multifandom oneshots/preferences

lii. off day--jim root (slipknot)

a/n: r e q u e s t :)

this is another ED centric one, so it might be hard to relate to for some of yall. trigger warning for all my readers with EDs and the like, take care of yourself and know your limits 

Occasionally in recovery, you encounter days where the disordered part of you taps you on the shoulder while you're brushing your teeth in the morning and all of a sudden you can't bare to look at your reflection anymore. 

You've been doing well. You woke up and ate a good breakfast with Jim this morning. You felt good and secure. 

What happened to cause you to step clumsily back to sit on the edge of your bathtub with your hair covering the side of your face closest to the mirror so you don't have to see yourself? 

What happened to make this revulsion to your reflection come back? 

When you emerge from the bathroom, Jim's gone, to your relief. As vulnerable as you've been with Jim about your disorders and insecurities, one of these days has never happened while he's lived with you, and thus he's never seen how pervasive your body issues can be. 

You put on a safe outfit with the fine addition of one of Jim's flannels and do your best to change your focus to some work, deciding about a half hour into your work session that your hatred for your thick thighs has grown so intense that you have to work at the kitchen island instead of on the couch. 

A few hours pass until you're hungry again, and the anxiety is causes you is one you're all too familiar with from the years you spent trapped in your disorder's ideas. You know you need to eat, yeah, that's an easy thing to say. Yeah, yeah, eating is self care. But...you glance down at your stomach, hidden under the folds of your loose shirt. 

"Fuck," you bite your lip. 

By the time you get food in front of you, you're shaking with anxiety and the only way to get through the meal is to facetime one of your friends from a group therapy program you did a year ago. She helps counsel you through the meal with her perpetually gentle voice and kind demeanor. 

"God, fuck. I'm a disaster," you mutter. "I should be doing better."

"You're not a disaster, Y/n," your friend assures. "You're having an off day, and that's alright. We've all got those days. Sometimes the best you can do is just get through it."

You lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your torso as you look at your empty plate. The little recovery bit of your mind congratulates you on eating it all. 

"That's a cute flannel," your friend breaks you from your thoughts. 

"Hm?" you look at your arms. "Thanks! I stole it."

"From Jim?" your friend smirks.

"Yeahhh," you run a hand through your hair. 

"I can tell. How are you guys doing?" 

"Oh, it's amazing. He's the fucking best and I absolutely adore him," you trail off at the last syllable. 

"But?"

"He's never really seen me like this. This is the first time I've had one of these days since I moved in with him," you look away. 

"Well, if he loves you as much as you've told me he does, I think he would take this as an opportunity to learn how to support you."

"Oh, can you and your functional 10 year marriage shut up?" you laugh. 

"Never. You're my adopted recovery child and you will hear all my old lady wisdom," your friend grins. 

"Fine, fine. I'll talk to him about it later," you roll your eyes. "I have to get back to work."

...

A couple hours later, Jim comes home, a bit burnt out from the band practice. He invites you to go on a drive with him just to get out of the house and do something, so no you find yourself sitting in the passenger seat of a car that has probably seen the dinosaurs, blaring Iron Maiden while Jim's hand rests on your thigh.

The feeling of the pressure on your leg is enough to make you nauseous. You can avoid looking at your legs as much as you want, but you can't ignore how abundantly clear how fucking massive your thighs are. The shame about your body makes you adjust your posture as you slip your hand underneath Jim's to gently place his hand on the gearshift while you run your thumb over his knuckles. 

You can feel Jim's confused glances at you, but he never speaks up about it.

Until you get home. 

"Hey, are you mad at me?" Jim quietly asks as you walk back into the house an hour later. 

"No," you shake your head and sit down on the living room sofa. "Should I be?"

"I don't think so," Jim lets out a light chuckle and sits down next to you, handing you a bottle of your favorite drink. "It's just, what happened in the car, you looked a bit upset."

You bite down on your tongue as you consider what to say. 

"I've had a pretty bad body image day, specifically focused towards my thighs and my stomach. I just couldn't handle being aware of how big my thighs felt," you admit. "I haven't been able to even look at myself in a mirror since this morning."

Jim's eyebrows raise in concern as he pauses to come up with a response. 

"How honest would you like me to be?" he says after a few uncomfortable seconds.

"Very, I suppose," you cock your head to the side in confusion.

"I am infatuated with your thighs and am always honored that I get to drown my face between them."

You blush.

"I love it when you sit on my lap and I can see your legs resting on me. God, I just...they're amazing. They fit you perfectly and I think your legs are beautiful."

"But...my belly fat?"

"I have it too," Jim gently takes your hand and presses it up against his stomach. Indeed, his stomach isn't flat or traditionally toned, but you still always found it endearing. "It's okay, and it's healthy. I'd prefer you have it and heal than have a perfect body and be miserable."

You swallow, looking away as you feel tears prick your eyes. Jim squeezes your hand. 

"Shit, I just wish it didn't fold," you mutter. 

"It just obeys the laws of physics, my love."

You reach up and graze your free hand underneath your eyes. 

"What can I do to help?" Jim reaches up to tuck some hair behind your ear. 

"You've already done a lot, to be honest," you reply. "Thank you."

"Of course. Is there anything else you need from me?"

"To cuddle, if you're down," you suggest. 

"You'd really be okay with that?"

"Mh-hm," you nod with a little smile. 

"Oh, come here, sweetheart!" Jim pulls you close against his chest and holds you close. 

"I love you," you smile and give your boyfriend an appreciative kiss. 

"I love you too," the guitarist mutters as he pulls away, nuzzling his nose against you. 

...

major shoutout to my brother in christ @pigliarjester for this request, you're a goddamn rockstar :)

also shoutout to all the other rockstars and recovery icons who read this