#bpd!reader

[bnnysweets]

WILL YOU STILL LOVE ME IF TURNS OUT I’M INSANE?

abby x bpd!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. i labeled like “bpd!reader” bc i have it and it’s inspired by how much i wanna comfort during crisis, but you can read it thinking just about mental illness in general. i listened to the whole the record album by boygenius while writing this!

warnings: angst & comfort. reader has a crisis and abby helps. talks about voices inside reader’s head, bad past memories and fear of abandonment. mention of self harm but it’s very brief. modern au. readers is called baby, sweet girl and angel.

when you both started to live together you agreed ‘bout the cameras, abby work a eight hour shift and you were almost graduating, but despite that, you still spent a bunch of time alone at house, so the main reason was security. you are a little unpredictable while going through a crisis and sometimes self destructive, abby just wanted to keep a eye at you.

today was one of those days when you did everything as you should, everything was alright until the voices in your head told you it wasn’t. you arrived home, went to the gym, did your homework, cooked and bathed, you were laying on the couch scrolling through instagram when suddenly it hits you, a felling that you are nothing, just absolute hollow.

at first you were just crying, it was okay, nothing new, but everything escalated quickly, your heart was beating so fast that you thought it would stop, you vision almost completely black and you had lost when was the last breath that you took properly.

abby was exiting the parking lot when she thought about checking on you, she opened the app to see the camera footage and saw you sat on the ground, with your knees pressed against your chest, rocking backing and forth and trembling like you were naked at alaska, she called you immediately and looked what would be the fastest way home.

“hi baby.”, you didn’t answer, abby could hear you crying and trying to catch your breath without any success, “i saw it on cameras, i know okay? you don’t need to say anything just listen to me.” you let a little “mhm.” and she was a little bit more calm, just to know that you still could listen to her without your mind disturbing it. “i’m coming home, almost 10 minutes away, i need you to try your breath exercises, i know you think they don’t work but i need that you at least try them.” you started to do without thinking twice, “you’re such a sweet girl, you know that, right? i love you so much, you’re the most precious person that i’ve met, the kindest, sweetest and smartest. i don’t know what is going on your mind, what they’re saying to you or what you’re remembering…but nothing of that define who you are. you are so much more than anything, and i mean, anything that happened to you, you are so much more than what your mind try to convince you that you are. sometimes i even think you’re an angel on earth. i need you to know that, you know that? that you’re a angel? you make heaven a true place when i’m with you. don’t let they say to you that you’re not making progress because you are, everyday i see how much you try to be the better, and trust me, you are. i love you. i’m not going to leave you. we’re are all good”.

“i’m sorry abby.”, her heart stopped, finally you were talking, “i’m sorry i’m this shitty girlfriend, always disturbing you, i love you so much, so so much but i don’t deserve you. i’m just empty.” and now her heart shattered, her foot stepped harder on the accelerator. she was already on yours street but for some mysterious reason the traffic was horrible, she parked in the first empty space she spotted and got out of the car, running towards your house. “nothing can make me hate you, nothing. i don’t care if your mind say to you that you don’t deserve this but you do, you deserve love, gentle love. love without fear, without turbulence, and i’m more than happy to give it to you.” she took a deep breath, “now, may you please open the door?” you left your phone on the couch and rushed to the door.

when you opened it abby was catching her breath, her eyes lit up seeing you, you were a sight for her sore eyes, even when you looked like this. she grabbed you and closed the door with a kick, you hold her so tight that you felt alive again, you felt your heart stopping hurting, she was the best medicine. she carried you to the bed you shared, “i love you, i love you, i love you, i fucking love you, you understand me?” she positioned you on top of her, she was holding your face delicately with a hand and with the other she was smoothing your back. “you are not mad at me?” you asked, even fearing the answer, “oh my love, how could i ever be mad at you? how?” her hand moved from your chin to your cheek, caressing it, she looked at you like she could truly see you, without see all the bad things that went through your mind, all the bad things that you did, all the bad things you always remembered, she could comprehend and appreciate you, even when you were a mess, she loved you even when you couldn’t understand why.

“i’m sorry.” you said and she took your hand in hers and kissed it, “why are you sorry for?” she looked at you with those eyes again, those eyes that you were always able to saw how much she cares for you, “i’m sorry for being like this…for always be a burden, for never being stable, for not being able to give you a normal relationship.” you started to spiraling again and faster than the light abby put her hand on your chest, where you heart is, and she started to breathe really calmly, deeply, and without noticing you were following her rhythm. when you finally calmed down you rested your head on her shoulder, she moved to the edge of the bed to reach the little table beside the bed, she opened the drawer and grabbed your medication and your water bottle, she offered to you and you took them.

“what is a normal relationship?” she asked softly and you let a little scoff, “it’s one that you don’t need cameras to see if i’m not going to harm myself just because my mind hates me.” abby guided your head to look at her, “so a normal relationship is one without you? without your intensity?” you nodded, “yes, it’s one without me being so extreme about everything.” abby caressed your face, “so i would never be happy in a normal relationship.” your eyebrows furrowed, “what do you mean?” she put her fingers on your lips, like she was admiring, “if i won’t have your intensity i don’t wanna it. i know that most of the time it makes your life very hard but it also brings so good things to your life and consequently to mine.” you looked confused but before you could say anything she answered, “when we started dating, on our second month together i already knew we would work out, you know why? because you were so transparent that i already knew you, your reactions, your likes and dislikes and i already loved them. you never lied to me about anything, even when you broke my favorite watch. you remember when you had a fight with one of my best friends because they said something bad about me behind my back? and when i didn’t believed on you, you didn’t get mad, you explained to me what was happening, you showed me proof. this is what makes you the person that i want to spend the rest of my life with. i understand your condition, and that sometimes you’re going to relapse, but every single time it happens i’m gonna to be here, to comfort you, to you talk to or just cry, i don’t mind it. i love you, you are so much more than a diagnostic.” when abby stopped talking you pecked her lips, “thank you.” you said and hugged her again, “you don’t need to be thankful babe, i just doing my job.” “well you do a very good job.” she giggled, “it’s because i fucking love it.”

dividers by @byuvly

[robinvomit]

he found you curled against the far corner of the room, your back to the wall like it was the only thing that wouldn't give way. the words from earlier still hung in the air, sharp and cruel, the kind you didn't mean but said anyway because the world had spun too fast, too loud, and it felt safer to push than to fall.

damian stood in the doorway for a moment, silent. he didn’t look angry. he didn't look cold. just… steady. like he always did. he crossed the room without a word, lowering himself slowly until he was knelt down, settling on the floor beside you.

"i'm not going anywhere," he said. not tender, but sure. like a vow. "you could scream at me. tell me you hate me. burn everything we built to the ground.. and i would still stay until you felt safe again." he reached out, palm open, not touching you unless you gave permission. "you don't have to be soft for me. you don't have to be easy to love. you don't have to force yourself to be anything else. i chose you knowing exactly what storms live in you. and i'm not afraid of drowning."

you didn't speak at first but your hand found his, trembling, unsure if you were even allowed. damian's fingers closed gently around yours like he was holding something sacred. that's how he always held you. before and after a split. like he still saw the same person either way.

"the way your mind turns on you," he mumbled, "i've seen it. you tell yourself i'll leave. that i'll grow tired. that i'll use this moment to walk away. but i need you to hear me, beloved, i don't love you in pieces. i love you even when the pieces are sharp. even when they try to cut me. even then, i will never stop reaching for you. i will not step away over something you can not control."

he stayed there long into the night. holding your hand, forehead pressed gently to your temple, grounding you with the weight of his presence alone. not trying to fix it. not offering empty reassurances. just being there. letting you fall apart and still be loved. teaching you that falling apart didn't mean pushing him away.

that he could handle the screaming. the crying. the breaking. because he would still hold you, whisper to you.. he would still be there when the thoughts and aches subsided.

[abbyfmc]

Yandere story idea #57

Yandere Psycho patient! X Depressed/Suicidal Patient! Reader:

A yandere killer is a patient in a mental hospital who, despite his calm appearance, was feared by everyone. The doctors believed he was beyond recovery until they saw him being completely calm around you (you being another patient) and chatting animatedly, like two perfectly normal people. The yandere patient felt very comfortable and happy with you, but when he was taken away from you or other patients hurt you… he lost control and became a murderous beast.

The doctors studied his case and found that around you the yandere patient felt calmer, calmer and more relaxed. He spoke openly about his life and never tried to hurt you, he even painted beautiful pictures for you and accepted your hugs; however… the last nurse who tried to take you away from him… he choked her to death and had to be tied up.

However, not everything is rosy, because like every deranged yandere, he has kidnapped you or locked you in his room/cell several times; he doesn't want to let you go at any time; he has bitten you and even licked the blood from your self-harm wounds several times.

Once you saw him hoarding your bandages dirty with your dried blood, which disgusted you. You yourself have seen the massacres he causes when you get away from him, and although he never dared to raise his hand to you, it is chilling to see him go from being a nice and civilized guy to beating a patient to death with a chair or another object… just because this person took you away from him.

If one day he finds out that you have left the hospital or that you committed suicide, he will lose control and kill whoever is in front of him in ways like I said before.

What do you think about this idea?

[allaboutsaturn]

I hope when death finds me it feels like my father carrying me to bed from the car while I'm asleep.

[cloudedcreams]

thinking of a mentally unstable! yandere who craves your affection.

he’s self destructive. he can’t help it, the feeling of validation he gets carving your name again and again into you skin. he wants you to be a part of him forever, and he craves your love more than anything the could imagine. he doesn’t care, so long as you love him.

it’s overwhelming, to say the least. you fear him, and yet he longs for your attention. there are times where you feel as though you really can’t help him, and the worst part about it is that he doesn’t even want to.

there are times he says he hates you as well. he scratches at his skin and screams at you, leaving you on your knees and clutching at your ears. those are the worst nights of all, seeing him become a victim to his own mood swings. sometimes he’s able to snap himself back, staring down at you and the mess he’s caused before sinking besides you, rocking you in his arms as he shakily promises that it’s going to be okay, that the two of you are fine.

[fictoweirdoesten]

"You wish you had a skinnier partner, huh Caleb?"

"You prefer women with bigger breasts, right Caleb?"

"Men like ass don't they? I feel bad that you're dating me, Caleb, I've got nothing back there."

"I'm sorry I'm such a shut-in Caleb. I must be really boring to you."

"Sorry for being so unstable. You can break up with me if you want."

"I bet you-"

*Tackles and kisses all over your pretty face*

"Please don't talk about my favorite person like that, 'pip. I think they're absolutely stunning just the way they are, and I'll never let them go, no matter what."

Caleb wouldn't let you self-sabotage. He'd always reassure you that he'll never leave you, that he loves you, and that he'll always be there for you until you start to calm again 🖤

And no, it's not a burden for him, never is, never will be.

I wish men were real

[cliosunshine]

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

jason todd x gn!reader; alfred pennyworth

warnings: none

word count: 1.9k

author's note: I kinda hate this ngl, it's like I've lost all my (albeit very poor) preexistent writing abilities; enjoy!

"Alfred, could you please pass me the cocoa powder?"

The butler hummed, handing you the box as he looked over the batter you were mixing up, "Of course, Miss Y/N."

"Thanks."

The manor was eerily silent, except for the quiet exchanges between you and Alfred. Bruce was busy at some event overseas that required his presence as playboy billionaire, while Dick and Tim were both working. Damian, Steph and Cass were in school/uni and Jason was on a week-long mission with the Outlaws. Oh, and today was your day off.

"Miss Y/N, I think you should need to add the flour first."

Forgotten, half-empty teacups were placed on each opposite end of the kitchen island. You peered down at a safe distance at Alfred's old recipe notebook, worried about staining the pristine pages with your cocoa powder-stained fingers. Instead, you squinted your eyes to read the instructions better.

"Ah, yes, you're right. Thanks Albert."

"No worries."

You tried yout best not to mess up the measurements as you lightly swayed to the jazzy melodies playing from the living room's phonograph. You learned from your first visit at the manor that it had belonged to Bruce's grandfather and the records Alfred often played eased Jason's mind. You smiled at the thought of your boyfriend.

"Alfred, do you think Jay will like these?"

The butler, now seated, finished his sip of tea before speaking.

"I sure do, Miss Y/N," He reassured you, "Brownies were Master Jason's favourite dessert when he was younger, and he seemed to favour Mrs. Wayne's recipe very dearly."

You attached the handle of the stand mixer as you turned to smile at Alfred, forgetting to put the setting on low as a cloud of flour engulfed you.

You coughed up flour as you blindly reached for the power lever.

"Oh no, wait- How do I stop this?!"

You could've easily passed as Caspar's cousin by the way the flour managed to find its way in your hair, on your face and all over your apron. Lucky for you, Alfred managed to shut the machine off as he directed an amused smile your way.

"I reckon that it is time for me to step in, Miss Y/N."

You huffed as you dusted yourself off, a downturned smile betraying your disappointed expression, "It's supposed to be your day off, Alfred! I just wanted to make something nice for you and the others once they returned to the manor..."

The butler cleaned the counter from and removed the handle attached to the stand mixer, taking a silicone spatula out of one of the drawers.

"Mixing the batter by hand will help," He commented as he began delicately incorporating the dry ingredients to the butter, chocolate and sugar concoction you were at least able to make.

It was your time to sit down with your cup of tea now. You admired the dexterity of the older man: every little movement was calculated, not a single step misplaced.

You had been coming to the manor for over two years now, and whilst the others were excited to welcome Littlewing's s/o to the family (Dick's words not yours), the one person you were the most nervous about meeting and desperately wanted to be liked by, was Alfred.

You had heard countless stories of the man from Jason, and it didn't take you very long to figure out he must've been and still was a very important role and a save haven for him.

You also had the privilege of trying some of Alfred's baking that Jason managed to sneak from the manor and well, it made you nostalgic for a childhood in where you'd probably never eaten white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies but god could you feel it in your soul.

And as far as you were concerned, anyone who could manage to speak to your soul with their cooking/baking deserved all your respect.

"Miss Y/N, could you hand me the chocolate bar?"

"Of course," you stood up and walked over to him, watching intently as he chopped the dark chocolate with fine precision, "Is that the same brand Mrs. Wayne used?"

"It is, yes. It must've been over half a century now, when she first showed me how to execute the recipe without any difficulties," he reminisced as the kept working the knife against the cutting board.

You could only nod as you kept your gaze on the wrapping by the bowl.

"You know, Miss Y/N," began Alfred, "you remind me an awful lot of her."

You froze mid-sway, devoid of words as you continued to look at the wrapping.

"What?"

Alfred's gaze met yours, and something hidden behind his blue eyes - affection, sadness - made you take a deep breath.

"How so?" You pried, now very curious at his statement.

He looked to his right, where there, on the wall by the kitchen's fireplace, a picture of Thomas and Martha Wayne was hung.

"The first time Jason brought you here," he began, "you carried yourself with the same modesty yet determination and strong will power. it had been a while since someone reminded me of her so strongly - master Bruce felt it, too, that day."

His eyes shined with unshed tears as he continued.

You looked at the frame on the wall.

"Nobody really knew that master Jason had a partner, not even master Timothy had been aware of the fact, so bringing you here after months of master Dick's pleading was bound to be a memorable event."

"Yeah," you chuckled, "it took Dick breaking into Jason's apartment in the middle of the night while I was staying over, for him to finally give in,"

The corners of Alfred's eyes crinkled.

"You're good for him, miss Y/N. Your calm presence grounds him immensely."

You felt you face heat up at the compliment. Clearing your throat, you nodded once bashfully.

"Did you preheat the oven?"

"I sure did. 180°C, right?"

"Correct."

Alfred handed you the pan and you slid it in the oven.

Now all you had to do was wait.

You checked the grandfather clock by the hallway. It was 5.30 p.m.

"Well," you clapped once, "time to clean up."

The butler dismissed you with his hand.

"It is alright, Miss Y/N," he stated, starting to put the sugar away, "I will take care of it."

You kept quiet and as his back was turned, you grabbed as many ingredients as you could muster and made your way to the pantry.

"Nonsense," you exclaimed as you returned and dusted off the scale, "I presented the idea in the first place, so it is my duty to clean everything up."

Alfred closed him eyes in mock frustration, making you chuckle.

"Are you planning to stay for dinner?"

"Oh no, don't worry about that, I'll be home in a jiffy. I don't want to intrude, especially on your day off from everybody, in fact I should go right now-"

"How long has he been away, Miss Y/N?"

Body stilling, you turned halway as your hands stopped untying the knot at the back of your apron.

"Uhm-...6 days,"

"Then I cannot allow you to spend another evening by yourself."

"No, Alfred, really, it's ok-"

"You should stay, sweetheart."

You whipped your head at the voice by the kitchen door, the movement nearly giving you whiplash.

Jason was leaning against the doorframe, both his arms and his legs crossed. His face held an expression you couldn't quite pin point - his eyes seemed to have been gazing longingly at you and Albert, as if remembering something.

"Jaybee!"

In a hurry of both excitement and stupor, you flung yourself at him, making him react quickly in order to catch you.

You pressed you face in the crook of his neck, breathing deeply. He smelled of soap and leather. He must've taken a shower before coming to the manor, as his civilian clothes also hinted.

Jason reciprocated the hug and lifted you up for a few seconds, nuzzling his nose in your hair. You felt him let a breath of relief as his shoulders sagged, finally relaxing after almost a week.

"You came early," you smiled.

"Mission went smoothly for once," he shrugged, clearly trying to hide his own happiness.

Your feet found the ground and you pecked him on the lips once, aware of Alfred's presence in the room.

The older man had a relaxed expression on his face.

"Welcome home, master Jason," he greeted him, "It's good to hear everything went well,"

Basking in the quiet and easy atmosphere created in the kitchen, Jason let a genuine smile leave his lips, one of those that reached his half-closed eyes and made his nose slighly wrinkle. You loved seeing him that at ease with someone other than yourself.

Pulling away from him, you went to check the brownies baking in the oven.

"What were you guys making?" Asked Jason, curious about the apron on you and Alfred and having half an idea thanks to the smell of chocolate engulfing the space.

"Miss Y/N was very enthusiastic on making you and others brownies." Explained Alfred, "Martha Wayne's recipe, to be precise."

Jason's eyes lit up at that. He let out a groan as he approached the oven, where you were squatting to get a better view of the pan.

"God, I love you"

You looked up as heat spread all over your face. Alfred cleared his throat and made him way out of the kitchen, giving the both of you a last, knowing smile.

You got up and followed his retreating figure with your eyes.

"You've been here all day?"

"Mh...since uh, 10 in the morning." You said softly, keeping your gaze on you boyfriend and checking for any visible injuries on his face. Not having found any, you sighed in relief.

"Alfred invited me. We made lunch together, and we also made blueberry cupcakes for Damian's class"

Jason leaned down and kissed your forehead in appreciation. He loved when his two favourite people spent time together.

He had to admit he was may more nervous than you at the thought of introducing you to Alfred, more than he was about Bruce, but after he saw the proud look the older man sent his way at the end of the first dinner you spent in the manor, he knew he had made the right choice.

The right choice in bringing you to the manor, the right choice in committing to you, the right choice in letting you see him, flaws and all.

"Stay with us for dinner, doll"

"Wait, what happened to big, scary Jason Todd who can't bear to stand anywhere near his siblings?"

Jason grinned misceviously.

"Nothing at all, princess. In fact, nobody could make it for dinner today,"

"What about Damian and Steph-" you couldn't finish the question that Jason shushed you, chuckling as you shot him a glare, knowing very well you hated to be interrupetd.

"Don't worry about it, Y/N. Now, why don't you get get cozied up by the fireplace and let me arrange a charcuterie for the three of us?"

"Ohh, fancy"

"-wait, where did you get the French wine?"

Now, brownies on the cooling rack, Bruce's French cheese and wine on the coffeetable by the main fireplace, you, Jason and Alfred had settled into a comfortable silence, the only source of sound coming from the phonograph by the patio doors. Jason visibly relaxed even further from its soothing melodies, Etta James' voice carrying throught the room and making him melt in the expensive leather couch, shoulders bumping with yours and head almost resting on top of yours.

Alfred looked at the two of you from his place in the armchair and couldn't help but feel his heart burst with love and happiness at seeing his boy, Jason, relaxed and completely at ease for the first time in a very, very long time.

[ryniswright]

ᯓ★ THE MOON BOYS AFTER AN ARGUMENT WITH THEIR PARTNER

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

(soft headcanons) (giving and receiving care)

| g!n reader | sfw | steven grant | marc spector | jake lockley |



STEVEN GRANT

✶⋆.˚ Steven isn’t the type to start arguments; he will almost always discuss things openly enough to avoid them. Although, when you do argue it’ll usually be from misinterpretations you’ll only laugh about together after. Like you doing something different that he takes as a sign of ill intent. Or him doing something that you feel is abandonment. None of the threats you’d perceive between each other would be true.

✶⋆.˚ Throughout the argument he would make sure to gently reassure you. He’d sprinkle in “I love you’s” and “we’re getting through this” to make sure you feel safe. He knows that you take things hard and wouldn’t want you to feel like he doesn’t love you. Even when he’s frustrated with you.

‎✶⋆.˚ He would definitely want to cuddle after an argument and he’d try to bury himself into you while you stroke his hair. You’d do a lot of reassuring him, making sure he knows that you don’t hate him just because you two had a disagreement. He is brave, but he trusts you enough to show this kind of vulnerability. “So you’re sure you don’t hate me?” He’d ask while practically sitting in your lap with your hands running through his hair.

✶⋆.˚ He never wants to see you upset. So knowing that he upset you, even when you upset him too, would be devastating. He’d do everything he can to make it up for you, then when you tell him he doesn’t have to he’d do things sneakily. You’d wake up to a clean kitchen and a packed lunch that he claims was a “spontaneous decision.”

MARC SPECTOR

✶⋆.˚ Marc suppresses a lot of emotions. He’s working on it, for you, but there would be points where things he failed to bring up boil over and cause him to start arguments. The ones he starts himself would typically be because he’s worried about you, jealous, or self destructing.

✶⋆.˚ You’d always know when he’s trying to self-destruct. You’d know he’s only attempting to hurt you because he feels that that’s who he is. It would often be in an effort to “show you his true colors” or “harm you before you can harm him.” You’d listen and gently reassure him the entire time he masks his fear with anger because you know his real true colors. On the inside he is a lover boy with a heart of gold.

✶⋆.˚ Arguments are very triggering for him because of his childhood. He wouldn’t say or show it to you, of course, but you’d see the way that he shakes a bit even when you’re having regular disagreements. He’d probably try to distance himself from you while arguing because he feels like he’s only harming you. You’d always find him and reassure him, even when he’s still pissed. “Marc I will always love you even when we’re frustrated with each other.”

✶⋆.˚ He’d eventually come back to you and silently initiate physical contact. He’d massage your hands and gently kiss them, like an apology from him and an acceptance of yours all in one. It’s hard for him not to distance himself, so this contact is a big deal for him and something he can only do with someone he truly trusts and loves. “I’m sorry” he’d eventually say verbally. “I’m sorry too.” and he’d take you into his arms.

damn i made him bpd coded

JAKE LOCKLEY

✶⋆.˚ Yes, Jake is an intense person, but he would never pick petty fights with someone he loves as much as you. Play fights are excluded from this of course, he’d love to tease you, but real fights would almost always be rooted in fear about your wellbeing. He wouldn’t be able to rest if he didn’t feel you were safe or taking proper care of yourself. So, he tends to get pushy with those things.

✶⋆.˚ The second you communicate an issue you’re having or a boundary you need he’d immediately apologize and fix it. He’d make sure that he’s respecting you and giving you all of the admiration that you deserve. Afterall, you are his love. You mean the world to him and slight changes are nothing if they make you more comfortable.

✶⋆.˚ After arguments he would go over the top with apologies. He’d constantly say things like “Lo siento, mi vida” and “let me make it up to you, mi querido.” (even after you’ve assured him a hundred times that he has nothing to make up to you). He’d massage you, bring you drinks, and dote on you for the rest of the day. He can’t bear to see the love of his life hurt and he loves doing acts of service for you. You’d tell him he doesn’t need to do all of this, but it would only strengthen his resolve.

✶⋆.˚ Just like when he’s excited, when he gets really angry he starts slipping into Spanish more and more. Even mid argument you love hearing him in his native language. You’d pick up on the broad strokes of what he’s saying from your studying- you’re learning for him, of course. It’s the least you can do for someone who means the world to you.

[darkwicks]

The Hand That Feeds

“If being with me only brings you pain, then just put up with this for three more days.” Or, the stages you go through during those three days.

PAIRING.⠀Xia Yizhou | Caleb x Reader

CONTENT.⠀female reader | spoilers for Caleb's story | angst, brief manipulation, drugging is briefly mentioned, implied toxic behaviour (per canon), medical issues (source: i made it up), mental instability, mentions of blood and violence, mentions of suicide and self-sabotage, splitting (reader has BPD), unreliable narrator. | ~6,8k words

A/N.⠀sooooooooo I've been playing Love and Deepspace..... the brainrot got so bad I've written over five thousand words in two days. this is a bit more of an exploration on the emotional/psychological end, so I'm sorry about the lack of romance!

available on AO3 | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

1. DENIAL

Caleb never breaks his promises.

It’s been that way since you were little kids. In thunderstorms, he promised to keep you safe, and he did. On gloomy days, he promised to be your light, and he did. In the rain, he promised to shield you, and he did. He never lies. He always picks up the phone. He never misses any important dates. He always catches you and never lets you fall. That was the Caleb you knew years ago.

Now, he’s much more different than the scrappy young boy with missing teeth and plasters on his skin that he used to be. This Caleb is tall, imposing, domineering. His uniform puts emphasis on his coldness. He is the embodiment of power, but just like he promised you when you were ten, he’d use his power to protect you. You’d trust him with your life, because deep down, you know that he won’t make you regret it.

You’re more than capable of protecting yourself. Years of training at the academy and another handful of years as a hunter has shaped you to be your own defence. Calluses and scars litter your skin, painting them with texture and molding you into a unique sculpture. With each year that passes, you grow out of the same scared little girl you used to be, but you can never get rid of fear completely. Loud noises still send you jumping out of your skin. You still fear death no matter how familiar it’s become. You worry about growing old and fading out of existence, leaving behind vulnerable people who’ll lose you for good.

The past years have not been kind. Fate has put you in all sorts of situations to test your might and willpower, forcing you to be the fearless woman you were meant to be. You’ve passed turbulent times, cried alone as your mind tells you you’re going insane. You’ve stayed at home for days, hiding away from the rest of the world as you contemplate your self-worth and utility. It drains you, bleeds you dry, but for you, there is no time to rest. Life goes on. You must always keep moving no matter how wounded you become.

With Caleb, it doesn’t feel like it has to be that way.

He’s always taken care of you very well, making sure you get enough rest and remember to eat no matter how stressed you become, but things aren’t the same. You’ve grown and so has he. And yet, he’s still the very same boy you grew up with—one who cares for you, one who loves you for you, and one who’ll always have your back. You’re not familiar with giving yourself a break, having been living in a routine of discipline for over a decade of your life, but you find that it’s a nice change. It’s the instrumental break of a song, it’s the beach on a sunny day. It’s gentle breezes caressing your skin and it’s layers of padlocks broken, letting you out of the cage you’ve built for yourself.

For once, you can let yourself relax and be taken care of the way you’ve always been. But as the storm rages on, it all comes crashing down, and you find yourself falling apart.

The anxiety that had come with your initial arrival at Skyhaven never left. It simmers at the pit of your stomach, creeps into your veins and wraps its tendrils around you, dragging you into a cold abyss of apprehension and fear. Being away from Linkon City isn’t doing you any favours. You don’t know anyone here aside from Caleb. There isn’t a place to go or people to talk to. The likelihood of you being in danger is low, but it’s not impossible, and the storm outside does nothing to help your current state. The power has gone out, leaving you in a wide, dark and empty complex where the only illumination comes from the lights on the skyline. 

The recent events are still heavy on your mind, too. Of him tending to the gash on your leg, of him restraining you with his Evol. You don’t think you’ve been that scared since that day in the interrogation room. You remember it vividly: the dimness of that room, the collar he’d placed upon your neck, or the tension in the air while you struggled to get yourself back to reality. It felt like you were in a dream. But then the lights came on and he spoke, and he was no longer the Farspace Fleet Colonel—he was your Caleb.

Your nails have become brittle from how much you’ve been biting on them. You’ve been pacing around the place, trying to call him time and time again only to get no response. With a frustrated sob, you toss your phone onto the sofa and collapse to your knees, tears streaming down your face in rivulets. As much as you’d like to believe that you aren’t afraid of thunder anymore, tonight proves it all wrong.

All you can hear is the downpour outside. It muffles the sound of the clock ticking, yet it doesn’t tune out the worried voices in your head. It’s nearing midnight—way past your bedtime—but you can’t sleep, not even with the potential ambience of the rain. Your thoughts are racing a mile a minute. Though Caleb usually comes home while you’re asleep, being wide awake now also means you’re too aware—aware that he isn’t home, aware that he’s in danger, aware that he might not ever come home at all. Your phone is nearly dead and the candles have long since gone out. You’re trembling both from fear and frost, his sweater loosely hanging on your frame.

The words ‘lockdown’ and ‘cleanup’ grow more and more distant as the irrational thoughts strengthen in numbers. They say he’s doing this on purpose, that he’s abandoning you for good because of you, that he’s keeping so many things hidden from you because he wants you out of his life. You want to believe they aren’t true, you really do, but your fragility makes you waver in every decision. The urge for violence grows but you do your best to keep yourself grounded, rocking yourself back and forth as your body is wracked by sobs. It’s easier said than done. You don’t know how you can stay afloat when you feel so alone.

Cruel. He’s cruel for leaving you alone for this long. He’s cruel for not responding to you. If he truly cared for you, he wouldn’t make you feel this way. Fear blends into anger as your hands twitch and quiver while you heavily breathe in and out as an attempt to calm down. He promised you this morning that he’ll come home. You just need to trust him. But you’re so scared of everything, feeling like the world is caving in around you as you fall deeper and deeper into the void. The dark makes you feel isolated, suffocated. Briefly, you think of how no one will hear you if you scream in this weather. Not even he can save you. Maybe that’ll be the first and last time he breaks his promise.

You shake your head. You know better than to trust your emotions when the sky gets dark. This will pass, it always does, and Caleb would want you to be strong. With newfound determination, you harshly wipe away your tears with the back of your hand and get up. Your legs slightly wobble from the ache in your knees, but you keep upright. As if sensing your predicament, the rain outside slows down and becomes quieter with each second. The thunder has stopped roaring and the downpour slows to a light shower, its droplets hitting the clear glass of the window panes.

Then, the front door opens. A scream threatens to escape your throat. The emergency lights in the hallway outside show a male silhouette at the door, and when you realise who it is, the grave weight on your shoulders is lifted. Relieved, you run into him, making him stumble for a moment before supporting you more steadily. You wrap your arms around his neck and cry, quiet whines leaving you. He pulls you close and rubs soothing circles on your back before murmuring a quiet I’m home into your ear.

How could you doubt him like that? Caleb is kind. He’s the best thing to ever happen to you. He never breaks his promises. Whatever anger you harboured for him earlier dissipates into the air just like fog. Still shaken from the blackout and his radio silence, you grab him tightly, the fabric of his coat bunching up in your unrelenting grip. You don’t know what’s wrong with you tonight. You were doing perfectly fine before the storm. You’re mentally berating yourself for letting him see you in such a pathetic state, but you’re too drained and it’s too late to try to hide.

(You’ve never been able to do that with him.)

“I thought you left me,” you whimper, “I—I don’t feel good. I don’t know. I was scared.”

You cling to him like a child. You feel like one, with how weak and emotional and volatile you feel. The sobs slow down into sniffles as he carries you over to your bedroom before taking a seat on the bed and placing you on his lap. His gloved hands comfortingly caress you wherever they can. Guilt sinks into his bones, pulling him deeper than his gravity ever could. The explosion had been out of his control, so had his death, but he can’t ever forgive himself for making you feel like you’d been left behind.

An ugly emotion rears its head, holds him in its jaws. He wraps his arms around you possessively, allowing you to calm down at your pace. You let out a heavy sigh and fall into him, feeling boneless after the meltdown you were in earlier. There are many things you want to say, but none ever slip your tongue. Instead, you let him hold you, let him press soft kisses to your hair, enveloping you in the warmth you had been craving.

“I told you I’d always be by your side,” he finally speaks up after a moment of silence, squeezing your flesh warmly. “I promised you that, remember?”

You don’t make a sound. You shift closer to him, desperate to be closer, close enough to feel like you’ve fused into one. He doesn’t force you to speak. You look up at him, tear-stained cheeks glimmering under the moonlight, helpless and afraid yet so loving and elated. He shushes you softly, lulling you into a relaxed state as he wipes away your tears with his thumbs before cupping the side of your face affectionately. 

I’ll always be by your side.

How silly and humiliating of you to have been vulnerable like that. Caleb would never lie to you. He’s right, he always is, and you need to learn to fully trust him again. He never breaks his promises. He won’t start now.

2. ANGER

It started with an excruciating pain in your heart.

Then, it continued with pins and needles striking your limbs, making them feel boneless. Your view blurred and darkened at the sides as static took over your vision, showing you mirrors and streaks of light. Your throat closed up and you clutched at it helplessly, jaw dropping open as you tried to breathe. The world spun and suddenly you collapsed on the ground, motionless and afraid. Waves of panic crashed into you, drenching you in trepidation while your thoughts ran rampant, stacking on top of each other like voices in a crowd.

You hardly registered the muffled shouts and your body being moved as you fell limp. Your head was spinning and you felt like you were falling into coldness—into death—but when you woke up, you found yourself in the medical bay of the Fleet’s aircraft. 

The pain in your heart had subsided enough. It still ached and burned, but clarity had returned to your eyes and your limbs no longer felt numb. Your eyelids fluttered open, revealing the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, and it was only then that you heard muted conversations, presumably from those who were taking care of you. You tried to push yourself up, only to be pulled back by something. When you looked down, you found all sorts of cables attached to you and an EKG monitor on your side. Your heart rate was fast and your blood pressure was high. Caleb had come into the medical bay not long after that.

After dismissing the nurses, he’d taken you to his home and decided he’d take care of you himself. Though you weren’t keen on essentially being on house arrest, there was no point in arguing with him. Even if you doubted him sometimes, you knew in your heart that he would never lead you astray. But the way he’s been treating you like a child irks and suffocates you, making you feel like you’re locked in a cramped room.

He talks to you softly and treats you like you’re fragile. You’re several years into your career as a hunter. You’re well in your twenties and more than capable of taking care of yourself or tending to your wounds. As much as you appreciate his concern, it’s starting to feel suffocating. Maybe years of depending on him have made him think you’re useless. He won’t trust you, but he still holds many secrets of his own.

The only conclusion you come to is that he’s hiding something from you, or he’s hiding you.

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing does. How can someone so familiar feel so distant at the same time? You can’t understand his logic or tell what he’s thinking. He always has an explanation for everything, and yet, they never satisfy you at all. The weariness in your system coupled with days of being under quarantine is taking a toll on you. He’d insisted persistently that you stay put while he takes care of everything. It’s not as if it’s his fault, either. No matter how much you want to get back to work—thinking about the backlog you’re going to have to catch up to puts insurmountable anxiety upon your shoulders—you can’t, because your body isn’t cooperating.

It’s not a fever. It’s not a cold. But somehow, you always feel so out of it. It doesn’t even feel like you’re piloting yourself anymore. Suspicion rises in the back of your mind as you think of the medication you’ve been taking every morning. He never told you what they are. What if he’s—

No. He wouldn’t. Caleb isn’t like that.

But what if? You don’t understand him. You don’t know him anymore. Why is he hellbent on keeping you locked up here when you’re already capable of handling things on your own? Burying your face in your hands, you let out a scream of exasperation, feeling as though you’re losing your mind. Why won’t he listen to you? Do you mean anything to him at all?

The door knob twists. You swiftly relax your furrowed brows and turn to him with a small smile as he enters your room. The sun is barely rising, but he already looks wide awake. You can’t help but narrow your eyes suspiciously at the small cup of pills that he’s holding.

The question slips past your tongue before you realise it. “What have you been giving me?”

Caleb stops in his tracks, brows raised in surprise. Something flickers in his eyes, but the calm expression remains on his features. He moves closer and places what he’s holding on the table, only to pause in his movements again.

“You didn’t finish dinner?”

“Caleb. What have you been giving me?” you ask again, your hands beginning to tremble. Your thoughts are running rapidly, alarms of urgency ringing in your head and adding on to your anxiety. You need answers. You need to know everything.

He takes a seat on the stool next to your bed with a sigh. “I’m hurt you don’t trust me, pipsqueak.”

“Then what’s wrong with me?” You clench your fists, knuckles turning white from the pressure you’re exerting. “Why won’t you let me go?”

“You had a protocore-induced heart attack. Your body is still recovering,” he replies easily. You can’t tell if he’s lying or telling the truth. “And Skyhaven’s still under lockdown. It’s not safe for you to be out.”

“Do you think of me that lowly?” Aggravation drips off of your tone as your voice starts to waver, a familiar sting spreading behind your nose and tears springing up to your eyes. “Do you think I’m still a little kid?”

“It’s not that. I’m just worried about you.”

Your voice rises in volume. It’s getting harder to keep your anger in control. 

“If Skyhaven’s so dangerous, why won’t you let me go back?”

“Because you can’t. No one goes in or goes out during this lockdown. I’m sorry,” he says. It’s quick and meant to shoot you down. You want to scream, to break something, anything, but you can’t. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I’m protecting you.”

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, irritated at his responses. There’s no point in arguing with him, you realise. Caleb’s stubbornness knows no bounds at times. You take your hand back and look away with an indignant huff. You know you’re acting like a child. Grandma would be disappointed if she saw your state now. But you’re frustrated, you’re anxious, you’re alone and you just want to go home—

“Leave. I don’t wanna see you,” you spit, stubbornly staring at the window. Then, an unknown fear seeps into your veins, causing you to soften just the slightest. “I don’t want us to fight, Caleb.”

“We’re not fighting.” He crouches down in front of you and takes your hand into his before giving it a warm squeeze. “But you have to try and understand me.”

You don’t want to. You don’t want to see his face, don’t want to hear his voice, don’t want anything to do with him. Ignoring him, you get up the chair and return to your room, closing the door behind you with a loud slam. The sound makes you flinch. Unwanted memories slowly fade into the reel of your mind. Aggravated, you lock the door and sit down, pulling your knees close to your chest as your jaw clenches.

You don’t know what you want. A part of you wants him to come in and apologise, to let you do what you want. Another part of you wants him to just leave you alone. But when there’s only silence, you find yourself breaking into sobs again, feeling like you’ve been abandoned. He’s mad at you. He’s going to make you leave and say that he’s just giving you what you wanted. Guilt creeps into your heart as the realisation that you’re doubting him dawns on you. He’s been so kind to you since the little stunt you pulled to get yourself here. He’s letting you walk freely. He’s letting you stay in his home. 

But he’s not listening to you, he’s ignoring you, and it makes you feel as though you’re just a speck of dust in his eyes. Your emotions rage as a tempest in your mind that destroys everything in its wake. A scream of exasperation leaves your lips as you hold your head in your hands, trying to catch your breath. 

I’ll always be by your side.

What a liar. 

3. BARGAINING

It feels as though the sands of time are allowing the particles to fall one at a time into the bottom of the hourglass.

Time is moving slowly, almost as if it’s stuck in place, and hearing the sound of the clock ticking every time you’re ‘home’ is starting to drive you mad. It’s hard not to zero in on Caleb when he is all you have here. You’ve contemplated sending Tara and Zayne some messages to let them know that you’re fine, just staying with a friend. For some odd reason, the messages never get delivered. Assuming your phone’s just broken, you haven’t picked it up since. As a result, there’s not much to do in your free time outside of chores or breaking down, and it’s tearing you apart.

Maybe he’ll rethink his choices if you get hurt on purpose, you think with a bitter grimace. It’s hard to believe that his consideration for you, something you used to adore, now felt like chains holding you down. He might as well have left the collar on your neck. Anger, betrayal, guilt, and shame. Your mind has become a tempest of despondence and pessimism destroying every rational thought in its path. You want to scream and punch the wall. You want to hurt something. You need to destroy something. Your self-control is hanging by a thread and the stubbornness is beginning to feel childish, silly. 

Regrettably, Caleb is right. The Farspace Fleet is still working on cleanup amid this lockdown, not allowing anyone to go in or out. Leaving Skyhaven isn’t an option anymore. You don’t know what you feel anymore, either. You’re stuck here with a curfew whether you like it or not, and your unfamiliarity with the place leaves you at a severe disadvantage. Though you’re not exactly a drinker, your mind wanders to how you’d feel if you were too drunk to think of anything. You don’t care. You don’t know what you want anymore.

Some days, you feel angry at him and think he’s the devil. Some days, you appreciate him and think he’s a gift sent by the heavens. The lack of a middle ground constantly leaves you teetering on the verge of falling on either end. But now—now you feel nothing at all. You’re numb, indifferent, and it perplexes you because you still feel so bad. You think you’re a walking contradiction or a ticking time bomb ready to explode. Caleb has dealt with you for years without a single word of complaint. You’re taking him for granted, says the voice in your head. You need to keep him.

You harshly slap yourself on the face to snap out of it, bringing yourself back to the present.

The skyline glimmers in the distance. Red and white lights speed by on the road and the billboards are as lively as ever. Nightlife enjoyers are undoubtedly in good spirits as they travel from bar to bar. Tara must still be awake watching her favourite show, and Zayne is surely still working late at the hospital. You want to hear their voices and be in their presence even if it’s just for a few minutes. There’s a weight pulling at your heart as your mind wanders to Linkon City. To your real home.

The walls of what you thought was a gorgeous home is starting to remind you of the interrogation room you were in. It feels drab, lifeless. There isn’t much evidence within the home itself that there are people living here in the first place. The little OTTO robot he built for you stays in the corner, lifeless as well. You absentmindedly tap your fingers against the surface of the couch as you stare into the glow of the television. Even the commercials that are meant to be fun and exciting feel fake. The programme continues, returning to the scheduled film of the night. 

It’s late at night and you can’t sleep. You’re up later than you’d usually be. Caleb isn’t home yet, rendering you beyond aware of the fact that you’re home alone, and anxiety lurks around you at every corner. Your pistols rest on the spot beside you as a precaution. With what has been transpiring since you stepped foot in Skyhaven, anything is possible. It’s strange how paranoid you’ve become over the past couple of days. You should feel safe here, you should feel safe with him being the Colonel himself, but you don’t.

“—concerned about you. He said he thinks you might try to kill yourself.”

Your gaze drifts over to the pistols. An image of your blood pooling beneath your head as you lie limp on the ground flashes before your eyes. You imagine how he’d react to your death. Will he care? Will it devastate him? Will he regret how he’s been treating you? Strangely enough, the gruesome thought doesn’t bother you as much as it used to when you were younger. Violence comes with your job as a hunter, even if it’s not inflicted upon humans. Death is no stranger. It’s more familiar than you’d like it to be. You’ve been lured by it a couple of times in your childhood, seen mangled bodies and frozen corpses in your lifetime. 

You’ve gone from craving death to being afraid of it, and yet here you are, contemplating it just like you did when you were fifteen.

Tara used to tell you not to believe your thoughts when it’s dark. You desperately want to, but it feels as though your brain won’t allow it. You’re tired and lonely. You miss home. You grieve for a man that is still alive. A long time has passed—people are constantly changing. He’s not the same man you were eating dinner with at Gran’s house. This is a man who has been through death himself, weighed down by his never-ending burdens and responsibilities, and you sink deeper into your guilt as you realise how unreasonable you’ve been.

You try to separate every thought again. Caleb is protective of you because he’s known you for most of his life and you’re the closest person to him. He put you under strict supervision because he’s worried you’ll be in danger without him to protect you. He treated you like a child, making you feel as though he doesn’t trust you. Your outburst halted everything and is slowly destroying your relationship inside and out. It all feels so monumental, so much bigger than you can handle, and you can’t help but feel defeated.

You have two options: continue this game of who can make the silent treatment last longer, or apologise to him and gain his forgiveness. It eats away at you either way. With apologising, you don’t even know where to begin; he’s never been mad at you nor has he ever raised his voice at you. He always tells you that everything is going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it.

It’ll pass, is what he would say to you. And I’ll be here with you.

But when you have already destroyed everything with your bare hands, who will be there to rebuild it with you?

You haven’t prayed to a god in years. Prayers and rituals don’t work on you, you think, and so it’s not worth the time or effort. But as your eyes slowly close, you pray to whatever celestial being listens to you—give him back. You’ll never do it again.

4. DEPRESSION

Another day of silence passes and plunges you further into the pool of fear and helplessness.

Caleb hasn’t spoken a word to you. Not once. He still prepares your meals, leaves you notes, but he doesn’t utter a single word. You grow more restless by the minute. He’s angry with you. He’s just too nice to tell you upfront. Anxiety makes you avoid him, afraid of what he’ll do or how he’ll react. He doesn’t stop you from going out anymore, either. You’ve been spending your time outside his home, distracting yourself with whatever activity you can find on the streets. For the first few hours, the newfound freedom made you feel on top of the world, but it didn’t last.

Him stepping back should make you feel happy and relieved. Instead, the claws of despair pull you in closer and closer to its maw. You return home after a day out to complete silence. The floorboards would creak beneath your feet, waiting for someone to break the stillness, only for there to be nothing. When you wake up in the morning, Caleb leaves behind nothing but the remnants of his cologne in the air, small proof that he was home. The smell used to comfort you. Now, it makes you feel lonelier, because it’s not enough.

It feels like you’re losing him in real time. You’ve retreated so far into the corner that you’re fading into the background as the world continues on without you. You see him walking farther and farther away from you, disappearing into the crowd as he leaves you standing in the midst of it all. The thought of him leaving your life gnaws at you, puts you into a spiral of loneliness. You wanted this, didn’t you? For him to leave you alone?

Then why do you feel like you’ve been abandoned?

The stark reminder of his absence claws at your heart. You barely see him at home and it feels like you’re lost at sea, drifting away from the shore with each wave that the ocean carries. Getting out of bed feels like a monumental task. Your limbs feel heavy as if you’re being held back by a ball and chain. And you’re exhausted, even with the hours upon hours of sleeping and locking yourself away in your room, too tired to live. A part of you tells you you’re overreacting. You don’t even remember what had upset you in the first place, but you know one thing—

You don’t want him to go.

Being an adult comes with doing things you don’t want to do or are too afraid to do. This is just one of them. You’ll apologise to him with low expectations so you don’t break your heart, but you’ll fall into euphoria if he forgives you. He’s looking out for you. It’s not his fault. 

It’s yours.

You remember times in your childhood when he’d come get you after school with your favourite popsicle split in half, one for you and one for him. He’d ask about your day and his eyes twinkled with genuine interest as he listened to you go on and on about every detail that happened. The walk back home was always filled with joy. He feels like a distant memory, an echo of the past, and you wonder if he’s the one who changed or if it’s you.

Whoever it is, what was an unbreakable bond had shattered to pieces, and it was all by your own hand.

Self-hatred burns through you. You wish you were different. You wish you weren’t the way you are, so flawed and broken beyond repair. You wish you were like other women, those who are always on top of their game and strong no matter what life throws at them. Without realising it, you’ve already given up on yourself. You’re no longer loved by him; you’re an enemy, a monster, and the thought plagues your being.

The feeling of unworthiness lingers in your chest, a constant ache that wears down the edges of every thought. You remember the person you used to be with him before the explosion. Optimistic, hard-working, hopeful. She feels like a stranger now, like someone you used to know who left your life without saying anything. The weight of it all—the distance, the guilt, the silence—is becoming unbearable. He is slipping out of your grasp, ready to leave you as a memory of the past, and you’re falling further back. He is swimming to the surface while you are sinking deeper into vast nothingness, surrounded by the unknown. 

You wonder what he feels when he looks back at you. Is it pity, or is it resentment?

Or does he hardly feel anything at all?

The door opens, stopping your train of thought. You stagger up to your feet, quietly making your way to the entrance with your hands folded in front of you. Caleb’s eyes meet yours and you falter for a moment, every word you’ve rehearsed in your head going forgotten as time seems to be at a standstill. You muster up a smile, doing a little wave at him.

“Welcome home,” you say, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

He returns with a smile of his own. “Thanks.”

You want to say something, anything, but no words come out; you don’t know where to begin with them. Instead, you stand there and smile awkwardly, completely lost and insecure. Your smile feels fake. You know he knows it is. It’s a façade you’re using to hide the turbulence within you. Caleb’s smile is polite and you want to run into his arms and tell him everything you’ve been feeling. Your heart drops when he looks away from you, ready to leave to attend to his own affairs.

“I’ll just, um, go,” you chuckle nervously. “Sorry, you must be busy. I’ll see you around.” 

Reluctantly, you withdraw and return to your room, shutting the door with a quiet click. Drained, you fall to the ground and bury your face in your hands, frustration oozing off of you in waves. Was that a good sign? Or was he faking his friendliness just to get you off his back? He doesn’t seem angry, but you’ve also never seen him angry. Anxiety harrows you as you stare at the ground, mind racing with what feels like thousands of possibilities. You wish he was easier to read. How can you know someone for so long but know nothing about them at all?

You ball your hands into fists and tremble, tears streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. You’re falling behind. He’s already on the path to moving on but you’re still stuck in your spot, hopelessly wishing he’d turn back and ask if you want to try again. This fight—the one with him, the one with yourself—feels daunting. You’re but a frail little thing facing off with something grand and monumental. It towers over you, cloaks you in its shadow, emphasising the fact that you are nothing compared to it.

The world is quiet, and as you sit gazing upon your opponent, you start to wonder if this fight was even yours to win at all.

5. ACCEPTANCE

Before you know it, it’s the night before the promised third day.

You were lucky enough to be able to have breakfast with Caleb this morning. It felt tense and awkward, but he still maintained the conversation so effortlessly as if your outburst never happened at all. He left for work with a simple kind smile and told you to stay safe if you do go out. Even while you’re being unreasonable, he still has your best interests at heart, and the fact that your tantrum is lasting this long humiliates you to no end.

You spent the day out at the shopping district. The city was vibrant with the hustle and bustle in its streets and pedestrians. You heard laughter and chatter, joy that was spreading among people and their friends, and you’d never felt more alone. Even in a place swimming with people, you still felt so isolated like you were just a speck of dust. Eventually, your surroundings became white noise, and time went by like a blur. It felt as if someone else was taking control over your body. You numbly went through each stall searching for souvenirs to bring back to your loved ones back in Linkon City, spending away without hesitation. 

When the sun began its descent, you made your way back with several bags of new items in hand. You’d gone over budget, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. For a moment, you were completely fine, free from the crushing weight of the world on your shoulders. Returning to Caleb’s place took away the momentary lightheartedness and replaced it with something devastatingly hollow. You moved on autopilot, stepping into the shower and taking off your makeup, changing into more comfortable clothes. 

When you were done, you sat in the living room and watched whatever was playing on the television, its audio turning into background noise as you drifted away with your musings. Before you knew it, it was dark outside, and Caleb was back home. You parted your lips to say welcome back, but he had entered his room before you could call for him. Awkwardly, you returned to the television and fidgeted with your hands, nervousness entering your system the longer he was gone.

It seems to be a peaceful time for Skyhaven tonight. The media representative of the Farspace Fleet had come out to answer whatever rapid fire question the journalists had. Reassuring every citizen, he had said that the cleanup they’ve been doing is gradually wrapping up, and that the lockdown would be lifted soon. With nothing else to worry about for the time being, officers were allowed to return home early, including the Colonel himself. 

Caleb reappears in his loungewear and stops to look at you, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. “I’ll make dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply awkwardly, unsure of what to say. It doesn’t take long before he returns to the living room again, heading for the other end of the couch. Not wanting to disturb him, you leave him to his devices and stare ahead into the television, holding yourself back from looking at him repeatedly. It’s unusual for him to be home early, so you’re equally lost, completely clueless on how to function.

You sneak a glance at him. He’s reading a book, his brows furrowed in concentration as he immerses himself in creativity. He looks peaceful, so undisturbed, and you’re still not sure what to do. Even when you’ve been a brat, he still has your best interests at heart, and the fact that your tantrum has lasted for days humiliates you to no end. His consideration of you nearly brings tears to your eyes but you keep yourself together, not wanting to worry him.

You part your lips to speak only to close them again, frantically trying to come up with a coherent sentence in your head. He looks relaxed, so the chances of him reacting aggressively are low. You know he’d never raise his voice at you, but the paranoia hasn’t left you yet; everything you do needs a safety plan. Biting down on your bottom lip, you stare down at your hands before standing up, nervously wringing your hands behind your back.

Mustering up all the courage you have, you speak up, meekly, “I’m sorry.”

He looks up from his book, brows raised as he watches you in what appears to be confusion. You want to run away and hide, but he deserves this. It’s the least you can do.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry for lashing out. For acting up. It’s just… I’m just…”

He smiles softly, getting up from the couch and walking towards you. Bringing you close for a hug, he presses a soft kiss to your temple and squeezes your frame reassuringly. You melt into his touch, a burning sensation spreading in the centre of your face as your bottom lip quivers. You whine and hide your face in his sweater, desperately holding on to him as if he could disappear at any moment. You’ve already lost him once. You won’t lose him again.

You can’t.

“Please don’t leave me.” Your voice trembles as you speak and sniffle in between words. You grab onto the fabric of his sweater tightly, trying to keep yourself grounded. “I didn’t mean it. I won’t do it again—”

He sighs, content, and pulls you closer to him, letting you cry in his arms. His hand rubs soothing circles on your back as he hums a comforting tune, the same one he used to when you had nightmares as a kid.

“Silly girl,” he says, rocking you side to side. “I’m not gonna leave you.”

No one else will ever do it like him. He’s kind. He cares for you. He stays with you even with your volatility and your flaws. The resentment you’d been harbouring towards him douses you in guilt as you latch on to him, basking in his comfort. He’s only doing this because he cares. The disaster in your mind slowly unwinds and the grating voices that had been plaguing you the past week quiets down. 

He gently pulls away and brings his hands up to your cheeks before brushing away your tears with his thumbs, lulling you into a calmer state.

“It’s okay,” he coos. “I promise.”

Finally, you trust him, because he never makes promises he can’t keep.

[valentinesworld4ever]

Can you please write some soft Ticci Toby??? Like the reader insists on taking care of him for once

Care for me!

A/n; anon omg I LOVVVVEEEE this pls, also sorry if this isn't what you wanted 😭

Summary; toby never had someone to care for him, so when you come along and decide to do just that? Well one things for sure, you're never gonna get rid of him

Warnings!; general fluff, mentions of abuse, killing and wounds, Toby's bpd acting up especially towards the end

Toby didn't have much experience, he had obviously dated clockwork for a year or so but again but they both had their own issues meaning the two of them never had the time to comfort each other, their lack of experience and the trauma in which broke them up, but when you came into his life that changed? How could it not. To set the scene imagine this, Toby had just finished up from a mission, the person he killed putting up a tough fight leaving him scratched, cut and generally emotionally hurt, it was never easy to kill someone, but when they're fighting so much harder to stay alive? It really took it out of him.

But you, oh you, you were so kind, the newest to the mansion at the time, your soft gaze widening when seeing the tears well in his eyes, your soft hands grabbing his and asking him what was wrong? He liked you instantly, you didn't care to judge him for crying, you never judged him for asking for help cleaning his wounds and for that he truly knew you were someone he wanted to be around.

Toby after that moment never wanted much more from this friendship, not until at the dinner table your fingers intertwined with his, almost as if you knew he was beginning to panic, he knew he was whipped, his brown eyes staring into yours, and for a second the world stopped.

And toby again didn't expect this to continue, who would want to be his friend, to look after him, so he tried to put an end to this and make you NOT like him, but when he came home one night after being gone all week only to be met with your crying face, asking him where he had been and how you thought he was dead, he knew he just had to kiss you, and that's what he did, kissing you between his apologies, telling you how he'd never leave you again, and for a moment just a moment the world stopped again

[k1ngarlo]

Long Awaited Mikey Dark Impulses Smut

TW: Mentions of abuse, unstable mental health, BPD, no consent openly given. Do NOT read if these topics make you uncomfortable. A/N: I had this idea in my head for so long. I'm so sorry.

================================================

There he was. Standing at the foot of your bed. With a cold expression. His eyes seemed so distant it felt like he disconnected from reality after being kicked like a puppy from his own insecurities. Thus, distancing himself from everyone and everything.

With abandonment in his heart, he was at his own mercy and gave up on himself and his friends. You stared at his clothes and neck from the bed, avoiding his abyssal eyes. As Friedrich Nietzsche once said, "And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." You finally looked up at him, his tired eyes looking at you, you were so full of love and would definitely live a better life without him. And honestly? He'd be better off without you holding him back aswell.

You were the next. He hated hurting you, he also hated you for loving him like that. He's strong, why would he need your love? The urge to burn his bridges with everyone he's ever cared about him consumed him. That was his personal goal for himself only. Manjiro finally walked over to you and crawled onto the bed, not bothering to take off his shoes. He needed you, but also needed to hurt you. He felt rage, and emptiness which could both be satisfied by spreading your legs.

Manjiro started off giving your neck a few light kisses before meeting your lips with his. You kiss back gently and hesitant, knowing he's a different person now. Manjiro kissed you again, and again with far more passion each time. It was like flicking a lighter a few times before it worked properly. Manjiro was using you to temporarily fill the boring void.

"Manjiro?" You pulled away annoyingly in concern for his mental well-being right when he started to enjoy this.

"Shut up…" He hotly whispered against your lips before kissing you again a few more times. You didn't like where this was going so you pull away again.

"Manjiro."

"Shut up..!" He punched the thickly wooden headboard right next to you, there was a crack and a dent in it. God you were being so annoying by stopping. Stopping meant getting in his way. His eyes practically paralyzed you. You couldn't tell if you were somehow hallucinating - but from the look in his eyes but you could see the negativity, black tentacles swirling around him. They snaked around your body, wrapping around your limbs so you wouldn't move.

You broke out of this vision when he continued to kiss you again, sending passionate lukewarm responses. You finally realize that his hands were wrapped around your arms. No wonder you couldn't move. It was a warning, one more strike and he could get aggressive and maybe even dangerous.

Manjiro didn't care that you weren't even pretending to enjoy this. He moved quick, ripping your clothes off before sliding down his pants and underwear. He spread your legs and had his gaze focused on your slimy, glossed, wet cunt. Manjiro darkly chuckled before inserting 2 fingers in a normal pace, bullying your hole. Were you really enjoying this? You could feel his rough knuckles and knew they were either bruised or bleeding from punching the headboard.

"Ahn..~" You moaned out, before biting your lower lip. Your walls gave him more room, as if they were welcome at home. His fingers left your hole, he knew you were ready to take him. You began to see his darkness swirl around him again, one of the dark tentacles wrapped around your thighs, while the other the tentacle slithered it's way roughly into your mouth. You blinked in surprise and gagged which caused you to snap out of that vision. He had his hand pressed on your inner thighs, Manjiro's fingers left your mouth.

You didn't want to look at him, those scary eyes, or the vision of his darkness. You close them seeing black. This darkness is who he is, and he made certain you felt it too. Misery loves company.

Manjiro pushed himself, your walls hugged him greedily as if there was some part of you begging for him to stay. He began to thrust in your hole before bringing your legs over his shoulders, burying himself deeper. You opened your eyes a few times, seeing either a serial-killer like grin or empty. Manjiro lets out huffs and grunts from massaging your tight hole.

"G-… hhh… [Name]~."

You never had sex like this before, your boyfriend had never pleased your hole like this before. You could feel him reaching your tummy from drilling into you like this. You knew was wrong on many levels but it felt too good. Your moral justice was WEAK compared to his cock.

Manjiro wasn't very vocal, with raggedy breaths be began to move faster in the place he was trained to hit. It didn't take long for your hips to buck up for more, and your legs to tremble. Manjiro let out a loud grunt and filled you up with his "darkness." He stayed inside your hole for a few moments, feeling your body pulsing from your shared orgasm.

You finally opened your eyes, pressing your knuckles on your closed eyes to wipe your tears before looking back up at him. For a moment, it almost seemed like the dark tentacles were wrapped around him instead, controlling all his moves like a puppets. You blinked, your vision was more clear, the tentacles wrapped around him were gone. Manjiro kissed your left ankle, sending you a warm tingley feeling. He gently removed your legs from his shoulders and set them down on the bed. You can feel his essence drooping out of your pulsing hole instantly. Manjiro got himself dressed and left you to go his new Toman meeting, leaving you in your mess and him in his.

[mlncholyeternty]

reading orv again because life as well as my mental health issues has been kicking me in the ass lately

[abbyfmc]

Yandere story idea #41:

The yandere king of an enemy kingdom invades yours after you refused to marry him. He killed your king husband and hoped that you would surrender, but… how would the enemy yandere king react when he sees you fiercely leading your army and fighting hard for the stability of your kingdom?

I've never seen a story where a queen is like this in front of a yandere king, since most of them were set in medieval times, where women were expected to be docile and submissive (although there are strong female figures from that time who managed to stand out). The yandere king in most of these stories does what he wants with his queen or his love, and this one, although sometimes written as a queen who wants to protest, always ends up being controlled by the yandere. I've never seen a story of a yandere king where the queen is quite strong and difficult to defeat; but here the case is different. The enemy yandere king discovers that his love is even stronger than his enemy, and she will not give in.

[soangelbaby]

when no one’s listening - rafe cameron

a៸n ˒ i’ve seen people write rafe like he’s just anger and arrogance. but i know what it’s like to split, to beg without asking. this isn’t for pity, this is for the ones who survive shit they don’t talk about. this is what his episodes look like — through the eyes of someone who lives them. it’s not romantic, it’s real. and sometimes real is ugly, but it still deserves to be seen. ik before i said i didn’t want to get personal on here, but i think rafe and i and all the others who suffer with bpd and see themselves in him deserve this in honor of mental health awareness month, remember to take care of yourselves & you’re not alone <3

cw: bpd, emotional dysregulation, rage episodes, overstimulation, emotional trauma, self-loathing, mental illness portrayal, survivor writing, non-glorified breakdowns, references to parental abuse, dissociation.

it starts small. minor. irritation, overstimulation, overwhelmed. maybe ward didn’t answer the phone when he needed, maybe sarah called him a name and it hit too personally… he tries to brush it off, he really does. but it builds, cuts deeper, and when you’ve been neglected your whole life, those small things? they start to feel like abandonment. his body reacts first — intense stares, eye rolls, twitchy fingers, shallow breathing. he’ll start pacing, chest heaving, sniffling and not always from drugs, sometimes just to ground himself.

his brain spirals fast. it doesn’t tell him ‘i’m upset, let’s take some time—’ no, it tells him ‘they hate me, i’m nothing, i have to do something now or i’ll lose everything.’ thoughts are static, mixed emotions of fear, shame, and the deep urge to act, just to make them feel even a bit of how deep his feelings go even if he doesn’t know what’s he’s doing. he explodes. violently, desperately. yelling, throwing things, threatening people, punching walls, and sometimes himself. it’s always fight or flight — but there’s no flight option. his body always choose violence because he was never taught to regulate, to regain control of himself through patience and respect.

and then he crashes. the realization of how far he’s gone — again.. how deep this is embedded into him, how he feels like he’ll never be normal or enough ever again. he cries, he begs, sobs of ‘fuckfuckfuck’ or ‘m’ sorry, m’ so fuckin’ sorry’ even though there’s no one there. he just talks to himself, trying to rationalize it, trying to make sense of what he is and how he feels. it’s all foggy and that just makes him wanna punish himself more. he pleads for forgiveness, for control, for someone to love him anyway despite his fuckups, his baggage, his damage..

and when ward shows up, gives him a nod and a pat on the back, tells him to pull it together and ‘be a man’ he feels okay again, even though he’s not. it’s like a hit of dopamine, like he finally did something right, like maybe he can handle it, like just maybe he isn’t too much….

but at the end of the day, it’s all the same, he’s set off and the cycle repeats. because no one ever came, no one ever comforted him, no one ever taught him how to stop, so he does it all again, sometimes mistakenly, sometimes self sabotaging deliberately… because even the pain is better than being invisible…

[megalomaniacz]

desperately need you to write about toxic jinx (even tho she’s already kinda toxic)

TOXIC JINX HEADCANONS :b

writing this as respectful as i can because i too have bpd like jinx and i deeply relate so pls don’t make fun i swear i take my meds and do dbt

writes both of your names into hearts and doodles pictures of you together everywhere

won’t shut up about you ever! you guys aren’t even together btw you just ran into her at a bar once

she ends up showing up wherever you are and you’re like ??? small world but actually she is tracking your location

calls you jitterbug because you’re easy to scare

convinced you that you gave her your number while you were drunk but she actually stole your phone, texted herself, and deleted it while you were in the shower

broke into your house to do that btw. normal stuff

freaks out if you don’t text back in five minutes. will show up wherever you are after thirty minutes has past

has a room with um…pictures of you hung up.

asks you out on a date and you’re shocked but you say yes bc she’s hot and nice to you

fucking loves fireworks. will text u “look outside your window” and it’s firework hearts

after she notices you catching feelings for her she thinks it’s best if you just move in with her and ur like no…that’s too fast it’s been three weeks

and then your boss fires you the next day and suddenly there’s an opening at a bar down the street from jinx?

(coincidences amiright 😭)

doesn’t play about you. she will twist somebody up like a twizzler over her jitterbug. has bitchslapped some people for looking at you “lustfully” (they literally just glanced at you for a moment)

bad abandonment issues so idk where u think ur going but it’s not away from her :)

watches you sleep. ur just so cuteeee

has a secret tattoo of ur name she got the DAY she met you and covers it with bandages. she’ll show it to you eventually…

aftercare is always a bowl of lucky charms w chocolate milk and some regular show :)

likes how you look in her clothes/makes u silly shirts to wear that say “my gf will kill you please go away”

[arieswritez]

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 4

chapter 3

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! MENTION OF ANIMAL DEATH, reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you’ll miss it), SADIST MARK, violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, so . . gore, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he’s a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; [the fuckin' thought of you with somebody else, i don't like that.] . . actually, if you even consider leaving i'll lose a couple screws in due time, i'll stop breathing and you'll see the meaning of stalker when i pop out the dark to find you and that new dude that you're seeing with a attitude - IFHY (tyler the creator)

4.

there was blood on mark's hands.

syrupy and wet.

the distinct stench of iron rot fogged up his senses.

blood clots stuck like soft gelatin between his fingers. stretching, snapping webs of gore whenever he opened and closed his hands.

still warm as he switched on the water from your sink.

the suds from your hand soap came up a copper brown, adorned by tiny rivulets of red as he dug beneath his fingernails to scrape away any remnants of viscera.

dna washed away by tap water.

his skin purified once again.

mark looked up and met the eyes in the reflection, making sure to pick off specks of skull fragment and the fatty tissue of brain matter from strands of his hair.

what a fantasy.

a blink and it's all gone.

just like you.

you and your attention.

your undying devotion. a huff and the flame gets snuffed.

better yet. . you light and pass the torch to someone fucking else.

it's no good.

there's no use being mad at you and your uninspiring devotion. how special is your love, really, if it is so easily obtained?

and why does the fact that it no longer belongs to mark so upsetting?

why'd the realization that anyone who called you pretty would have you fantasizing about baby's breath bouquets - something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in your shoe - make his blood run that much hotter?

why'd it make him stare down into the sink, faucet running, as he tried to slow down his breathing? gripping the edges of your porcelain sink until he heard it creak. counting forwards to a hundred, then back again.

he did all the things the therapist his mother took him to recommended he do when those feelings came up. things to see, smell, and touch, and taste. but the only thing that came through the ringing in his ears was the vivid fantasy of tearing your boy apart.

he could see the light leaving his eyes. he could smell the acrid stench of piss running down the coward's leg. and god knows he'd only ever touch him to dispose of his body.

and at the end, he'd taste the tears collecting at your cupid's bow when you sought comfort in his presence. just like the old days. it'd all be worth it in the end.

. . he shouldn't have read your dairy.

not because debbie raised him to 'respect privacy' - because who doesn't keep shit in their notes app in this day and age? - but because it put him in a shitty mood.

but he was also glad he did it.

it revealed what your problem was.

and mark's always been your problem solver.

mark was imaginative.

mark was smart.

mark was also patient.

surely, you'll get bored.

you'll preoccupy your mind with mundane things: how the world spins, for example. what you'll make of yourself. what people will think of you.

ouroboros: swallowing yourself whole trying to find the beginning to the end.

will you be loved? how will you be loved?

you're a glutton obsessing over not being enough in the first place. more, more, more.

you'll dizzy yourself.

come full circle, nausea and vertigo, habitually crawling back to him.

you're a distracted little thing.

you always have been.

it's in your nature.

mark tries not to be too hard on you about your romantic pursuits.

after all, you'll go after what you think you deserve.

and if that's dysfunction, then so be it.

however. . . your standards could be a little higher. had it been any other person occupying your mind. . mark wouldn't have cared.

oh, not at all.

he cares fuck all about your meaningless schoolyard crushes but the one thing that boils mark's blood is all of the abuse.

the hoops you have to jump through for the smallest shred of applause.

and really, how pathetic do you have to be? why can't you see that he's using you? as entertainment. as a pet. as a clown.

and what you don't understand is that deep down. . mark and your boy aren't all that different.

which explains why you like him so much.

mark and your boy were sharks.

your boy could smell your blood from a mile away; see the desperation in the way you sauntered past him, salivating at the thought of being the apple of his eye.

he saw you for what you were: prey.

and they saw right through your flimsy little costume of new clothing and perfumed wrists.

your boy and his group of cronies didn't laugh at your jokes because they thought you were funny. they laughed at the idea of you believing they found you entertaining.

your mediocre attempts at relevancy were funny - hilarious, even - because of how eager you were to impress them.

and the only reason why they hadn't used and discarded you like a plastic bag with warm dog shit inside of it was because they were more than happy tossing a coin into traffic, making you fetch just so they could entertain themselves watching you get hit by a bus.

but everything for your boy, right?

you and that fucking boy.

whatever it is, mark's more than willing to find a way to make all of that stop. he's devised some plans to make everything go back to the way they used to be.

it'd always been you and mark.

mark and you.

he planned to keep it that way.

and so, he was on his best behavior.

he'd let you have your boy.

he'd push down the bile that crawled up his throat whenever he imagined his hands on you. whenever he saw your face light up whenever your phone pings with a notification.

mark can be a very good actor.

he'd act as if his stares weren't deadly when you looked up and caught him looking at you. he could melt those icey eyes, the ones that glaze over in anger, and turn them into their usual warm brown.

he's on his best behavior.

attentive, even.

he's so, so interested in what you've got going on.

who are you talking to? yes you can tell me. no i won't get mad. yes. i promise. him? yeah, I remember. why didn't you tell me?

no, i'm not mad.

good for you!

no, i won't threaten him.

who do you think i am~?

mark knows better than to be outright poisonous towards you. not when there was another boy willing to stuff your pretty little head with cotton.

you are far too sensitive to hear anything that isn't a candied lie. if he plays nice, it gives him the upper-hand.

there is no need to vent to a diary when your best friend is sitting in front of you, doe eyed and innocent, the way he pretended to be when you two were twelve and his mom would check up on you in his room. or when teachers would walk past and he had to pretend he wasn't pressing the sharp point of his pencil into your thigh.

mark loves your parent(s).

they aren't that much different than you.

in fact, mark has come to find that there aren't many people that match him in terms of intelligence.

he can see why you came out the way you did. un-special, if he's feeling kind. the other word he'd like to use is not nice to call someone.

pining after approval, your parent(s) were very easy to like.

very easy to control.

"i just don't know if they've told you, yet. . it seems kinda unfair that i'll be the one to say." mark mutters under his breath, tracing shapes into the dining room table as your parent(s) sit across from him.

"mark," your parent reaches across the table, hoping to grab his hand, only for mark to pull it out of their reach. "if something's happening. . we want to know. we need to know."

"it's just that. ." mark pauses, gives a few seconds to really build the tension. "it's a bit embarrassing."

super.

he's worried about you, you see? there's a group of guys you've been chasing around in school. . and mark doesn't think they have your best interest in mind.

mark has heard. . things.

but you've gone cold on him.

he's worried you might be. .

well, he's worried you might be having sex.

with a few. .

. . all of them?

oh, who gives a shit? the more the better. and the more mark spills, plucks things out of thin air, the more petrified your parents look.

he makes sure to say it.

sex.

hisses, purrs it, whispers it like it's such a bad word.

he even wills himself to look embarrassed, averting his eyes like it's a shameful thing.

it brings him back to the day debbie caught him with some girl after a baseball game.

she had just been some random. a shiny object that called mark's attention. something he could put his dick into while he tucked his face into her neck and imagined the sounds you'd make.

his mom should've known he was already having sex. however, having been caught with his pants down and balls deep in someone wasn't necessarily the way he planned to break it to her.

he heard his mom and his dad arguing in the next room that night and, coincidentally, nolan came in and gave him 'the talk' to the best of his ability.

humans are fragile, mark.

yes, they are.

but the bruises on her were not his fault.

she was soft.

and she'd liked it.

nevertheless, your parents are not as forgiving as mark's.

they promise him it's not a big deal. that he did good. that he's good.

a good kid, a good student, a good friend.

but as soon as he's gone, he knows they are searching your room top to bottom.

he flies up to your room and peeks in through the curtains to watch them toss open closet doors, rummaging through clothing, bookbags, notebooks, whatever they can find.

and finally, your bed.

your diary with all the juicy, dirty - downright violent, jesus - fantasies mark wrote by forging your handwriting.

and your nightstand.

wherein tucked underneath your cute underwear lays a shiny pack of condoms.

at least you're being safe.

you'll never hear the end of it.

it's too good to miss and mark doesn't care if he has to wait all day for you to get home. he wants to watch your everything crash and burn.

not that he'll have to wait much, anyway.

your parent's on the phone, trying to contain red hot anger from spewing out like a backed up volcano, hissing at you to get home, now.

you poor thing.

you poor, poor, thing.

you don't know what to tell them when they toss the pack of condoms at your feet.

when they shove the journal in your face, showing you all the depraved things you wrote in that cute little scrawl.

the boys, the nights out in which you claimed to be at mark's: helping him out with a project.

yeah, right, stop lying, already!

"give me your phone. now."

fingers feverishly tapping and swiping, going through texts as tears stream down your flushed face.

you've got a date tonight.

and you hadn't told your parent(s).

what a coincidence, oh my!

your boy must've planned to seal the deal that night. and mark would be damned if he didn't have you first.

mark doesn't need to worry.

that's definitely not happening now, is it?

in fact, you won't be able to go anywhere that isn't class for the rest of the school year. not unless you're monitored by mark. and isn't it embarrassing, mark having to be some sort of guardian?

"I thought you were smarter than this."

and you're too good to yell back.

you're too good to argue and try to explain that it wasn't you.

you didn't buy condoms. you didn't write that. you didn't do anything.

but if it wasn't you, who was it?

who did?

you look every bit of a cornered animal. it's very you: to freeze in situations like that. back to the door, facing the window just enough for mark to be able to peek at every emotion going past your face through the crack of your curtains.

he watches it flicker past your eyes, the way the muscles in your neck tense up when you squeak out those ugly, strangled, sniffed out cries. the ones you try to hold back when you're crying alone in your room and you want no one else to hear them.

the ones you'd let out at your desk when you were itty bitty and your parent had dropped you off at kindergarten, promising you they'd be right back, but they never were.

you are so much like the way you used to be.

mark wishes things hadn't changed.

he wishes you were just as innocent, as good. he wishes no one would've turned you into what you are now.

he wishes you wouldn't have been stupid enough to let them.

you don't say anything.

you don't even push past your parent when they're done berating you, just stare down at the floor until their mouth has dried, and they shoulder check past you.

you only slowly turn to push the door closed, grab your computer and send a message to the only person you think you can confide in.

he arrives in ten minutes.

enough to make it believable, climb up a tree and sneak into your room.

you fall into his arms immediately, sobbing.

mark hopes you don't feel him smiling against your shoulder as he comforts you.

your boy has been different since the last time you talked to him. distant, distracted. different. you catch him zoning out whenever the two of you are studying in the library, not reciprocating when you try to play footsies with him.

you're not sure if it has to do with the night you had to cancel your date. sure, it was last minute but he'd told you that it was okay. but with everything going on at home, you don't have the patience to hear him lie.

"seriously, what's up?" you ask, kicking his shoe softly.

your boy looks up at you.

his eyes used to gleam with confidence. the type of cockiness that'd make your cheeks burn and butterflies flutter like mad in your stomach. but they looked empty then. he looked like he hadn't slept well. that night or the one before.

he looked around, making sure no one was within earshot. you leaned forward in response, your curiosity peaked.

"this is going to sound weird but. . do you ever get the feeling that you're being watched?"

you blinked.

"uh. . hm. ."

come to think of it. . sometimes you did. you've been sensitive to eyes on you since you can remember. the hyper vigilance is something you've grown accustomed to, making peace with the fact that it might not be a curse after all, and instead some sort of safety feature.

but it felt different.

not like the irrational tickle in your stomach whenever you think of a possibility. but the speckling feeling across your skin, crawling with a million legs, the kind that makes you hallucinate a breath against your neck. the type that has your head rolling, looking for an intruder.

nothing.

but you didn't tell your boy.

because your boy was talking about himself and you've learned to insert yourself into it could be rude.

you settle with saying, "what do you mean?"

he shrugged a shoulder. "i dunno. watched. I get that sometimes. see something from the corner of my eye. and when I turn to look it's gone."

you felt your heart pick up speed. strange. the same thing had been happening to you.

you let out a nervous laugh. "if you're saying this to scare me I'm gonna get really mad, y'know?"

"i'm serious." he said, almost urgently. "and here's this: i was walking to my car after baseball practice and found some weird red shit smeared across my windshield."

he's fucking with you.

surely, he is.

this must have something to do with the rumour circulating around school. the one in which they've seen a figure whizzing past. the one in which that figure is the reason in which some animal carcasses have been found in the baseball field, mutilated like some sort of fucked up science experiment. a villain that's found a hobby in terrorizing the town, perhaps.

"it's probably nothing." you whisper, unsure if you're trying to convince him or yourself.

"probably." he responds.

he doesn't look convinced.

and he doesn't reciprocate when you try, again, to get his attention.

your boy was gone.

gone, gone, gone.

word around the school was that he'd transfered.

but that started to feel suspicious when the students noticed the smell.

something easy to dismiss at first.

the kind of funk attributed to warm weather and not enough deodorant. growing boys and their scattered hormones.

and then it grew.

bold, loud.

ugly enough that it couldn't be ignored.

sour.

downright rancid.

and it was all coming from your boy's locker.

it got so bad a janitor had to pry his locker open.

and that's where they found a decomposed animal, tire marks through the middle of the delicate body. maggots swarming in the orifice where the eyes used to be.

you don't remember when the last time you saw him was.

you don't know if you ever will.

with his past time of mutilating animals and collecting roadkill, you're not sure you even want to.

and if you did, the only thing you'd ask is why?

mark seemed the least surprised about it.

he hadn't so much as grimaced as he told you the story of his locker being pried open.

the stench was the worst thing, apparently.

although, it wasn't enough to deter his appetite as he popped grapes between his fingers, making sure to squirt the juice onto you as he described fat, wriggling maggots falling off in swarming little balls off of the carcass.

you shiver, skin crawling, staring at the pile of homework before mark.

now that your boy had vanished into thin air, his entourage wanted nothing to do with you. you figured it was only normal. you were all preparing for finals, applying for college, planning ahead.

still, it hurt.

it hurt to think you almost had it, almost had him, but it was all taken away. you're not sure why you feel that way, but you do.

and the only thing keeping you afloat is the fact that you've found your way back to mark.

it reminds you, he'll always be there for you.

no matter what.

it's nice, you think.

spending time with your best friend.

even if it means doing mark's work again.