzanne aesthetic(varies trigger warnings) 【in darkness blooms the spider lily】

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lildoodlenoodle · 8 months

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bro, i don't think miguel is just recording hq, pretty sure some of those vids he's watching are from other universes and he's spying on them in their home dimensions actually 😬

EXACTLY. Like we saw those cameras Gwen set up for the spot. Bro has the technology for 360 video capture. Cause that image in my last reblog/post has Miles and Gwen talking in 1610, Mile’s universe.

For all we know those watches aren’t just tracking them, they are also watching them. And all of them are vulnerable to it. Hobie is from the 70s the idea of a device watching him 24/7 might cross his mind eventually but it isn’t ingrained like it is for most 21st century people walking around with an iPhone. Gwen cannot take hers off, she can’t go home. Pavitr is still naive about the whole thing. And Peni/Margo have bought into this whole society to a certain extent, because they’ve essentially been brainwashed.

It’s totally understandable to have security for the HQ, and to have some form of tracking and security on the watches. That is actually responsible! With that said it is super weird creepy and a plain abuse of power for what is essentially the CEO to be watching the security to watch certain people and then rewatching it and saving clips to watch again. Especially when it’s supposed to be in private areas. ESPECIALLY WHEN ITS CHILDREN.

Like I just found this out and I don’t have the band width right now to fully express how upset this makes me and what this means for Miguel as a character. There is so much to talk about and I feel like I could make multiple posts talking about it. It is very concerning and adds layers to how dark a character Miguel could potentially be in the next movie. And remember, this man took a dead man’s family. A family he NEVER had to begin with. Part of me wants to wait for BTSV before I say anything, cause there is so much we don’t know but I only see bad things.

#idek what content warnings to tag this as but I feel like there should be one #it’s triggering TO ME #does that count?#miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #spiderman 2099 #spider 99 #spider society #ATSV #across the spiderverse #tw scopophobia

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l0sercat · 9 months

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TW: Can you make a spider noir x goth coquette reader? And where the read struggles with a ED/paranoia and maybe SH/thoughts of it. And maybe put in there they have bpd/other mental disorders that cause the thoughts for it….that’s all I got off the top of my head but you can add other stuff if you want I just want comfort angst based off what I’m going through rn

If you need help or someone to talk to I'm here :)

Also TW!! To people who won't be able to handle topics like these don't read and if you do I'm not responsible for anything.

Spiderman Noir x goth! reader

Peter watched as you giddily put on your outfit. Your clothes were different from what he knew it that's what he loved about you. You didn't fit in the social norms and had your own sense of style. He found your outfits to be gorgeous and loved seeing you dressed up.

He planned on taking you to a nice restaurant. There was no reason he just wanted to take you somewhere nice. He wanted to see you smile. When you were finished with getting all dolled up he grabbed you by your waist and pulled you in close.

"You always look so good all dolled up" he said and eyes you up and down slowly to take in everything. You smiled and lightly shoved his shoulder "So I don't look nice when I'm not dressed up?" You teasingly said which clearly made him choke and fumble over his words. "That's not what I meant you always look nice I just love when you put on your gothic outfits" you giggle and roll your eyes and place a kiss on his cheek. "Let's for we don't wanna be late for our reservation"

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You both sat at the table and conversed in conversation. Everything was lively and light and you felt good. Then when you got your food everything crashed and spiraled for you. You felt eyes on you everywhere it felt like everyone was watching you eat. Deep down you knew it wasn't true but the thoughts clouded your mind.

You took and bite of your food and you were visibly tense and your hands were clammy. You felt like throwing up the pressure you felt was heavy. The stares felt like heavy weights on your back. You covered your mouth and nervously looked around. No one was looking at you but the stares didn't go away. Peter noticed something was up and looked at you with worry. "Are you okay?" He asked

Your head snapped at him and you nervously fidgeted. "Y-yeah I just uh" you swallowed nervously and fidgeted uncomfortably "I'm gonna use the bathroom.." you said an stood up and walked away. You brought your arms to your chest and picked up your pace. People looked at you with harsh stares and disgust. You felt like crying and you practically slammed the door to the bathroom open. You rushed into a stall and let tears slide down your cheeks.

You brought your fists to your head and started to punch your self. "Stupid stupid stupid..." You mumbled and let out a choked sob. You felt overwhelmed and you couldn't process anything. Your vision blurred and your thoughts raced. Why were you crying? You had nothing to be upset about no one was watching you. But Peter was... he probably thinks your fat. You did order a lot and compared to him your a log while he's a stick. Yeah.. he's probably judging you probably grossed out. Before you could process it your fingers were shoved down your throat, making you gag and your dinner came hurling out.

You saw the vomit sitting in the toilet and you grew disgusted with yourself. You hated yourself for doing this but at the same time it's the only way for you not the be fat. Your fingers found there way into you that again and you threw up more vomit. And you repeated it again and again until you felt like passing out. You couldn't produce anymore tears and the old ones dried up. You slowly blinked and looked down at your pathetic form. You felt sorry for yourself, your fingers wet and sticky, your throat sore and stomach aching. Your limbs felt numb and you adverted your eyes to the wrists. They were decently healed, in he past you cut and scratched yourself but Peter helped you. He was by your side and supported you and got you help. You felt like crying again just thinking about Peter. Your slowly got up and flushed the toilet. You went to the sink and washed your hands. You looked in the mirror and saw the mess that was yourself. Your makeup was ruined and running down your face and your hair was a little messed up.

You walked out walking slowly because your legs felt like the could give out any minute. Your vision was a bit blurry and it felt like everything was spinning. You made it to the table and Peter took one look at you and was worried sick. "What happened and you alright?" He asked his vice full of panic and you looked at him with a blank look. You fell in his arms "Can we leave please?" You said in a cracked voice "Yeah of course..." he mumbled and held you. He grabbed your waist and lead you out of the restaurant.

He picked you up in his arms and and whispered little words of affirmation to you. You cling to him and just closed your eyes listening to his voice. He rushed to your little shared apartment.

He placed you on the bed and laid next you. "What's wrong? Why did you cry? Are you okay?" He asked. You slowly turned towards him and curled into a ball next to him. "I- I'm having these thoughts again...I you don't think I'm fat right? You think my bodyweight is normal and-" you whispered and cut yourself before you broke down again. Peters eyes widen and he held you in his arms. "No I don't think your fat your perfect the way you are and it's okay if your having thoughts again, I'll always be by your side. I'll never leave you I promise, I'm going to take care of you" he said

You tightened your grip on his vest and buried your face in his chest. You let your tears fall free again and he felt his best getting soaked but he didn't care. He held you firm against him and whispered sweet nothings in your ear to try to comfort you. Peter rubbed your back with one hand gently and kissed the top of your head. "It's gonna be alright I promise"

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