Request by insert_name_here_x (Wattpad)
Its important that everyone knows, before they read this, that the thoughts and actions taken in this oneshot are examples of extremely unhealthy and damaging behavior. Most of the things that Peter's experiencing are meant to capture what having an eating disorder is like. I hate to say that I have firsthand experience with this, especially lately, but I'm working on fixing it. I didn't do any research, I just combined what I already know and what I've noticed and tried my best to capture how an eating disorder might affect a superhuman (no amount of research can tell you that so... just go with it)
TW: eating disorder
Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel.
3rd Person P.O.V.
Peter found himself on the scale in his bathroom, fidgeting anxiously. He waited for the little digital numbers to light up, a small smile gracing his lips.
106.5 lbs.
He was down .7 pounds from yesterday, much to his delight. It almost made the hunger pains worth it, knowing that he was losing weight. But it wasn't enough, Peter wanted to weigh even less. He didn't really need to eat everyday, right?
He set goals for his weight loss. He would lose the 6.5 pounds by Friday, become 100 pounds in three days. He could do it, he just had to take it further. He just had to push himself, and he could achieve his weight goal. Peter stepped off the scale, moving to stare at himself in the mirror. He pulled his shirt off hesitantly, standing up straight and sucking in. Not that there was much left to suck in.
Peter put his arms up, admiring the way his ribs stuck out, his skin molding over the bones. He ran a finger down his rib cage, feeling the hills and valleys brush under his fingertips. His lips curled into a smile. He was doing it... he was losing the weight. Peter would never be fat again, as long as he kept working towards his goal. Once he reached 100 pounds, he would strive for 95. Then he would stop. 95 pounds. Peter shivered with anticipation. Finally, he would be skinny, and no one would ever make fun of his weight again.
He had started dieting nearly three months ago, his starting weight having been 130 pounds. He was proud of his progress, losing what would soon be 30 pounds. It wasn't that he stopped eating, no, that wasn't it. He just ate less. What would normally be a three-or-four meal day turned into one meal, if that. But it was fine, as long as he was eating. Nobody could say he wasn't.
Harley was getting suspicious, and it made the brunette nervous. If he found out, would he make Peter stop? Would he try and get in the way of Peter's happiness? He hoped not. The southern boy had looked at him strangely, the night when Peter had poured a bit of milk into a bowl and said he had cereal. Harley didn't believe him, Peter could tell, but the blond couldn't exactly prove anything, right? Peter was being careful.
The next day, Peter weighed himself again before bed.
105.9 lbs.
Down another .6 pounds. This time, Peter was less satisfied. It was Wednesday already, meaning he would have to lose weight faster to reach his goal. His gaze flickered to the toilet, and he swallowed nervously. He didn't want to throw up, but he had to lose the weight...
No, no. He wouldn't go there... at least not yet. Peter made a mental note that, if he didn't lose the weight in two days, he would make himself lose weight. That brought a weak smile to his face. He was raising the stakes, making him want to lose the weight even more.
He got in the shower, shivering. He was feeling so cold lately... but it was probably just the weather, right? And sure, having bluish nails wasn't exactly normal, but was it really that bad? It was probably just because he couldn't thermoregulate.
Right?
Peter woke up on Friday morning, after fasting all day Thursday. It was difficult to move, he felt lethargic and dizzy. But it was fine. People could survive days without eating. And sure, Peter had a super metabolism, but it was only one day without food. He was fine.
That night, he weighed himself again, crossing his fingers.
104.6 lbs.
Peter frowned, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over him. Sure he had lost a lot of weight, more than most days, but it wasn't enough. He had to take it further. Tomorrow, he would run a mile. He wouldn't eat anything. And... Peter glanced at the toilet, brows furrowing. Should he...?
The thought had barely even crossed his mind before Wednesday, but suddenly it seemed like a better answer. Peter wanted results, and he wanted them now. So, the brunette lifted up the toilet lid, kneeling in front. He had seen people do it in movies all the time... how hard could it be?
He took two fingers, pushing them back into his throat. He gagged, feeling a wave of nausea... but nothing came out. Peter shoved his fingers back more forcefully, tears slipping from his eyes. Nothing more happened, and the brunette pulled his hand back with a frustrated sigh. Maybe not tonight... but he would try again tomorrow.
It had been a whole 36 hours since Peter had last eaten. He went on his morning run, having to turn back after only 10 minutes. He felt pathetic, first not making his weight loss goal and now this... it was a lot of disappointment.
Peter walked back into Stark Tower, taking the elevator up. He made a beeline for his room, legs heavy and sluggish. He flopped onto his bed like a dead fish, taking gasping breaths. He was exhausted, everything felt so tiring and difficult. He was miserable. But, he reminded himself, it would all be worth it, once he had lost the weight. He would be beautiful.
When Peter weighed himself that afternoon, he managed a half smile.
102.8 lbs.
He was getting closer, he could lose the weight. Maybe his goals had been a little unrealistic, maybe if he could make 100 pounds by Monday... that seemed reasonable. He praised himself quietly, congratulating himself on all the weight he had lost. Sure, he was dizzy, and maybe his stomach was cramping painfully, but he looked good. No more fat rolls, ribcage poking out against his flat chest, flat, almost sunken in stomach. He loved how his diet made him look.
Peter stepped off the scale, legs quivering. He took unsteady steps to his bed, fainting in the middle of his room. He woke up not a minute later, groaning at his aching head. He climbed back into bed, curling up around his desperate stomach as it growled and whined.
But he didn't have a problem... right?
"Darlin', wake up, wake up." Peter blinked sluggishly, eyes focusing on his boyfriend. Harley's hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Hey, you missed breakfast. I didn't see you at dinner last night either, are you hungry? I brought you some bacon." Harley held up a small plate, three slices of bacon on it. Peter wrinkled his nose, shaking his head.
"No... I'm not hungry," he insisted, pushing the plate into Harley's chest. The blond frowned, narrowing his eyes.
"How are you not hungry? Darlin', when was the last time you ate?" he questioned worriedly. Peter crossed his arms defensively, turning away.
"Yesterday." Harley shook his head sadly.
"No it wasn't. Baby, you gotta eat, ok? Especially with your metabolism," Harley reprimanded. "Please?"
"Harls-" Peter's voice broke, shivers racking his body. The southern boy set the plate down, climbing into bed next to Peter. The brunette leaned into him, sniffing quietly. Harley murmured words of comfort, trying to hide his own fears. He didn't know how long it had been, but he wasn't stupid. Peter wasn't eating, and it was becoming more and more apparent.
"Ok, darlin', we're going to go down to the kitchen and get you a snack, ok? You don't have to eat a lot, you probably shouldn't, but you have to eat a little bit, ok?" Peter looked unsure, and Harley could feel his heart aching for this boy. "Please? Will you eat for me?"
"... Ok." Harley let out a relieved sigh, getting out of bed and encouraging Peter to do the same. The brunette took an uneasy step, legs shaking dangerously. With furrowed brows, Harley scooped Peter up, a little too easily. He carried the smaller boy to the kitchen, sitting him down before grabbing a small package of trail mix for Peter.
"Eat." Peter fiddled with the package hesitantly, nose wrinkled.
"Harls..."
"No, no, you're going to eat that. Peter, darlin', you need to eat. What you're doing? It can kill you, ok, and you need to at least try to eat." Harley frowned, watching his boyfriend's hands shake with the effort of trying to open the plastic. He took it gently, ripping the tab before handing it back to Peter. "If you won't do it for yourself... will you do it for me?"
"For you," the brunette whispered, taking a peanut and putting it to his lips.
C'mon, Peter, it's just a peanut. You can do this.
He took a deep breath before nibbling at the legume. It was fine, he was fine, and Harley was happy. Peter finished the peanut, sighing and pushing his chair back. Harley's smile switched back to a frown, shaking his head.
"No, Peter, you're not done, you have to eat the entire package, ok?" The smaller boy grimaced, wrapping his arms around his stomach.
"Please don't make me..."
Pathetic.
"I-" Harley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I won't force you to eat, but you really should. At least drink something, ok? I think we have orange juice."
"Water," Peter stated, rather quickly. Harley sighed again, making the brunette shrink into his seat. He hung his head, trying not to show his face.
"Are you mad at me?" Peter wondered, voice small and on the verge of tears. Harley set a glass of water down, pushing it toward the boy.
"No, baby, I'm not mad, just..." The southern boy sighed, leaning on the counter. "You have a problem, Peter. A real problem. You need to get help, and... I don't think I really know how. You need to talk to someone who knows what they're doing."
"No!" Peter exclaimed quickly, eyes wide. "No, no, Harley, they can't know, please..." He flailed desperately, trying to convince the blond that he was fine. "It's not even that bad, I haven't lost that much weight..." Harley looked unconvinced.
"You're lying," he accused sharply, brows furrowed in frustration. "I'm not stupid, Peter. I could feel the difference when I picked you up." Despite the situation, that brought a ghost of a smile to the brunette's shamed expression. He was small, he was skinny, his diet was working.
"I've only lost a little bit, it's not that bad," he repeated. Whether he was trying to convince Harley or himself, Peter didn't know.
"Alright, if you're so sure of that, then I'll make you a little deal. You show me how much you weigh- and I need direct proof- and if you're telling the truth, then I'll lay off. Deal?"
"Deal." Peter stood up, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him. Once it had passed, going back to that dull dizzy feeling, he went back to his room, grabbing a handful of heavy washers from the lab on his way and shoving them in his pockets. Harley wanted proof, and Peter would give it to him- even if it was all a lie.
"Harley? You want proof?" The blond poked his head out from around the corner, nodding. They both went into Peter's bathroom, the smaller boy hesitantly stepping onto the scale. He closed his eyes while it calibrated, fidgeting nervously.
113.8 lbs.
"See?" Peter hated seeing those numbers, but it was more important to get Harley off his back. He shot a look at the blond, who still looked unsure.
"That's still awfully low, Peter..." Harley paused, sighing. "I guess it's ok, but I want to see you in the kitchen more often, alright?" Peter wrinkled his nose, but nodded. "I know it's probably annoying, but you have to understand that I'm just trying to look out for you. I love you." Peter felt guilt in the empty pit of his stomach, swallowing thickly.
"I love you too," he murmured. Harley wrapped his arms around Peter, hugging him tightly.
"Can we spend the night together, darlin'? It would make me feel a lot better if I knew you were safe in my arms."
"Harls... I don't wanna... I'm not feeling like-"
"Just cuddles, ok? We don't have to go any further if you don't want to." Peter nodded slowly, bringing a small, unsure smile to Harley's face. "Thank you, darlin'. My room, ok?"
"Yeah... that's fine..."
Later that night, Peter went to Harley's room after getting ready for bed. He wore a pair of heavy sweatpants with an oversized hoodie, trying to combat his perpetual cold feeling. His boyfriend was already in bed waiting for him, wearing nothing but a pair of old gray sweatpants. He looked up, raising an eyebrow curiously.
"Cold, darlin'?" Peter climbed into bed, curling up under the covers.
"Mhm. Can you turn up the heat, actually?"
"It's already at 75°(~24°C)..." Harley frowned, pressing a hand against Peter's forehead. "You don't feel warm..." The smaller boy shrugged, pressing up against Harley's warm body, sighing contently.
"G'night," Peter mumbled, yawning. Harley turned off the light, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend protectively.
"Good night, darlin'."
Mhm ok so maybe I should address this again just in case
Peter's behavior is really dangerous and his thoughts are warped, he's not really the "narrator," per se, but his thoughts and views are unreliable and aren't always reality. I tried to include both Peter's perspective and reality, plus a lil of Harley's perspective to better explain, but yknow, my thoughts are also kinda unreliable (oopsie). But what Peter called his "diet" is NOT a diet. It is a real problem, one that is mostly psychological (but all things psychological are simultaneously biological, so...)
Uhhhh anyway that was a mess, hope y'all don't hate me or anything but my sadist ass enjoys these angsty chapters haha
Requests?
