MERLIN / MERTHUR ONESHOTS

Perfect

AN: vent fic <3
HUGE TW!
ED TALK AND DESCRIPTIONS OF BEHAVIOUR
(SPECIFICALLY BULIMIA) (VERY INTENSE)

Please please please do NOT read if this will put you at risk in any way.

I was just sort of projecting my feelings onto Arthur, i wasn't sure if i should post this but i have. However if literally any single person thinks i should take this down then i will, please just ask. I don't want my work to affect people badly, this goes for any chapter in this.

If you are struggling with any sort of ed then Beat is a really good charity with a good website to look into. It is quite informative and it could help you or someone you love to understand.
Strive for recovery, i believe in you.

Thank you.
Stay safe : )
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Sweat dripped down Arthurs forehead, his blonde hair clumping together and sticking uncomfortably to his head. Eyes dancing between being screwed shut, tightening until colourful patches swirled in and out of the darkness, and being torn wide open. The pressure in his head was so immense, he could've sworn he could feel his veins expanding and expanding until they eventually burst. He was used to this feeling by now but that didn't stop warm salty tears from falling freely down his face. Usually his face was rather pale but in moments like this it smothered itself in a deep crimson red.

He gasped, he choked around his fingers. The King could feel his lungs giving up as he forced air in and out around them, each particle clawing it's way in and out of his body. Hand pushed in an awkward position, bent unnaturally across his face- beneath it a thick layer of saliva and the remains of a distant time. Throat burning, unforgiving, small scratches lining the oesophagus, bleeding, weeping, crying.
Two fingers slithering their way down, pressing ever so slightly against that sensitive section, the one that makes you shake uncontrollably as you gag and gag.

Arthur had been sat here, knelt upon the wooden floor for almost half an hour now. His knees were beginning to bruise and splinters were digging their way into his flesh uninvited. He didn't mind though, not really, he could deal with the persistent ache in his legs and in his jaw- in a way it was almost a pleasant reminder, a little way he could tell himself that he did good, that he did something right for once. It was his, no one else had to know; although a part of that almost made him feel disappointed- he wondered if his father would be proud, of merlin would be proud, his kingdom, his mum.

Slowly his vision was beginning to fade into a blur, his head pounded and pounded and it was horrifically nauseating. Every single thing within him, every single atom was begging for him to stop yet he refused. Arthur would not stop, not until he was finished, not until every last thing had been removed from his stomach..not until he was perfect .

Bile has a very specific taste, it lasts upon your tongue no matter how hard you attempt to scrub it out. It filled Arthur's mouth, shooting out, trickling down his hands. He often wore gloves now, the acidity of it corrodes away at your skin- it leaves it burnt, dry and peeling. The scent lingers there too, trapped beneath your nails, in every pore, under every crevice.

Finally he frees his hand, jaw snapping shut with a painful click. He falls back with force against the wall, chest heaving as he struggled to breath. Ribs expanding with a smarting sensation, in, out, in, out. Entire body trembling with both positive adrenaline and sheer panic. This activity, an acquired hobby, left the King with a muddled head and a drowning foreboding of guilt.

Thoughts rushing, urorganised:
'No one can know, they can't know, can't know.'
'I did so good, this was the right thing to do'
'Cant know, can never know'
'Oh God what if there's more'
'I'm a failure, i can't believe i did this.'
'They can't know'
'Perfect, i have to be perfect, i need to be perfect'
'I'm so out of control, help, help, help, i need help'
'They'd all be so proud'
'Oh fuck i need to hide this, they can't know.'