Jaylor / Taylor Swift One shots

The Eating Disorder

HUGE EATING DISORDER TW! Its from Taylor's perspective so certain aspects are glorified. Please don't read if you're currently in recovery. It's not worth relapsing over.

-Calorie counting, body image issues.

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Sense of humour is probably enclosed in Joe's cytoplasm, Taylor reckons. Or in his genes, or maybe his brain's humorous section is just bigger than that of others. Or maybe it's just Joe, being Joe..

What can she say about Joe, huh?

She could say anything, really, if you'd ask her. Question is whether she would, of course – because not everything is meant to be said.

(And maybe Taylor just wants to keep these bits of Joe, wants to keep them in a little box with a key so she can admire them before she goes to sleep every night.)

But while Taylor likes to harbour things on ers own, Joe all but screams his every thought over the rooftops, or so it seems. Sometimes, the filter between Joe' brain and mouth disconnects.

But it's harmless, it really is, honestly – it's supposed to be harmless, until it isn't, and only Taylor notices.

"Fuck's sake, Taylor, give me back my phone!"

But Taylor just laughs and keeps running, almost tripping over microphone stands and cables, and finally actually tripping over thin air because, well, no one's perfect, right?

A moment later there's a weight on his bum, straddling it, and Taylor is pressed against the cold tiles. "Give it back, Swift, or else."

"Or else what?" She smirks.

"Or else –" Joe leans forwards until his lips touch Taylor's ear, hot breath blowing the curls away, and lets his voice drop to an ominous whisper, "– this." And his fingers are touching Taylor's sides, lightly, teasingly, and she is beginning to feel butterflies –

Until those fingers start tickling for real, and the careful butterflies are chased away by Taylor's squirming and laughing and begging Joe to stop, please, I can't –

And then Joe has his phone pried out of Taylor's loosened grasp and smiles at her, victorious, and pinches her sides. "Aw Little Taylor's got a bit of baby fat, hasn't she?" he coos, before he pecks her on the mouth, jumps up and runs to, well. Someplace else.

Taylor feels like she should laugh, but she can't really bring herself to.

(And that's the starting shot. Ready, set, go.)

She didn't know when it started, only that it's been an issue, a voice lingering at the back of her head, plaguing her very existence with snarling insults.

She didn't want to call it what it was, at least not aloud. It was embarrassing-Humiliating even, but most of all, terrifying. It was a dirty secret that she didn't dare even think about telling anyone.

She knew it was fairly obvious she had some type of issue with eating but she had long since mastered the art of bullshitting.

Her parents remained blissfully unaware to the point Taylor was almost positive they knew but simply...Didn't care. Still, Taylor could tell they were too scared to bring it up to anyone.

When her...Issue started to really take over her life, she was twenty two. Twenty two and skipping dinner. But then just dinner wasn't enough. It was Dinner and breakfast. And then dinner, breakfast and lunch. Snacks were a given go. (She didn't need those stupid sweet tarts ropes, they were 50 Calories each, after all and they build up fast) And when that wasn't enough, it was exercising until her vision was filled with black dots and her body swayed and crashed into his bedroom wall.