princess piglet

chapter 1

"let me go!" a hoarse harry screamed. his weak little body thrashed in attempt to break free from zain and liam.

"you're not alright, haz, baby. you're broken and sick. we're here to help you," zain whispered sweetly in his boyfriend's ear.

"i...i...i feel so weak..." harry whimpered. liam kissed harry's head as he fell limp in liam's arms.

"how's the princess, niall?" louis asked one of his boyfriends, niall.

"the boys are bringing him in now. fuck, he's so small..." niall breathed on the verge of tears. being the most girly, hormonal and sensitive of his boyfriends, niall was hit harder by the sight of harry throwing up food for no good reason.

"we're gonna save him, ni-ni. we're gonna feed him until he can't move and he won't be able to throw it up," louis said gently holding niall by the waist, watching the others out the window.


&quo t;lock him down. when he wakes up, he's going to try to run," louis instructed decisively.

niall clung to louis's side. "daddy, is he going to be okay?" niall asked.

"yes, honey. he's just sick, that's all," liam whispered, looking down at his little as he strapped him in.

then harry woke up.

his wrists were, sadly, comically thin; his eyes were bigger because he'd lost so much body mass; his cheeks were sunken in with no body fat to make it normal; his hair was torn in places from weeks of him fretting about his weight and what he looked like to his friends and family and boyfriends; his head had bruises from him slamming his head against the wall in frustration; his eyes were tired, sad, depressed and red, mostly from crying about his boyfriends' fighting, about how he didn't feel sexually attractive, about the sexual harassment and verbal and mental abuse he received at uni; his hand movements were jerky and spasm-like, probably from all the medicine he took for anxiety when the boys would scream, fight, throw things and argue; his legs were painfully thin and bruised from falling down the stairs so much when someone yelled at him or when the others fought or from him just being clumsy; his stomach was caved in and bruised; his wrists had cut marks and so did his thighs.

he was a broken individual. he fretted too much. but he was raised to be fearful, and he was beat too much as a kid. it tore the giddy joy out of him.

and the four boys that were supposed to be helping were actually making it worse.

"yes, princess?"
"what're you going to do to me?"
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