#tw selfhate

Read part 1, part 2

“You don’t like it?” The disappointment in your voice is honestly gut wrenching, the team unsure how to respond without making you feel worse than you already do.

“Kid…. What made you think this is something we wanted?” Price’s voice is soft, no accusation just disheartenment.

“I just… didn’t want to feel like a danger to the team.”

“You aren’t a danger,” Price tries to reason but the words taste of dishonesty even before they leave his tongue.

“Don’t bullshit me Price, none of you can get within five feet of me except for Soap. I always sit in my own row in the chopper so none of you get accidentally stung and I have to poor vinegar over the floors in the shower after I’m finished to kill off any stinging cells I might have dropped.”

Gaz opens his mouth to interject but you cut him off before he can.

“Do you know how exhausting it is? Being constantly scared that I might accidentally kill somebody I care about. I don’t go to team dinners, I don’t hang out in the common room, I can’t borrow any gear or even give you guys a goddamn high five after a mission. I spend every waking hour terrified that I’ll be responsible for putting one of you in the hospital, god forbid I want a break from that!”

You can feel the wetness of your cheeks and you angrily wipe away the tears, “Soap even said it himself, they are a bother, I won’t apologise for doing something about it.”

If you weren’t already crying the look on Soaps face would have been enough to make you start. The expression of absolute despair and remorse as he realises the extent his words affected you.

“Bon I didn’t…. Please tell me you didn’t think I meant it like that.”

You don’t respond, instead turning and storming back towards the barracks, leaving the team standing in shock at what just happened.

You slam the door to your room behind you, letting out a growl of frustration. Your gaze meets your reflection in the mirror standing in the corner, red rimmed eyes, jagged strands of tentacles growing back in like a bad haircut, you look like shit.

Why do tentacles have to regrow, you just want to be rid of these stupid things.

You don’t know how you get there but you find yourself in the kitchen holding a knife over the stove. Maybe if you cauterise the ends it will kill off the cells, that will stop them growing back at least for a while.

As you grasp on of the strands and ready the knife you take a deep breath to prepare yourself for what you are about to do.

“No!” You barely have time to register Soaps presence before having the knife wrenched from your hand. You hear it clatter to the floor as he grasps your shoulders tightly. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“It doesn’t hurt. I can’t feel them, I’m not hurting myself,” you don’t know who you are trying to convince more, him or yourself.

“It doesn’t matter! You’re trying to get rid of a key part of yourself, don’t you understand how wrong that is? I don’t…. I don’t understand Bon, why are you so determined to change yourself.”

He reaches up to gently run his hand through the short strands of tentacles, “these are part of what makes you special.”

“I don’t feel special I just feel…. empty,” your voice if hollow, you don’t even recognise the sound of it at this point. Empty…. How long have you felt like? If you think hard can you even remember the last time you felt good about yourself? If you were honest with yourself you’d say never, not since you were a kid, not since you put your best friend in the hospital.

Soap sees your inner turmoil, bringing his hands to your cheeks, trying to pull your focus back to him. “Love, talk to me, please.”

It’s a long moment before you respond, so quiet the Soap almost misses what you say.

“You’ll hate me…. Who am I kidding you probably already do,” you let out a humourless laugh, feeling your throat get tight as you swallow back the building sob.

Soaps eyes scan your expression, thumb gently rubbing your cheek before he slowly leans his forehead against yours, “nothing you say could make me hate you Love. Please, let me in, let me help.”

The tenderness of his gesture breaks the dam that’s been holding in years of self loathing. The tears come heavy and quick, soaking into his shirt as you collapse into him.

In normal cases you would be embarrassed for showing this sort of vulnerability in front of a comrade, you are supposed to be a soldier, someone strong and secure. Yet here you are, breaking down in the common room kitchen.

However those feelings of shame evaporate before they can take root as Soaps arms move to cradle you tight, offering a secureness you’ve probably been missing your whole life.

The first time he hugged you it felt foreign, but it gave you the hope of maybe finding companionship, something you’d resigned yourself to live without. This hug however was different, firmer, assured, like he was holding onto something that matters, and in a sense, maybe he was.

Part 4

——————

Just had an absolutely awful day so if I’m suffering, all of you can too…..I’m a little bit sorry

Also I added trigger warnings to this and the previous post because I know this is a little bit dark.

Also I am banging these parts out ridiculously fast, please don’t expect this all the time lol because I will definitely hit a slump at some point.

Tag list

TW: gn!reader, angst without comfort, chubby reader, self-deprecation, reader with an eating disorder, malicious comments directed at the reader. I am using an automatic translator, so please excuse any errors.

They had been mean to you.

Johnny and Gaz loved to talk about your body, but not in a nice way that would make your heart warm, but in an extremely mean way.

Sometimes, you might be standing in front of the mirror, looking at your sides, squeezing the fat that forms on your belly. Gaz walks behind you, strolling through the room while casually commenting on how much weight you've gained since you've been together.

"Seriously, love, do you want us to stop being attracted to you?"

And he has that calm voice, typical of Kyle, as if he hadn't just made absurd comments about your body.

Other times, you may be sitting at the table, nibbling on a quick snack in the evening with the rest of the guys, until Johnny leans towards you.

"Honey, don't you think you're eating too much? You might end up getting even fatter if you keep this up!"

He says it as if it were a genuine concern, as if he weren't just embarrassed to have a chubby partner by his side.

Simon and Price are more subtle, avoiding making malicious comments about you, but the way they behave around you says it all.

They avoid physical contact, especially in public, because they are ashamed of you (but they don't say this directly to you), pushing your touch away with a little nudge or simply ignoring you, knowing that you will soon give up on maintaining contact.

But of course this has a negative effect on you.

You stop trying to make contact, closing yourself off in your own bubble, willing not to cross boundaries, not to bother anyone, not to be too much. You miss feeling Price's skin against yours so much, even when he didn't return your touch. You also miss looking through Simon's mask, staring into those piercing brown eyes. But you're going to be good to them, you're not going to do anything they don't want you to.

You stop eating. With each passing day, you induce your body to eat less and less, until, when you realise it, you are eating only one (1) meal a day. The pain of hunger consumes you, but you consider it a victory, after all, you will finally please your four (4) boyfriends, won't you? But of course you have relapses.

Sometimes you look in the mirror and all you see is your old self, with fat adorning your sides and belly, even when the mirror reflects a body that has already lost excess fat. You feel like screaming, you feel that nothing you have suffered was enough to achieve the perfect result. And worst of all: everything you can do is cry.

as they cut the thread off, handler orders, "all done. get in the car," as they remove the belt from whumpee's mouth. without giving it any thought, a "no," slips out, obstinate and clipped. whumpee keeps their head turned away.

their failure plays like a video on loop in their head, over and over and over again. their hesitation cost hundreds of innocent people their lives. it's not fair.

"get in the car," handler repeats themself. steel underlines their tone, danger boiling beneath the surface.

when whumpee fails to comply in the stipulated five second period, they find themself pressed against the hood of the car, the metal digging into their freshly stitched wound. "whatever punishment you are seeking," handler hisses in their ear, sharp like a razor, "your superiors are itching to grant it. in fact, I'll be damned if you will be able to recite your own code once they are done with you. now get in the bloody car."

tears slip down whumpee's face, a steady chant of weak, weak, weak echoing in their head as they climb in it. they know that handler's right. they'll be screaming themself hoarse— if that will be allowed— by the end of today.